When did I grow up?

So, I just realized how old I am. I turned 19 on Friday. Sure, that's not old, but my friends are getting married! Rachel Swearingen is now Rachel Brewer. (Brewer? Seriously?) She got married in September. Valen's getting married in January. I missed her bridal shower yesterday because I didn't feel like going home. Rachel apparently thinks she's married. The other day she told me she had a husband and daughter now (which I guess means she's too busy to reply to my suicidal text messages). And Alicia and I have been dating for almost 7 months. That's a long time. I think I'm going to marry her. I'm terrified. I mean, I want to... but I'm terrified. This is all too soon. When did I grow up?

Election Day, '08

There is no one awake to answer my calls. I have received no replies to my text messages. It's 3:30 AM on November 5, 2008. Barrack Obama has been declared the forty-fourth President of the United States of America. He is the first Black man to be elected to the highest rank in our government. I will be nineteen in a week, but I did not vote. I am a republican, but I couldn't bring myself to vote for a party that denies me the right to marry. As much as I long for the day when I can walk down the isle with my beautiful bride, I could not bring myself to vote for a party that denies the rights of unborn children. I couldn't bring myself to make the treck back home to cast an uncertain vote. I was given many opportunities to switch my voter registration to my college town, but was too annoyed by the constant nagging of the college representatives of both parties to do so. My first opportunity to vote for the president, and I chose not to. In spite of the insistence of the media that every vote counts, I do not believe that my vote could have possibly changed anything. And I'm not sure I care. I do regret not exercising my right to vote that the women before me worked so hard for. However, I don't think that decisions such as these should be made without extensive knowledge of the issues. I was told I should vote for Mickey Mouse, just to vote. There's no way in hell I was going to do that. The power to vote is too great to be wasted on a joke like that.

I was at Alicia's apartment when I heard the results of the election. My heart filled with dread and I knew I need to return to my own apartment as soon as possible. As my car rolled to a stop at the base of the Bloomsburg University campus, I was horrified to see hundreds of people crowding the street. The police cars pushed them to the sidewalks in time for me to pass through. My heart raced. Panic seemed through me as I raced up the stairs to my apartment. I informed my roommates of the crowd coming our way. Kelsey grabbed her camera and ran to the seen with me. A hundred people had gathered around the fountain across the street from us and a hundred more were still coming. I was in awe at the sight. People of every race were gathering to celebrate the election of our first black president. The crowd began its march back up to campus, but I hung behind. Once my panic had mostly subsided, I stepped out of myself and followed behind the group. Police from our town and neighboring boroughs tried to block off the streets, but they were no match for this jubilant parade. The crowd gathered once again in front of Carver Hall at the base of campus, ignoring the police warnings to move out of the road. They feared a riot, but this was the most peaceful and joyous gathering I have ever witnessed. I leaned myself against a tree in order to take in the sight. Hundreds of college students cheered, "O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma!" To my right I heard one guy sarcastically cheering along, "O-sa-ma!" This is as expected. The similarity in the name had been pointed out since the beginning of Obama's campaign. The crowd cheered on. One African-American girl sang spirituals and other songs of peace. As the police became more annoyed, I saw a small group of African-American students running away from the scene. As one female member of the group lagged behind, another called out, "We're the first to go to jail! Don't you understand?" To which this slower girl replied, "Obama has made us all equal!" Then the speech began: "I had a dream..." The words sent chills down my spine. This was the common feeling. The dream that Dr. Martin Luther King talked about so long ago had finally been accomplished. Obama has made us all equal... I hope.

Cocoon

I keep making mistakes. I keep going backward. I feel like I'm stuck on one of those moving sidewalks, and I'm trying to walk backward. I'm not sure that's an accurate analogy. I feel like shit. Nothing I do is really right. I haven't even tried writing since the semester started. I'm failing at least 3 of my classes. Actually, make that 4. I'm not going to class. I'm not turning in my work on time. Normally I make it to class at least for the tests, but not this semester. I missed the second test in Methods. I've missed two tests in ASL. Ms. Klein never got my midterm paper for Deaf Culture. I don't know why, but she didn't. It doesn't matter. I only wrote half of it anyway. Why am I sucking so bad at this? My current GPA is 2.66. I got B's in both my summer classes. I was so proud of those B's. I never thought I would be happy about a B. What's happening to me? I don't journal anymore. I tried, but I felt like there was nothing I could write that would summarize this semester. I just need to pass all my classes. I can't worry about my GPA at this point. I just need to pass. Unfortunately, school isn't the only thing I'm worrying about.

I'm typing up my notes from my Deaf Culture class. Ms. Klein used this metaphor about a butterfly. The caterpillar is the process of learning. The cocoon is that time when you face your struggles. The butterfly symbolizes flying free when you know who you are. Who am I? I've never known how to answer that. Sure, there are my textbook answers: I'm a girl. I'm a Christian. I grew up in the South. Then there's all that other stuff: I'm a lesbian, a cutter, a poet. I'm clinically depressed. I deal with anxiety on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis. I can sleep for upwards of 15 hours a day. I'm a wannabe poet. I'm a decent singer (who can't get out of bed to go to choir practice at 12:30 in the afternoon). But who am I, really? This summer, at the CCM house, Jason supposedly described me as "a depressed lesbian." I suppose that's how people see me. Kelsey calls me her "dikey roommate." But is that all I am? I'm white. Is that an active part of my identity? Is my white-ness as important as my gay-ness? Does my 1% Irish-ness matter at all? What about my tend toward obsession? Or the fact that I like being drunk a little too much? How about that I smoke secretly at night? Does my rocky relationship with my parents explain my outburts toward my girlfriend? Why do I act the way I do? I know I should be better, but I don't know how to change. I feel so lost. Not that that's any different from the last 18 years. I'll be 19 in a week and a half. Am I still a teenager? Does it matter?

I'm a bad student. I'm a bad daughter. I'm a bad girlfriend. I'm a bad person. Or, at least, that's how I see myself.