Why Don't We Talk About Saturday?,

Since it's Holy Week, I thought I'd talk about it real fast.

We all know what happened Good Friday.  Jesus was arrested.  He was taken into the Roman courts before Pontius Pilate, who sent Him back to the Jewish courts.  Then he was sent to Golgotha, the place of the skull, to be crucified (Matthew 26:47 - Matthew 27:26).

The Bible says that at noon, the skies got dark and the Earth started to shake.  The temple veil was torn from top to bottom to show that no mortal man had absolutely "nothing" to do it.  And as Jesus cried out "It is finished! (John 19:30), the people realized that He was no ordinary man.

He was taken down from the cross, prepared for burial, and placed in the tomb to be buried at a later time.

We all know what happened Easter Sunday.  He arose.  Escaped the tomb and showed himself to his friends, disciples, and rumored 500 others- not just believers, but also cynics- before he ascended into Heaven.  With his resurrection, He proved that He was none other than the son of God.

But what about Saturday?  Well, after some extensive reading, the only thing I could come up with is this:  Saturday was about preparing.  The day between the promise and the fulfillment of the promise.

As it says, Pilate pretty much told the Pharisees and high priests to seal his tomb until Sunday, since they didn't have time on that Friday/Saturday to properly dress him for burial (thanks, Sabbath!).  The only reasoning they sealed the tomb was because they were afraid that Jesus's disciples would steal his body in the night and essentially "fake" His resurrection.

While the people of Earth were mourning, it says this in Ephesians:  "When he ascended on high, he took many captives and gave gifts to his people. (Ephesians 4:8)"  When He died, Satan was stripped of his captives and He rescued the righteous ones, from the beginning of time to that very moment.  He pretty much put death to death.  Dang, Jesus! 

But with this information, I want you to think of something:  do you have struggles in your life that you feel like aren't being answered or taken care of by God?  Do you feel ignored?  Like you've been living on a prayer (oh, we're halfway there...)?

Throughout studying the means of Holy Saturday, I realized something:  God could've resurrected Jesus as soon as He took His last breath.  He could've let Jesus not get crucified.  He could've.  But as you can see, He didn't.

Maybe what you're going through right now is your waiting period.  You feel at your lowest, like no one is coming the rescue.  Like you're stuck in your tomb.  But it's coming.  Your Friday has passed, your Saturday is here, and your Sunday is quickly approaching.

Saturday was a day between the promise and the fulfillment of the promise.  And if this is where you are in your walk now, I pray that you stand on this truth.  You're in the preparation process.  And before you know it, your time of celebration will be here.

March 11th: The End of an Era,

Almost two years ago, three days after my 19th birthday, I remember waking up, going to the old silo building on Zuck Road, and getting these little metal death traps called braces cemented in my mouth.  After two and a half hours of failed attempts to install my expander and headgear, thinking up a last-minute plan to avoid jaw surgery, and countless other unfortunate events, I was left in the review room with a "How to Take Care of Your New Braces" video and thirteen teddy bears on the wall.  And I cried.  Why?  Because I knew, as a nineteen year old woman, I was now an outcast. I felt ugly, and my teeth were even more of an eyesore.

Throughout this process, though, as my teeth were shifting, I was shifting too.  In this two years, I've definitely changed a lot. And it's kind of freaky to think about.  Sure, I've physically changed, gaining decent amount of weight and not the most beautiful skin, but there's been a bigger change internally.  My braces used to hold me back from so many things. People, events, spontaneous outings... I was scared of it all. It's kind of funny to think that at this moment last year or even two years ago, I was afraid. I'm still scared of some social situations, but not as much as I was before. I've become a more confident, outgoing, and overall happier version of the person I previously was. And I'm loving every second of it.

So tomorrow, when I go the old silo building on Zuck Road for my second to last appointment and get these little miracle workers off my teeth, get them all polished and clean, and throw a retainer in that'll give me a lisp for a few days, I know I'll cry. Not just because I'll be in pain or because I'll have beautiful teeth.  But because I'm ending an era of my life. This Tuesday is the close of a chapter in my life that I've been so grateful to have, though a little painful. I can't even express how grateful I am for this part of my life. It's been real, it hasn't been too fun, but it's something I'll always carry with me.

These past two years have been amazing; I can't imagine what this next journey will be!  Here's to a new chapter in my life, full of self-confidence and loving myself and everyone around me!

