Rambles, Rambles, Rambles!!!

Hey Reader(s),

(Writers note: this post was written but chose not to post on Feb.1,2015. This is a repost attempt. Sorry for any confusion!)
The lack of entries are a combination of sixty+ work weeks and the flu pushing me into a state of hibernation. Now that I'm somewhat alive, RAMBLES!!!!

I am getting a tattoo in memory of my friend LeeAnn Saturday, and I am super nervous.This is my first, and might be my last tattoo. I haven't decided yet. I'm having my friend Devin do it, as he's the only person I'm comfortable with doing it. I'm getting a quote with few snowdrop flowers.  The quote:
"Why do the best people die?"
'When you're in the garden, which flowers do you pick?'
"The most beautiful ones."
 The snowdrop, aside from being the birth flower for January (Lee's birthday) is symbolic for hope. The legend behind that is biblical (if you're not religious sorry), after Adam and Eve were castout of Eden, Eve began to give up hope that the harsh winter would never end. An angel appeared, and turned a few snowflakes into snowdrop flowers, to let Eve know to not lose faith. Lee was a becon of hope her entire life. Promoting awareness for her condition while answering the questions of other hospital patients around her, she had this way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay.  

My boyfriend Curtis turned 21 yesterday, and we didn't really get to celebrate it. Between me trying to get over the flu and work, and him working, we have had no time alone together. A quick lunch at Applebees was the only thing that felt like a celebration. Even now, I'm in our bedroom blogging, he's filling out job applications in the living room. Guess thats what happens when two introverted    people are a couple. I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Open Window

Trigger Warning: If you are triggered by loss of life, losing best friends, cutting, or by medical conditions, please don't read this. This is hard enough for me to write when I have no such triggers, I would feel terrible if someone was triggered because of something I spoke openly about. This is a true and personal account about losing a childhood friend so please be courteous and respect this article.

A bit of backstory, LeeAnn Marie Binder was the recipient of three double lung transplants throughout her life. Once shortly after she was born, another when we were ten, and one last fall. Because of the operations, she had to be on several medications that stunted her growth. She was a few inches over three feet tall. She loved rock, most of all Disturbed, Papa Roach, Cradle of Filth, System of a Down, and 3 Days Grace. She loved all animals, but loved her dogs and leopards the most. Her favorite colors were black and purple. She loved having her nails done, texting, knitting, playing Yu- Gi- Oh, and food. That girl could put down two Big Mac Meals before you could blink an eye. We jokingly called her "The Pit" in middle school because no matter how much you gave her, she always wanted more. LeeAnn never knew a stranger. She was kind to everyone, even if they annoyed the hell out of her. She lit up any room she walked into, and it was impossible not to love her. LeeAnn and I became close for a number of reasons. For instance, she didn't question my love for black and anime or Marilyn Manson. She just got it. She and I have very similar names- DeAnne Marie and LeeAnn Marie.  LeeAnn was the first person that knew when I started cutting. She never questioned why or told me to stop, she just reminded me that I had people that were willing and ready to listen whenever I was ready to talk. Ultimately it was her, Mary (another childhood best friend, our third musketeer), and Curtis that got me to stop.

On January 11, 2015 at 10:15 A.M. I recieved a text from my grandmother stating that one of my best friends since elementary had died. I was stunned. Baffled. "No. No way. She just turned twenty,that's not possible." I called my mother to tell her about the ridiculous text I'd gotten but before I could even speak, the first thing out of her mouth was "Oh, Deebug, I'm so sorry." That's how I knew. I knew then that it wasn't a joke, it wasn't false information, it was real. Lee was gone. I apparently collapsed, because I looked up and five co workers- two of them being certified nurses- were surrounding me, asking what happened and if I was okay, if I'd hit my head or tripped on something.  All I could think to do was sob. I haven't cried that hard for a very long time. My mother was still on the phone with me and said my grandmother was on her way to get me to take me wherever I needed to go. The first place that came to mind was Mary's house. I thought I was close to Lee, Mary was definitely closer. If I was a wreck, I could only imagine how she was handling the news. I told my mother I needed to go, I had to talk to Mary. She said she'd call me back in fifteen minutes.

So, sitting in front of the laundry room bawling my head off, I attempted to get to Mary's number pulled up. She was asleep. She had no idea. I will never forgive myself for waking her up to tell her over the phone while having no composure. Thats almost as bad as finding out through text, if not worse. I went to her house and stayed there for several hours. Looking back on it, I realize having someone that not only knows your heartbreak but shares it, helps ease the pain so much. Being with Mary was probably what got my pieces back together.  I know her heart hurt more than mine, she was going halfway across the world in a few days and wouldn't be able to go to the funeral. Lee's family asked her to write a eulogy so she could still be involved.

LeeAnn's funeral was Sunday. It was a Catholic service- the first Catholic service I'd ever attended. My grandma, insisting I was not to drive, took me to and from. Walking in, I saw her sisters, brother, mother, and father all lined up next to the casket, all wearing  I think seeing her made it real. She looked beautiful, like she was taking a nap. Almost half of Leeton was there, along with a few of the girls that were in our "group" at one point. As soon as they saw me, they walked up and hugged me. I hadn't seen or spoken to Beth or Caitlin in years but now they hugged me so tight I thought I was going to suffocate. It was an evening service, so when we came out of the church, the sun was setting. While driving home, I saw the most beautiful sunset I'd ever seen. Purples and blues as far as the eyes could see. All I managed to say was "Oh my god, Ema...it's her." We pulled over and watched the sun go down, not leaving until it had fallen out of sight.

