Letters of a Misplaced Buckeye

Rascal Flatts. I figured a song about goodbyes was fitting since this is my last post. I guess now I should start wrapping up this blog. Not only is it due soon, but I also have nothing more to say after this post. I have talked about all the major events in my life except for the update of where I am now. I started dating this amazing man about 8 months ago. Officially, we've been together almost 7 months. However, we got engaged in December. December 19th to be exact. Trust me, I know how crazy that sounds. This is when adults cue in to tell me how crazy I am, and how I am being a child. I'm too young to know what love is. Here is the thing, I love him more than I have loved anyone. His name is Evan. He is everything I have ever looked for in a husband. I see him and I just about cream myself. He's kind, smart, caring, and his love is totally pure. I don't know what I would do without him. Because of Evan, I have the other love of my life: my dog, Ponderosa. On one...

I have been writing these posts as an assignment for an English class. I know. How crazy must I be to WILLINGLY allow a professor read my deepest, darkest secrets in the depth of my life. Well, you may be right. However, I don't care anymore. I don't care who knows anymore. It's my life. It's who I am. Anyway, for the assignment, I decided to write this blog about my life in the voice of Ida/Dora from the book Dora: A Headcase.  Well, this post is for her. Dora, You know, talking like you is a lot harder than it seems. You're rude and cruel, and you make everything into an immature, usually sexual, game. That's just it: you're immature. You're a young teenager who acts like a young teenager. A damaged one, one that has been through a lot, but still. I am a 21 year old woman. I was in your place once. I was younger than you, for sure, but I was damaged once. The thing is, I never had the mind to make the mundane into a sexual situation. See, I didn...

Justin Moore. It's a good song. You should listen and you'll understand it's relevance a little later in the post. I hope you've realized by now that I may or may not be telling you everything. I know, shocking. Someone can withhold the truth on a blog? Let's just say this blog is more than I have told most people in my life. Yes, you may not get all of the information, especially since I have a keen eye for keeping the topic within the depressing part of my life. However, that is up to me. You have no say in what you hear or what you don't. You also continue to read despite that fact. So, by all means, continue. There isn't a whole lot left for me to tell you at this point. Perhaps, I can begin with my...unconventional title of this collaboration of the bullshit I call my life. When I was 15, I moved from my lifelong home in Powell, Ohio. I left a majority of my family, all of my friends, and every part of this country I actually knew. I had to pick up an...

Yeah, that's right. This one actually has quotes around it. It's a lyric, not the song. The song is Steven by Jake Miller. You probably don't know it, but there have been times I listened to this song on repeat for hours. Why? Well, I'll answer that soon enough, won't I? I hope you realize what this post is probably about. Yup, that's right: suicide. Because I haven't talked about enough depressing shit so far. But, see, here is the difference: for the previous suicide entry, it was my friend which makes it sad and depressing. This one, is about me. So, I can say whatever I want, however I want. Here is my story. My first suicide attempt was when I was 13. Yeah, you read that right. My sister Julie had a really bad Crohn's disease flare up, so we had a bunch of pain killers around the house. I started cutting again, but it wasn't helping. I felt alone. My best friends went to different schools and were involved in different activities than I was,...

Linkin Park. RIP. I've always loved this song. I know, shocking; the depressed girl likes depressing music, way to fit stereotypes. If you don't know it, listen to it. I realize I am getting a little repetitive, here. You get it, I've lost a lot of people in my life. Well, I need to finish my list. The last one is also the last of my grandparents: my grandma on my mom's side. Yes, I lost my MawMaw on my dad's side, but she died long before I was born. My Grandma, my last chance to have a grandparents see me graduate, or really do anything significant in my life, died the April before I graduated high school. When she died, I didn't just mourn her: I mourned the fact that both of the people who worked hard enough and set aside money for me to go to college debt-free, are both dead. It was watching my visions of someone saying they are proud of me washed away by the fiery depths of hell. Yes, I have my parents, but it's different. If you have grandparents, y...

The Beatles. Classic. So far, I have basically tracked you through my life from my first tragedy through 2009 (roughly). Next, my Great Uncle Bob (on my dad's side) passed of old age. He was the stereotypical scrooge of an old man. Like I'm talking answered the phone with "what do you want?" kind of grumpy old man. I was never super close with him, but he was always very sweet to my very innocent and pure self (not so much anymore. Oh, if he only knew... More on that later). I would sit on his lap and he would tell me stories, nothing monumental in that relationship, but still good family I saw fairly often. Basically, all I remember is the fact he died near St. Patrick's Day (the 14th of March to be exact), so I got to pick out a little St. Patrick's Day doll to give him in the nursing home. My parents and I took it to him, and I gave it to him, and he loved it. He sat it next to him in his bed. He died the next day, and his girlfriend, MaryJane, decided to...