Why I Probably Won't Be Drinking on my 21st

Today marks three months until my 21st birthday.  And from what I've seen for most of my life, turning 21 is probably one of the momentous birthdays, mostly because you can start drinking... and people seem to love to get a kick out of that!  A lot of people recently have been asking what I'm going to do for my 21st birthday, like what my plans are and their more important question: what will my first drink as a legal adult be?  And my answers?  I'm probably not doing anything, unless some people really want to get together, and it's almost certain that I won't have a drink at all for my birthday.

Now, before I go on, I don't want anyone to think that I'm condoning anyone who drinks.  And if you think my views are based on my religious faith, you are very wrong.  Okay, so anyways...

As a kid, I was surrounded by a negative influence when it comes to drinking.  My dad was a very heavy drinker, taking me to bars every weekend, almost making names like "Bill's" and "Star" second homes to me.  In the past twenty years, he's so dependent on alcohol to live his daily life that if he doesn't consume it, he gets real bad seizures.  Seeing an influence like that pretty much set in stone at a very young age that drinking would not be in my future anytime soon.

In high school, there were a decent amount of kids that would go out and drink after football games or homecoming.  And that's totally normal!  Everyone has their groups in high school that do those things.  But I remember being that one kid who wanted to scream at them and be like, "Guys!  Look what you're going to do to yourself!" and show them a picture of my dad.  As a bullied high school kid with no friends, though, all it would do is paint a bigger target on my back, so I never said a word.

And now, being graduated and out of school, I see the effects alcohol has on former friends.  Some are still pretty normal and I love talking to them, but there are some that I can't even be around anymore.  My family always says that my father was a kind and generous guy, but only when he was sober.  As soon as he had a drink in his hand, he was a completely different person.  It really changes people, and I never really noticed it until I saw it in my friends that I knew for years, being reunited with them for the first time in years and seeing a completely different person.  I imagine it being like being told something completely opposite from what you've always known, like the color green is actually called pink.  (I don't know, I tried thinking of a good analogy but I couldn't think of anything.)  I sometimes get picked on for feeling uncomfortable around people while they're drinking and I think I understand why:  people are different when they drink, and I don't like it.  It's uncomfortable for me, personally, and if drinking is ever involved, I'd rather remove myself from the situation so not only I'm uncomfortable, but they're not uncomfortable with me being uncomfortable, if that makes sense.

Instead of getting wasted and not remembering anything from my 21st birthday, I want to be surrounded by people I like and reflect on the past 365 days I've lived.  Tell stories, laugh, cry, take silly pictures, sing, dance... maybe hold a dog.  It's a miracle I'm even here in the first place.  What's the point of celebrating if you're not going to remember it?  I'm totally cool with celebrating the past 21 years I've been blessed to wake up and walk the Earth with people that appreciate my presence in their lives instead of celebrating the fact that I can hold animals at animal shelters and drink alcohol.

Doing Things for Yourself (aka What I Learned in High School),

Whether you had a great or miserable experience, I bet everyone remembers their high school experience.  I remember being a young, stupid girl in high school.  I was insecure with myself, hardly had any friends until senior year, and practically liked half of my graduating class.  But didn't every girl find the cute boy in health class or the guy that helps push you in a wheelchair for a few days easily crushable at 16?!

But I also remember the segregation I felt.  The bullies.  The comments girls and guys alike made about me.  My teeth were funny.  My hair wasn't dyed right.  I wasn't smart enough to hang out with the AP kids, nor was I dumb enough to hang out with the basic level kids.  My music taste totally wasn't cool enough to hang out with the cool girls.  I wore sweatpants to school one time and three girls called me lazy and poor because of it.  I was too fat for softball or basketball... or any sport, for that matter.  I remember asking a guy to junior prom and he laughed at me in front of everyone.  I just wasn't enough for most of the kids in school.

I just remember wanting to change for everyone, making them like me.  I changed my wardrobe.  I dyed my platinum blonde hair back to my natural hair color and cut most of my hair off in one sitting.  I changed the shows I watched and threw away my Evanescence, MCR, and 90's playlists to exchange them for the likes of Lil Wayne and Wiz Khalifa (which is, to this day, one of the biggest things I regret doing).  I took classes I really couldn't handle and tried to apply to as many clubs as I could so that people could find me cool.  

