Dear Kevin,

Even though we are fourteen, fifteen years on, I think of you from time to time. I have never forgotten you, nor will I ever. You did to me unspeakable things that shook me to my core and left marks on my soul. How could anyone ever expect me to move on?

I cannot forget that you took me aside and forced me to look at myself in the mirror. You did it harshly, you did it cruelly, you did it in a fashion that reeked of bipolar disorder; but I looked. I looked and saw the woman I had to become, the woman I had to grow up to be. You made sure I grew up fast, with an acid tongue, a love of sarcasm and absolutely no fear of defending myself and the ones I loved most in the world. You made sure I never looked back, to see what might have been if you'd never intervened. Most of all, you shook off the protective covering my parents had placed over me and taught me to see what genetics had placed underneath--that I had chronic depression and it would be something I would have to battle all my life. I never spoke the words "I want to commit suicide" until there was you.

You may have taken my childhood away from me when I was twelve, but I can promise you that one thing you never took away was my love for Val Valentino. My passions may have changed drastically over the last four years and I may have given my heart to another man for the rest of this lifetime, but neither you nor any other man can change the fact that Val is my soulmate--a man I married and loved deeply in previous lifetimes, a man I may one day marry again. I can also tell you definitively that you lied and my heart was right all along--Val does care about more than money: he cares about me. Five years ago, the Goddess reached out Her hands to us and finally brought us together; giving us the chance to prove how much we mean to each other. I have told him countless times, through letters and small deeds how much I love him, and he has returned that love with words and gifts of his own; gifts more precious than diamonds or vacations or money.

I will never thank you for forcing me to grow up, to build up my armor and to see the world for what it really is. I will never forgive you and I will always count you among my enemies. For you see, I might be Dayanara Sanar Ryelle, but there is only one Valentina, and she still lives inside me.

(Completely un)Sincerely,

I didn't watch the Super Bowl last night. I used to watch it when I lived with my mom and when my parents were married--only for the commercials--but since my dad doesn't get into sports, we don't watch, even for that.

So it wasn't until the noon news that I heard about Pete Hoekstra's bullshit. (If by chance you haven't heard about it yourself or haven't seen it on the news, check it out at the Huffington Post.)

After retrieving my jaw from the floor and exclaiming, "That asshole!", I ranted the following. (Note that this isn't the exact rant from earlier this afternoon, as I didn't write it down, but it's similar and I've added a few things.)

By my age, I'm used to the "X sacrifices newborn babies and fluffy bunnies! Vote Y, the voice of the people!" bullshit that usually pops up around election time. But this is beyond the pale.

I don't care what Debbie Stabenow has or hasn't done to save Michigan. I don't care whether you're a Republican, a Democrat or someone who defies labels. I don't care who you think you are: you do not put inappropriate, racist, insensitive, shameful shit like that on the air! Pete Hoekstra clearly demonstrates he's an asshole who will do whatever it takes to get into office. The actress who did the commercial is clearly a bubblebrain who was only in it for the money. (Wonder how much he paid her to shame her own people like that. And whether it was just money, or sex, booze, drugs...whatever she wanted.) Furthermore, whose brilliant idea was it to let this go on the air?! Certainly there are limits as to what can be shown on television, free speech or no.

I stick to what I said earlier: I'm glad I wouldn't recognize Pete Hoekstra on the street if I saw him, because I would smack him into the next zip code faster than he could say "OW!"

I was so pissed that I'm amazed I wasn't hopping up and down in anger. (I sure thought about it, though!) In fact, this is one of those times where I'm pretty sure my profanity vocabulary isn't as extensive as I'd like it to be in order to express my displeasure.

I think I'll just rattle off a bunch of random stuff, so feel free to skip it. (If not, I beg your pardon if it makes absolutely no sense...I'm just..."foaming at the fingertips".)

Shit. Fuck. Bullshit. Utter fucking tripe. Motherfucking bullfrog. Lower than a sow's tits during farrowing. Asshole. Cunt. Lily-livered, snot-brained rockhead with a tiny twig for a penis. Damn. Yellow-bellied, sap-sucking mouse. Lower than a snake's underwear. Dirtbag. Mouse shit. Turdbrain. Slime is ashamed to be categorized with him. Pickled herring brain that isn't fit to lead a marching band of cockroaches out of a paper bag. Ideas dimmer than the toothfairy's ass. Fucks with molehills. Kisses snakes, lizards and other assorted reptiles, amphibians and unrecognizable slimy things. HE'S the one that sacrifices newborn babies and fuzzy bunnies! (I bet he kicks kittens, too. *tear*)

Sometimes, the truth is ugly. I know we all wish it could be as beautiful as Sofia Vergara or Heidi Klum (or whomever you particularly favor); and honestly, this sounds even worse coming from a dreamer like me. But here it is:

I can't follow my dreams. Gods, how I wish I could, but every time I try, something throws itself in my way.