...When September Ends. Green Day. If you don't know this song, I have no words for you other than go get out of the deep dark vagina hole you live in and listen to it. This accurately describes my whole life. Yeah, I have some good times, but it seems like a never-ending circle of darkness and depression sometimes. Chronologically, I got a little ahead of myself. I know, sue me. So, after my cousin Keith died, about a year and a half later to be exact, I also lost my Grandpa (my mom's dad). This was somewhat expected by my parents and mom's side of the family, but, as you can imagine, people don't really tell young kids that their Grandpa has already lived about 10 years longer than anticipated and could drop dead at any moment. Yeah, no. I mean, if that's how you roll, kudos to you. That's some ballsy shit. My grandparents on my mom's side lived in Arizona my whole life, so I didn't see them extremely often. The only time I really saw them was when...

This one is by Lupe Fiasco and Guy Sebastian. Go listen to it before continuing. Seriously. I am trusting you to not read on before listening. Then, leave the tab open and come back to read. Yeah, not really a stereotypical song people listen to. Or, maybe it is. I don't know. It sounds like a bad relationship, right? Well, for this one, I need to change your perspective. Think of "her" as self-harm or cutting. Now, listen again. That is how I listen to this song. I started cutting when I was 12, and I haven't stopped since. Don't worry or report me; I know it isn't healthy. I know it doesn't actually solve anything. I know "one slip and I could bleed out." Here's the thing: this is the only thing I feel I have control over sometimes. I have control. I can make it start or stop. No one else. For once in my life, I had the control. It wasn't my parents yelling at me that I'm doing something wrong. It wasn't my teachers saying...

I hope you are starting to see a theme in my entry titles. This song, my friends is from Paramore. Look it up, and you shall return with a new insight. Well, I hope or else I'll be fucked. Broken. That's a common feeling in my life. I had a friend of mine die when we were 12. She was broken, and I think I have been ever since. Okay, her life was FUCKED. So don't judge her based on this. You didn't know her. Hell, I feel like I hardly know her. Her parents despised her, despite her amazing artistic ability and brilliant mind for a 12 year old. They also praised her (now) ex-drug addict, jock of a brother. I guess (actually, I know), that is what drove her to killing herself. Yeah. Twelve years old. She slit both of her wrists. Again, Thirteen Reasons Why would greatly benefit you right now. Except, I found her. Her brother and I found her. She called me one evening after dinner, her parents M.I.A. as per usual, asking to hang out. So, I went over to her house like I alw...

Alright, before I start my next rant, you're probably wondering why I named this entry "Nobody's Home." My answer: look up the song by Avril Lavigne. Don't fuss, just do it then come back and read. You can add a new tab to whatever device you're reading this from. It isn't hard. I believe in your abilities. Now, where was I? As time went on, my sisters and I grew apart, in case you didn't catch the context clues from my first post and need everything spelled out for you. They all ended up going to Arizona State for college, and I had to pick up and move by my sophomore year of high school. I'm getting ahead of myself. If I remember correctly, my next big event was when I had just turned 10, and it was my Spring Break vacation. That's when my cousin died. PawPaw at least died of natural causes (heart attack), but Keith was very sudden. Most of my Spring Break was spent in and out of the hospital, never actually being able to see him or say good...

Alright, so, here I am writing this blog. Cliche, I know. My life is a series of events leading to this very moment: sitting in bed with my dog and writing this. Obviously, it started at birth, but who the fuck remembers when they are born? I don't. If you do, congrats! You're lying anyway. Honestly, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here. I'm not crazy, but most people are treated as such. Cool, I'm not alone. So why does it feel like it? I'll come back to that later. It all started when I was about 5 years old in Columbus, Ohio. That's when it all started: the constant loss of people in my life. And guess what! It hasn't stopped since. First, it was my PawPaw (dad's dad). That was the first time I saw my dad cry. My dad is a pretty tall dude, acts all tough; he's very stereotypical "support the family" kind of dad. Picture if Sam Elliot and Jerry Orbach had a kid, but heavier and 6'4". Scary right? Yeah, ask the two bo...