And it actually worked.  I made new friends.  I was involved in school and people knew my name.  Girls started to compliment on my outfits and I even had a boyfriend for a short time.  I played football... and people thought that I was decent.  I injured my knee a week before graduation and so many people gathered around me to motivate me to walk at graduation.  I felt like a star.

And then we graduated.  My graduation party had come around and no one from my graduating class showed up... except one.  I remember getting screamed at by my stepdad, asking why we made a big deal out of my graduation if none of my friends were even going to show up.  And that's when I realized something about high school:

High school is supposed to be used as a tool to learn things about what you may experience outside of your sacred fortress, not be a battle of the social climb.  These 100, 200, 300... hell, 1,000 people you will be walking with at graduation probably won't be in your life after you graduate.  Why spend thirteen years climbing for social attention when all your work is going to render useless in reality?

I graduated with 183 kids.  Out of 183 kids, I talk to two.  One of them I work with, and the other has been my best friend since middle school.  People grow up and grow apart... it's a way of life.  And that's okay!  There's nothing wrong with it.  However, what is wrong is when kids focus their life on climbing the social ladder and impressing everyone.

I dealt with it for years.  Almost a year after high school, I saved a ton of money and I got my braces thrown in.  Sure, I won't see 99% of my graduating class until 2016, but when I made the appointment, I remember telling myself that this was going to show all the kids that picked on me for all those years that I was actually a pretty girl that could do cool things and that they missed out.  Even then, I was still doing things for other people and never seeing the most important person I should be impressing... and that's myself.  It's important to remember that people come and go.  Others are more than comfortable with walking away from each other, but at the end of the day, can you walk away from yourself?

So today, I bought my first pair of sweatpants in five years (they've got pockets!), put on my glasses, threw my hair in a bun, and wiped off my makeup.  I'm lounging in my bed, listening to a John Mayer album and planning a day to build a blanket fort so I can read in it.  I'm on Pinterest as I write this looking for healthy recipes so I can start properly losing weight.  And tomorrow, I'm gonna cook a lot.  Because I don't care.  I'll go ahead and take a picture of my chicken stir fry and no one will complain.  And besides, if they do, they're just jealous that they can't have my delicious stir fry in the first place.

The people who matter won't mind silly, minute things about you... like wearing a pair of sweatpants, gaining a few pounds, or the kind of music on your iPod.  Those who mind won't matter.  Surround yourself with people who genuinely like you and do cool stuff with them.  It's more beneficial to your life than surrounding yourself with people that make you force yourself to change who you are, even after you'll never see them.

At the end of the day, I sometimes regret changing myself for these people.  My hair, my clothes, even my braces sometimes.  But because of them, I've become a stronger and better person.  I remember a girl asking me what I would change if I could go back... change the fact that I was bullied; change people's minds so they would come to my graduation party?  Getting my braces?  And I told her no.  I wouldn't change a thing.  All these experiences have made me the person I am, which I find myself to be a very caring person who's always open for conversation and laughter.  I wouldn't be Carly Miller without the things I experienced in high school.  So to all the girls who bullied me, the guys who turned me down because of my buck teeth, that girl who hid my clothes in the locker room, the boys that called me fat every day junior year, and countless others... thank you.  Because of you, I'm showing the best person I've ever been to the best people I've ever surrounded myself with.  And I'm totally okay with that.

Five Promises for 2014,

"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of the year." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

As I sit here and type my last post for 2013, I sit and reflect.  This year hasn't been the greatest for me.  I've become lazy, unmotivated, and my demons are coming back.  I had an amazing internship possibly slip out of my fingers, my grandmother passed away before Christmas, and I've been given a death sentence.  But you know, at the same time, I've achieved so much.  A promotion.  A raise.  Getting over my anxiety (for the most part), and you know, that's something to be happy for.

I don't do "new year's resolutions" because, like most people, I commit for a week and go back to what I was doing before.  But this year, I am trying my best to fulfill these promises I'm making to myself.  Maybe you can join me.