I wanted to go into the Navy or the Air Force, but my IBS stops me from doing that. (Even if there was a chance in hell it could be waivered, all chances went out the door when I was diagnosed with panic disorder. Of that, I'm sure.) I wanted to be a Naturopathic physician, but I couldn't crack chemistry. I wanted to be a performance psychologist, but I didn't realize that clinical psychology programs are extremely competitive. Now I've given up on nursing, because pharmacology is all or nothing--90% in all math portions or you fail the class. And that makes the stakes way too high for me.

I don't know. Maybe I run away too easily. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying and failing chemistry and nursing is obviously not the best place for someone who does not have math for a strong point. (It's not just pharma--the information they gave us at the start of the class said that if you got into the nursing program, every class would have a math portion before the end of the semester. And eventually, they stop offering workshops for the struggling students, because they figure you know your stuff by then.) Maybe I should've kept trying to get into psychology grad programs and not gotten scared off after Pepperdine rejected me and after seeing the acceptance statistics for Central Michigan University. Yet I feel kind of guilty for wasting the time of the people I'm asking for recommendations if I constantly get rejected.

So I've decided to go into a field that I constantly see on the "high demand" lists Yahoo Careers periodically puts out. (Although now that I've started mentioning it to people, I haven't seen any.) I've decided to become a paralegal, kind of specializing in family law, as I imagine that's probably the next biggest need after criminal law. I figure if Yahoo keeps mentioning paralegals on list after list, they must really be in demand. Besides, my therapist says her cousin is a paralegal who lives in Arizona and has no problem getting work--and she's paid relatively well, too.

But I have another idea bobbling around in my mind. Still trying to get a masters degree--in any psychological subject--so I can teach. At first, I wasn't really keen on the idea of teaching, but my mom reminded me that if I teach at the college level, the kids are paying to be there, so they'll (generally) behave. Mom thinks I'd be a good teacher and my counselor agrees with her. I still don't know if I want to teach (despite the fact that it might be interesting to teach a subject that I enjoyed, like abnormal psych), but I do want a masters. Partially to feel special, I think. I've outdone my father by simply getting a bachelors degree, and I have to admit that it's very likely that I want to outdo my mother by getting a masters.

If I do decide to try for a graduate program again--and it's very likely I will, by 2015 or so--I'm going to try a smaller, less well-known school. Nova Southeastern has an M.S. general psychology--completely online and based in Florida, just like my undergrad program. (In fact, unless I'm greatly mistaken, I think some of my Everglades professors graduated from Nova.) And if I fail to get in there? There's always the University of Phoenix. (*tiny raspberry*)

It's funny how, when someone says that they want to banish a certain word or phrase, that's exactly when it becomes relevant to you.

Take, for example, "the new normal". It was on Lake Superior State University's banishment list this year, because--as one submitter put it:

The phrase is often used to justify bad trends in society and to convince people that they are powerless to slow or to reverse those trends. This serves to reduce participation in the political process and to foster cynicism about the ability of government to improve people's lives. Sometimes the phrase is applied to the erosion of civil liberties. More often, it is used to describe the sorry state of the U.S. economy. Often hosts on TV news channels use the phrase shortly before introducing some self-help guru who gives glib advice to the unemployed and other people having financial difficulties.

Funny...just when y'all want to banish it, "the new normal" suddenly becomes relevant to me. For me, the new normal is learning to deal with the fact that Depression invited its cousin Panic Disorder to come live with us. Permanently.

Maybe the signs were always there. MedicineNet tells me that nausea is one of the symptoms of a panic attack. If that's the case, I've been having panic attacks on and off since sixth grade--ever since the stress of having a crush on a boy at band camp made me nauseated, throw up and altogether miserable every morning for a week.

If that's not a true panic attack, then I can tell you what is--pins and needles in my hands and feeling like I'm having trouble breathing. I've had that several times in the past, especially when I'm scared about something. In fact, when one of those types of attacks happened when I thought I was having an allergic reaction last fall, it turned into full blown hyperventilation. (I thought I was taking deep, calming breaths--despite the fact that the tingling sensation was continuing to spread--but when I got to the emergency room, the triage nurse told me I was hyperventilating. Scary!)

Either way, I know what a panic attack looks like and feels like now...that's why I'm on medication, after all.

