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Nothing in life is ever easy.  If it is easy, be skeptical.  Those papers aren't going to write themselves, you need to do your taxes, and your children are starting to smell.  That sounded funnier in my mind.

Anyways, in the last few days I've been taking an optional summer english class, which is almost over, but we've been reading a really good book about Vietnam, called "The Things They Carried."  I really like this book because it's a horrific war story, but it isn't just about war.  It's about love and necessity, it's about hardships and tough decisions, "it's about sisters who never write back, and people who never listen."

So all these men had to go to Vietnam, a lot of them died, and a lot of them still have lasting psychological problems.  Some people hold to the belief that if you are hurt or depressed or unhappy or whatever, you just need to suck it up and get over it.  I am not one of those people.    I guess you could say I'm one who lets people take their time to heal, even if it is at my personal expense.  What is the technical term for that?  Oh, right, a softie, a wimp.  But I'm not, just in some emotional matter I am.  Like when the girl died in Chile, and I couldn't stop crying, and my brother didn't understand why, my roommates didn't understand why, most of my friends didn't understand why.  I began to think I was wrong, until I looked around and saw other tear streaked faces, blurry red eyes, waiting in the crowd, hiding from those who didn't understand.  And I called my mom, and she told me it was okay.  And it wasn't okay, but I felt better.  You know those times you start off crying about one thing, and then go into everything that is wrong with the world?  I started out with a dead girl, progressed to Iraq, and ended with gas prices.  So that was a rough trip.

But something I realized has really helped me through the year.  I shouldn't be ashamed of the fact that I was crying over a dead girl who lived one floor up, one room over, and I had never met.  It's not something to be ashamed of, and I still am not.  Because the fact that I was crying meant it meant something to me, that I felt scared, and sorry for this girl, younger than I was, who I'd never met.  People who were fine, it didn't affect them the same way it affected me.  Because at first, I was fine.  I don't even think it meant anything to me, maybe I thought it was a joke?  And then when I did find out it was, indeed, very real, I told everyone, and it wasn't until about an hour later when it was just Christine and I alone in the room that I started bawling, and I couldn't stop.  Because I felt for the dead girl, and everyone she had formed attachments with.

In April, something happened at my school.  Something really bad, and something that still keeps me up extremely late at night, something that people would rather that it be swept under the rug, something my advisor tried to make me feel bad for being so upset over.  And it didn't even happen to me, but it happened to one of my best friends.  And it was awful.  Every second of it was awful.  When I found out what had happened, I skipped training to be with my friend, because that was more important than anything, how she felt.

But then when i found out the whole story, I was hysterical.  I mean, I couldn't talk because I was hyperventilating so badly.  It was bad, it was really bad.  I went home, at nine o'clock in the morning, with almost an entire school day ahead of me.  Told the one teacher I was going to miss, called my mom, and just left.  No, I didn't call my mom, I had a friend call my mom because I was hyperventilating.  My friend stayed at my house that week, because she couldn't bear to be at school anymore.  A lot of my friends went home that week, because they couldn't deal.  Well, not a lot, more like all the 96's I'm friends with.  But it was bad, it was really bad.  It was part of the reason my parents made me see a therapist.

But what I realized through all of this was that it is okay to be sad, to be really, really sad.  Sometimes at least it's okay.  Because sometimes being sad is what helps you through things, it is what makes you process and reflect and get through it.  Sad isn't a bad thing.  At least sometimes.

And another thing sad does.  It makes you realize who, and what, you can't give up.

"It's about sisters who never write back, and people who never listen."

'Now I'm dealing with the hell I put you through.
If I had my way I would be right there next to you.
There are things in life I cannot change.
I hope you know I care."