1. Become more optimistic - I may seem like a positive person, but in reality, I sit in my room and beat myself up over every little thing I've never done or am not motivated enough to do.  Instead of beating myself up over things, I want to become that person that sees a little bit of light in bad times, even the ones I'm dealing with right now.
2. Get healthy - I know this is one that is the most broken resolution, but I'm setting the bar lower than I ever have before.  Instead of saying I need to go to the gym five days a week and eat nothing but fruit and air, I want to start at least once a week.  One day of the week eating yummy, healthy food and exercising.  Then two.  Then three.  I've noticed that when I'm thrown into a brand new routine, I tend to break it almost immediately, whether it's good for me or not.  But each person is different.  If you can work out five days a week and juice everything for a week, you go for it!  I'm just someone that needs to be introduced to something gradually, and that's okay!
3. Call family more - When my grandma passed away, I would call her every other month to see how she was doing.  No one else.  No uncles, aunts, brothers.  I didn't call her before she passed away on the 23rd, and there's a part of me that still feels guilty, though I've been told a million times that I shouldn't.  I want to be able to get to know more of my family this year, even if it means just leaving a message and letting them know I was thinking of them.  I know that phone calls mean a lot to me; maybe calling them more than once every other month will mean something to them.
4. Be the boss of your time - I'm a fan of the show Doctor Who, and my favorite Doctor, Matt Smith, has said a few quotes in his tenure as the raggedy man that I thought I would share with you:

"I am and always will be the optimist.  The hoper of far-flung hopes, the dreamer of improbable dreams.  You see, every life is a pile of good things and bad things.  The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa the bad things don't always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.  No matter what, make today extraordinary."

I don't want to settle for the mundane life I have let myself live in 2013.  I want to travel, see the world.  Touch the clouds and the bottom of the oceans.  Go to concerts and climb mountains and take jobs I never thought I could.  Take time for myself and for my friends.  I want to run towards things, not away, before the fade away forever.  I'm a sick 20-year-old who's hardly lived because of fear and anxiety.  My life is very finite at this point.  I want to experience it before I can't anymore. 

     5.  Tell people I love them more - No explanation.  It's as simple as that.

Starting the first, I'll accomplish something I've been dreading for months:  taking my progesterone.  And for those of you who know what progesterone does, this could mean an easy 2014 or a year from hell.  So here's to 2014.  Whether you suck donkey teeth or are the best year of my life, I'm ready to experience you.  Tomorrow is page one of a brand new 365-page saga.  Time to write something good, huh?

On Body Image and (Attempting) Positive Thinking,

“There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty.” ~Steve Mariboli

Out of everyone that has ever said a critical thing about my body, I can say that I am the most critical person in the world about it.  We are told to love the creation the Lord has made, but every day, I watch my body tear at the skin, falling apart and slowly be destroyed by the illnesses I am battling.

82 may be a number that doesn't mean anything to anyone, but 82 is the number that looms over my head every day. 82 is the number of stretch marks I can count on my body right now, as I sit here and type this out... and that number continues to grow.  82 stretch marks have formed on my body in the past four years, as my belly enlarges and my cheeks fill out.  82 stretch marks have grown as I stuffed my face with the comfort foods I thought would make me feel content with my diagnosis, but ended up destroying me more than I thought and forming another addiction.

I know this body isn't the most beautiful.  I look at it every day and cry as I wonder why I had to have the disease I have.  My legs are short and stubby, my thighs and calf muscles getting larger by the day.  My belly is protruding outward as I pollute it with the things I know aren't good for me, but I convince myself that just one more cookie will make me happy.  One more french fry will satisfy my sadness.  One more piece will be okay.  Just one more.  My face is filling in with the fat that won't fit on my body.  My hair is falling out.  My boobs are gross and discolored underneath by my Stein-Leventhal.  My butt is just this flabby thing and it's not even cute.  I just find my entire body to be this gross sack of disgusting that I happen to have to carry around for the rest of my life.

I feel like society has made me turn my body into this petri dish under a microscope, where I sit and examine every single crack and crevasse that seems abnormal to the 'average' person.  But is the average person really the thing we should be striving for?  We see the 'average woman' as something in a magazine:  tall, long, thick hair, thin, perfect curves, flawless skin, and not a blemish on her.  These were women I would cut out of various magazines and tape onto my mirror and bedroom walls in high school, striving to have my hair like them, my makeup like theirs, be thin and beautiful just like them.  I was already letting media corrupt my brain and make me think that these women were the body image I should be striving for:  something unhealthy and unreal.

It's one of the hardest things I do in my day, but I have to convince myself every day that I am a beautiful creation.  Whether I write it over and over again in a notebook until I go insane or I write something on the back of my hand so I always see it, I have to convince myself that I am truly beautiful.  Not because of a magazine, or a boy, or anything but because I want to.  I want to be able to look at myself and, even when I am unable to lose this weight or when I'm holding a pile of my hair in my hand, say that I am a beautiful person.   My discolored skin patches and scars and uncontrollable weight and stretch marks aren't going to change that.  What does change it is your state of mind.