At first, it was hard for me to deal with the new normal. I went from being paranoid that I hadn't done the right thing in committing myself to a mental hospital to despairing over the fact that I would have panic attacks--and medications for them--for the rest of my life. The most surprising internal battle to come out of all this? My napping habits.

Somewhere along the way in life, I got the idea that it wasn't okay for a twenty-six year old to take daily naps. Maybe it's because I'm young and am supposed to be full of energy. Maybe it's because we're trained to think that only "old people" take frequent naps. Or maybe it was because I only took a couple of naps a week before this. Either way, I got the concept drilled into my head...and now I'm having a bitch of a time getting it out.

Plain and simple: my medications may cause drowsiness. It says so on the side of both bottles.

More complicated: my medications depress my central nervous system. By what I understand of it, slowing down your CNS slows you down.

Think of it this way: your central nervous system is like the internet. (Or maybe more like the "information superhighway", as they used to call the net.) The CNS sends messages all over your body at the speed of light--if not faster. (I actually have no idea how fast the CNS goes.) It tells your body what to do, where to do it, when to do it, how fast to do it, how often to do it...and whatever else your body needs to know. The average person's CNS can be likened to the highest speed of broadband there is available--blink and the page is loaded. But for someone like me, who is on CNS-depressing medication...well, it's like my body is running on dial-up. It doesn't exactly take me forever to do things--I run at normal speed when I have enough energy. But the problem is keeping my energy. Sometimes, your dial-up connection just up and quits. And so do I.

My recent schedule consists of getting up at ten, reading the paper, checking my email on my BlackBerry, reading part of my book (if I have time) and then watching the first two games on The Price is Right before making my bed and getting into the shower. After I dress, it's time for lunch (and the news), fifteen minutes of The People's Court (the most important part of the noon news is fifteen minutes long...and my dad likes PC) and then Who Wants to be a Millionaire?. When that's all over, it's on to "washing up" (brushing teeth, etc.) and fitting in whatever I can before Peep at 1:30. At that point, if I still have enough "go juice" left, I go out into the living room, sit on the couch and write until I'm tired. I nap until five, and then I have enough energy for the rest of the night (which lasts 'til about two for me).

Would I have my energy back if I wasn't on medications? Probably. But as much as that annoying part of my mind might argue that it's "not cool" for me to nap every day, I have to say--daily naps are a whole hell of a lot better than daily panic attacks.

I've been reading Freemasons for Dummies and it's a relatively fascinating book. There are some dry parts, but I suppose that's to be expected when you're reading an introductory book on an order that traces its lineage back to the Temple of Solomon (or so it claims).

Anywho, Masonry makes me think of the Order of the Eastern Star...and precisely what annoys me about OES.

1. All OES meetings must have at least two Masons present. No Masons, no meeting. Now I realize that OES was created as a sort of a "Freemasons Ladies Auxiliary" (and not an actual auxiliary, the way I understand it) and they probably wanted to present a veneer of respectability for their meetings, but that still pisses me off. If OES is meant to be the ladies branch of Masonry (or as close as one can get to it and still stay "in the mainstream"), then chapters should be able to meet with one or even zero Masons present, if it pleases them.

2. Despite the similar requirement to simply believe in a divine being, OES is almost entirely Christian oriented. In Masonry, it's forbidden to discuss matters of religion and politics. Although a lot of the symbolism comes from the bible and they require a "book of law" to be present and open at all times, Christianity is not highly emphasized. Just as long as you believe in a higher being and have the book of law in its appointed spot (whether it's the bible, the koran, the vedas or anything else), you and your lodge are in good shape. But the whole point of OES is its biblical connections--each of the five points of the star represent a different woman of the bible. (Even though two names are made up and one of the two's story is also made up.) I guess it irritates me because the men are allowed to have a fraternity free of all talk and presence of Christianity, but the women are stuck with a sorority that's rife with it.

3. If you want to join OES, you have to figure out which man/men in your family are/were Master Masons. This one really cheeses me off. It doesn't matter that my great-grandmother was a lifetime member--if I want to join (which I'm not sure I do anymore), I have to figure out who it was that was the Master Mason in Granny's family and hope that particular relationship to me is on the acceptable list. And all I know is it wasn't my great-granddad. (That isn't mentioned in the book I'm reading [I've already skimmed over the OES section]--I actually got it from the OES secretary for Michigan.)

I'd just say screw it (and screw irregularity) and just join Le Droit Humaine or one of the other co-Masonry organizations, but there aren't any lodges closer than the Detroit area.