Time changes everything.

Lately, I've been on a letter kick. This meaning, I've been thinking of how others affect my life and what I would say to them, almost as if it were the last thing I would want them to know. So today, I'll be writing to an old, yet new friend.

Dear Jack,

You are that guy. That guy I'm in love with, but I don't want to date. The guy I would do anything for, because you make me smile no matter what. You're the guy I can text at 3AM and expect an answer within the next 10 minutes. You're the one who talks to me for hours on end about nothing.

You're also the guy who changed this summer and has not been the same since. You're the one who talked to me on my birthday but didn't wish me a happy one. You're the one who said if you moved, you would never speak to your friends again, and you wouldn't care. You're the one who broke my heart.

You have helped me through many troubling times in my life, and I could never take that away. You've always been reliable and that one constant in my life. I don't think you realize how much you mean to others.. I guess I'm just hoping that if you did know, would you still remain a recluse? Would you still fail to answer my calls, be a confidant? Would you still hurt me the way you do?

You're an amazing guy, nothing could compare. But, why can't you see that she isn't the one for you? This is destroying you, and you don't even realize. Why can't you see your worth? She cannot make you any better of a person than you already are. Why can't you open your eyes and realize that you can do so much better? I love you too much to see you hurt like this.

You've been my best friend for years. But lately, I feel as if we are drifting farther and farther apart. I loathe this feeling. I may joke with you, and act like nothing's wrong. I may seem like this independent woman who knows no fears. But inside, I'm still the scared little girl who calls you crying when she and her best friend got into a fight. I'm still the little girl who wants to hear your comforting words.

I miss you so much. I wish things could be the same.


Love you always and forever.

Thanks, America.

"Cuz I'm fat." That's what you told me.
"Why can't fat be beautiful?" I said.
"Because it's not." you replied.

Read that ladies and gentlemen. Read it, and weep. Weep for yourselves, your family, for those who believe this each day and starve themselves. Weep for the ones who take their lives trying to conform to this belief.
Read it, and let it sink in.

I read this myself, and my mind goes in many different directions. I want to scream and tell everyone that BIG IS BEAUTIFUL! Then I remember the size 4 jeans hanging in my closet waiting to be worn when I lose enough weight to fit in them.

This, here, is my America. Adults say they would never want to be a teenager in today's day and age. Adults say teenagers are spoiled and too mature for their age. Adults talk and talk and talk. Adults rarely listen.

Each day, girls look in the mirror and sprout a feeling of contempt for their bodies. Each day, girls don't even look in the mirror.

Yet, in the mirror is the peanut gallery, scorning and ridiculing all who are above a size 2. In the mirror are the faceless murderers of society who point their fingers and blame depression and the kids who killed themselves.

Nice to think that society has us believing fat isn't beautiful, and that when they pressure us too much to conform, it's yet again our faults.

Society, you put shame to the human race. I hope you're happy that you're producing a genocide of teenagers who are just a little bit different, yet perfect all the same.

Yet, everyone forgets the most beautiful woman on the world, Marilyn Monroe, was a size 14.

Each Day is a Challenge.

So recently, I received this internet "Challenge" to write a letter to someone who has influenced me greatly in life. So, today ladies and gentlefolk, I think I'll be writing about a good friend of mine.

Libby,

You and I have been through so many tough times together. We've laughed so much, we've joked and play fought. We've cried together. I've sat and watched you stay strong for your family, when all else failed. I've watched you become a beautiful girl right before my eyes. We've transformed so much since I first met you.
Your smile has affected me in ways I cannot fathom. It's brought humor and joy to my life. It's brought relief and serenity. You have truly been an amazing friend.
You have always held me up through it all; until last year made you weak. Last year, I held you up for the first time. I walked into the funeral home, and you just looked at me and crumbled. You sobbed into me, and I held you against your worst nightmare at that point, yourself. I would've held you all night if it would take the pain away. If I could make the tears slow down, maybe your trembling lips stop quivering. If I could take the pain out of your voice.

I was the only one you told. The only one who knew why you started missing school. The only one who knew your mom progressively got worse, and worse.
I was the only one who could help you hold this burden. I made up excuses, fake illnesses to explain your absences from school.
"Libby never gets sick!" they told me each day. I just said "Yeah, I'm not really sure."
Each day, I texted you and called you.
Then, you told me she wouldn't come home.
Two days later, she would never come home again.
Three days later, we would never be closer.
Nine months later, I'm the only one who talks to you about your mom.
It's so funny and ironic how tragedy brings the close, closer, and sets the boundaries for friends and acquaintances.
So here's to you, Libby. Thank you for being my rock, but remember, tables turn just as quickly as time.

Batter Up

As a competitive softball player as well as a hopeless romantic, I find many relationships between the two.
So today ladies and gentlemen, I will explain to you that a person's bat can tell a lot about a person.

When you look a a bat, the first thing you see are the colors, the design, the weight.
Mine, for example, is white, green and purple.
Simple, yet bold.
Blunt, yet making a statement.
Then, you look at the barrel. You'll see its war paint, forever scuffed onto it's metal flesh. Each stain marks a place in history. 
Practice, a tryout, a championship game.


The red dye from the laces represents the blood and hardship she goes through in life.
Then you notice the placement of the scuffs. Right in the sweet spot, and you know she stays in her comfort zone, and is afraid to try new things. 
If they reach the end, it means she sticks her neck out far too often, but apparently makes some progress if there's documentation. 
It means she will go out of her way to do what's right. 
It means she will leave her comfort zone and make a sacrifice if needed.


And if there's nothing on the closest part to your hands, such as my own bat, it means you don't take anything close. 
It means you need your space, and you freeze when you realize something's getting too close to you.


It shows that you might be afraid of commitment, unless you're really sure you'll get it.
 But it doesn't mean you won't try; Your bat can't record the amount of times you've swung and m i s s e d.


I don't know what I'm trying to say, but I hope you can at least understand; I can't.