The reason this is called "Open Window" was because of an unofficial lesson I learned while working in a retirement home. Whenever someone dies, you're supposed to open the window so their soul can get out. I always connected it with the saying "When God closes a door, he opens a window." The door is Earth, the fleshy life you live and the window is the afterlife. I understand how superstitious and ludicrous that sounds, but it's something I've firmly believed since I heard about it three and a half years ago. Looking at this gorgeous sunset, I realized  it didn't matter if someone had opened a window or not: it was a superstition.  She was right there. All week I'd been so worried that someone hadn't opened her window, that she'd be stuck in that hospital room forever... It didn't matter. Lee was good enough to jetline straight into Heaven, and I take comfort in knowing that she is no longer bound to this cruel planet full of so much hatred and dependant on tubes and pills to live. She's free, and she knows she is loved. And that is the only thing that matters.  

I love you, Lee, and Mary and I  can't wait to see you again. 

Your friend, 

Dee

Writing Therapy and YOU GUYS!

Hey Reader(s)!
This is going to be short, sweet, and full of me blubbering like an imbecile.
You've been warned.
So, my third post entitled "Too Awkward to Function" got more than 73,000 +1s. I still refuse to believe that many people actually read the post. It seems surreal. But thank you so so so much to the people that did! I apologize again for how choppy and hard it is to understand, but that's what I'm trying to fix. I cannot vocalize my thoughts or feelings properly, in writing or in speech, because I'm out of practice. I haven't had to do it in such a long time I seriously think I've forgotten how. So, step up to the plate grammar nazis and critics galore! I fully intend to keep writing! What better way than getting critiqued by strangers? My genuine hopes for this blog is that it will help me communicate things better. Or at least get me started on the right path. So please, give all the constructive criticism you want. I will take it gratefully.

I hope to see you all in the next one. Please feel free to comment on any post anytime.
Sincerely,
D

Too Awkward To Function

Dear Reader(s),

You have probably figured out from the last two posts that I am not a natural writer. My sentences, aside from being grammatical catastrophes, have a very odd flow. My wording is too wordy and confusing, I spurt from subject to subject randomly with absolutely no transition. Heck, you might be reading a paragraph about houses and then BOOM- random sentence about beavers. If it hasn't  happened already, consider this a warning for the foreseeable future: it will.

The thing is, it's not just my writing that's choppy and hard to follow. That's how I talk.I stumble on words and occasionally the entirely wrong word will come out in place of the one I wanted. My mother has told me it's because my brain is processing faster than I can speak.I wasn't always this way. I used to talk to everyone about everything with no problem, but I've gotten older it's gotten progressively worse. In 2010, I could look into the eyes of a total stranger and we could have the greatest conversation about anything under the sun. Now if I were to bump into a stranger, not only would I go out of my way not to create any opening for conversation, it would be pain painstakingly obvious, I've reviewed old social media conversations and asked friends for their input, and the verdict is in. At eighteen, I became too awkward to function.

It would be one thing if I just stumbled now and then. Stumbling is fine. Anime has deemed stumbling adorable. But it's not just occasionally, it's almost twenty-four seven. And the more casual I try to be, the worse it gets. The more I stutter and sound like a raving lunatic. At times it's so bad, I've had people stop me mid sentence and tell me to rephrase everything. It's especially bad when I'm talking to strangers or I'm at the store. Oh, lord. It's at it's all time worst in two situations:

A) Checking out at a store.

"Ma'am, would you like paper or plastic?"

"Yes."

..."That didn't answer the question."

B) Ordering food

It's gotten so bad in restaurants, my boyfriend will get my order and tell the waitress for me because otherwise it takes me two minutes to get my order out. On top of the stuttering mumbling mess that is my speech, I'm indecisive, so after I actually manage to say what I mean, I'll change my mind. The very thought of going to Subway stresses me out. Too. Many. Options.

What do you guys do when you're feeling awkward? Do you have issues communicating with others? Join the club, we're getting jackets! :D

That last statement was a lie. I'm poor and can't afford club jackets.

Thanks for reading, lovelies! See you in the next one.

Sincerely,

D

First Blog Post Ever

    Dear Readers,
  I feel the title explains why this entry will be so poorly written- this is my very first blog post ever. Yay!!! Pop the corks on the champagne bottles (or Welch's Sparkling Grape Juice in my case, as I'm not legal yet) and prepare to read what I hope is not the blandest thing ever! Please excuse the letter format, I just feel more comfortable with it. As though I'm writing a letter to a pen pal instead of an article on the internet that tons of people could see. I don't know if it makes sense to you, but I hope it does. So, let's get started, shall we?
     My name is Dee M. Nichol, and I am nineteen years old. I started this blog in hopes of writing daily, if not weekly, about my life. I used to write in those bound composition books every day- poems, diary entries, doodles, short stories, essays- stuff like that. For some reason after I graduated high school, I just stopped. I don't know why, and after almost two years of being out of school, I'm ready to hop back on the horse and give it another go.
      I'm from Leeton, Missouri- an antique little farm town with a population of  almost seven hundred people. That may not seem like much, and believe me- it's not. Because of how small the town is, there are no secrets anywhere. Everyone knows everything about everyone. Open and for the most part, a really nice place to live. I lived there until my first year of high school, and then we moved two hours north to a larger, yet equally quaint farming town called New Franklin. Why is it "New" Franklin, you might (not) be thinking? Well, I'll tell you!
  Originally, there was Franklin, Missouri. Booming with trade and farming in the 1820's, the town was built on a river bed- low level ground right next to the Missouri River. The flood of 1827 demolished Franklin, sending it's residents packing to build on higher ground. Hence why "New " Franklin is so "New". Hahaha.
 I thought that was clever...I guess I should stop now.

Apologies that the post was so short, but thank you so much for reading to this point! I promise to do better in the future. Have a splendid day, dears!
Sincerely,
D