When we immerse ourselves in positive thinking, we outwardly express positive words.  It's seriously the hardest thing to do, though, when we live in a society full of pessimism, anger, and sadness.  I have to wake up every morning, stare in the mirror for a few minutes, and find one thing about myself that I like.  And it always has to be different.  I can't say that I like my hair two days in a row; that'd be cheating.  Besides, if I only focus on one thing that I like, I'm going to miss tons of other things I could grow to love!  I sit and read the small pieces of paper I've taped onto my vanity over and over, like a first-grader trying to memorize simple vocabulary.

"You are altogether beautiful, my love. There is no flaw in you." ~Song of Solomon 4:7

"I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it too well." ~Psalms 139:14

"I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys." ~Song of Solomon 12:1

I'll write it on my hands and in notebooks when I'm feeling down at work or hanging out with friends, or when those feelings and life in general just catches up on me.  When I get that bad diagnosis and all I wanna do is build a blanket fort and eat a bag of chicken nuggets in it.  When I feel like I can't get out of bed or when big crowds just aren't my thing.  When I feel alone or when I feel worthless.  When I slip up and don't know how to explain.

I am courageous.  I am strong.  I am brave.  I am beautiful.  I am human.

And though it may look stupid, at the end of the day, when I'm all alone in my room, just me and my thoughts... what comes up sometimes are these verses and sayings I force myself to recite every day.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made... there is no flaw in me... I am courageous... I am a rose of Sharon... I am beautiful...

I've had to learn that we have to literally train our minds to think something different than what we've learned to think for so long.  Trust me, it's hard.  I have many days where I sit and think of how gross my belly is, or how no one will ever love me because of my size.  Thinking positively about yourself is one of the hardest battles you will involve yourself with in your entire lifetime on this Earth, but when you are able to speak life over yourself instead of death, I can tell you those days are worth it.

Change,

"The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance." ~Alan Watts

It's crazy to think how much a person can change in a period of time.  Whether it be from their hairstyles and clothing choices, to where the place their faith or their general attitude.  A few years ago, after my friend's suicide, my high school placed me under intensive therapy during hours because of me lashing out and becoming extremely depressed and anxious my senior year... along with telling my assistant principal that I was seeing my friend in the hallways covered in blood, but hey... that's not an issue, right?

I was originally going to write this post about a dream that I had and draw a nice picture of it on one of my drawing pads, but when cleaning out my closet, I found my old journal from said intensive therapy.  Flipping through it, I realized that though I was coming off as normal to my peers and teachers (well, for the most part), I was one messed up seventeen year old.  I'm going to put some excerpts below.  And I'm warning/reminding you:  this stuff was from two or more years ago.  I do not feel these intense feelings anymore.  Grant it, they do come back sometimes, but not in the way they did at this time.  And it's pretty sad that I was thinking/writing these things right before my 18th birthday.

The assignment I had from my therapist was to take a week and essentially write to my dead friend, Shane.  So during this week, that's all I did.  And these are the results.  Take a look.  I'll only provide with some of the journal entry, because it does get pretty explicit and vulgar with the language, but it's actually pretty interesting.

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April 18-19, 2011

Shane,

A few days ago, my therapist gave me this worksheet to do so I could "communicate" with you and express my feelings.  Like that's gonna f***ing work.  It's not like I'm gonna fill out some goddamn paper and *poof*, there you are to tell me everything's going to be okay.  Because it's not.  And it's never going to be.  But I'm still going to do this stupid paper, so that my therapist doesn't write me as "clinically insane" and I can possibly graduate a decent human being.

I remember one of the questions being about song lyrics that reminded me of you.  Well, that's a little hard because all you listened to was country, and you know I avoid that s**t like the black plague.  The only thing I could think of was that one song that kept playing on your slideshow.  It was some Sarah MacLaclan song, and the only reason why I remember was because it's always on those ridiculous ASPCA commercials you used to make fun of.  What irony.  You don't understand.  I looked right at your body that day right when that song came on.  I wanted to scream and tell you to get up... the joke was over and you could get up, but you never did.  I PLEADED WITH THE LORD IN MY HEAD FOR YOU TO COME BACK AND YOU NEVER DID.  I wanna see you, not hear some stupid, sappy f***ing songs that remind me of you or pictures or videos that remind me of you.  I don't want reminders.  I want you.  I wanna hear your voice, you laugh... I'm starting to forget what you sound like and it scares me to f***ing death how much I will remember of you in the next year.  You'll never understand what we have to go through.

