Home is wherever I'm with you.

I knew I was getting ahead of myself

but I couldn't help but believe that the whole thing was set in stone, and that she was coming.

I'm having a birthday party this weekend in...celebration? We will say recognition of my 17th birthday that looms forth on Tuesday, November 17th. Lindsey was hoping to be able to make it, but the flights just are not going to work out. I know this is entirely out of her hands and that she would be here in a second if she could. This knowledge however, could do nothing to counter the unsteadiness that I have been fighting for the last several weeks.

I held on as long as I could, not speaking more than a few necessary words when my father picked Meredith and I up from our friend's birthday dinner. I am so grateful for Meredith. There is no one else in this world who can understand the pain more than her. She gracefully filled my silence and understood it entirely.

I couldn't hold on anymore upon entering my house. I got in the shower and cried raging tears. I cried for Lindsey, for how much I miss her. I cried for the disgusting turn of events that have left me without her, without all of them. I cried for Marisa, I miss her so much. I cried for Morgan and her honesty. I cried for Natalie's humor, and Paige's kindness. I wept for Caitie, Rachel, Kate, Carolyn, Savana, Caitlin, Jessica. For Andy and Jase and Charlie and Connor and JJ. The jerk even slithered into my thoughts for a few moments and forced even more tears out of me. I cried for my parents, for always disappointing them, for treating them poorly. I cried for the physical distance between myself and a sorely missed sister.

I cried for being a different person. For being some I do not recognize mentally, physically, emotionally, academically, and spiritually.

I cried, I cried, I wept.

I know things will get better. I know it and believe it. It's just such a vague feeling of hopefulness, not a real, substantial comfort. It's a distant light, not a warm embrace of familiarity.

"And I know that it's a wonderful world. But I can't feel it right now."

Seventy Eight.

I've never gotten a C on an essay before. In fact, I have difficulty recalling a time when I earned anything less than an A. It's not the grade that upsets me, for grades rarely upset me anymore. It's simply the fact that writing is what I adore, what I treasure, what brings me joy. To be told that you don't excel in the realm you care most about is incredibly discouraging.

I don't wish to excel in writing so that I can be the best, I just want to feel valuable. I realize I'd be foolish to let one meaningless grade deplete my confidence, but it's hard to not be upset.