You make me feel so guilty.  You being so selfish and taking your life has given me so much guilt.  Why did you send me that f***ing text?!  You never should've sent me that... maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty.  You should've just done it and not told anyone, especially me.  I probably would feel a little guilty because I never saw that side of you, but you gave me an opportunity at two in the goddamn morning to save you and I never took it.  I hate myself everyday.  I hate it when I wake up in the morning and you're not here for me to call or text or message on Facebook or see at church... hell, you're not available to do anything because you're f***ing dead!

Every day, I see you in the hallways.  Covered in blood.  Screaming.  Telling me it was my fault.  I wake up every day and want to end my life.  I can't take this anymore.  If I was brave enough, I would probably do the same thing you did.  But how wimpy am I to not do it, huh?  At least you don't have to experience everything afterwards.  

I got my acceptance letter for Edinboro on April Fool's Day, and to be honest, joke's on them because I don't even wanna go anymore.  I know you wanted to go there with me and now the thought sickens me.

Every morning is the same routine.  I wake up with a struggle, knowing you won't be there.  I put on your bracelets again, look at your name, and think, "Could I have saved you?  Could I have done something to save you so you'd still be here?  Could I have done anything?"  And the answer is always the same.  No.

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Less than two months after this entry, I did something my guidance counselor told me I'd never do because of my behavior:  I graduated in the top third of my graduating class, almost hitting the honor roll.  I didn't get to go to school, but I got my first job (ironically at the place he was working when he died) and have met the most wonderful and supportive people there.  I made new friends, something I thought I'd never do.  I've become an activist for suicide and depression awareness and support.  

I'm not one hundred percent happy or over Shane's suicide.  These things take time.  But I'm happier than I was.  And that's the most important thing.

If you're ever feeling the way I was in that journal entry, or have a friend/loved one feeling that way, here are some resources you can use to get better.  Don't be afraid to take the first step.  That's the most important one.

~Carly

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National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:  

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ or 1-800-273-TALK

Hopeline:

http://hopeline.com/ or 1-800-442-HOPE

Other options:

• There should be a list of local suicide hotlines in your local telephone book.
• Dial 411 and ask for a local suicide hotline.
• Dial 0 and ask for a local suicide hotline.
• Call 911.  Tell them you are in suicidal danger.  They will help.

Don't be afraid to ask for help.

Loving with the Eyes vs. Loving with the Heart,

"The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision." ~Helen Keller

This morning, I got to talking to one of the many girls I meet on a weekly basis at the local young adults ministry I attend.  She always messages me on Facebook, and though most people find it annoying to get the same "Hello" every other hour, I'm happy to know that she finds me as a good friend and is comfortable with doing that.  Our conversation ended up being about one of her pictures of her and a young man that I thought was her boyfriend, though, and then she said this:  Tell me what he looks like.  This girl, though blind, has had this young man as her boyfriend for almost two years (I found this after creeping on her Facebook a little bit... don't judge! You do it too!) and doesn't even know what he looks like!

When we find a person that we want to spend the rest of our lives with, it seems like we have a checklist of things that that person has to meet or else they aren't fit.  And sometimes, though not of personality traits, they turn into those superficial things we want:  blonde or brunette.  Brown eyes or blue eyes.  Short or tall.  They're things that we see visually that we find pleasing.  And though those things are important, shouldn't we focus on who that person is rather than how they look?  I mean, I'd rather date a radish that clicked with my personality than a super hot, Jake Gyllenhaal-esque Norse God from the Heavens and him end up being a cowsack of suck.

I have a friend that means a lot to me that asked me once to help him "find a girlfriend".  Eventually, he opened up to me as to what he wanted in this said girlfriend.  Here's a few that I remember:  short, smart, athletic, Christian, stable relationships with her family and friends, no daddy issues, and she HAS to be pretty... just to name a few.  Talk about huge checklist of things these girls are going to have to compete with.  And yes, he's a great guy, but what a list!  As wonderful as he is, I don't think any girl reading this right now could check every single one of these things off their list.  If he keeps being this picky, how will he know if someone he could have a connection with passes him by?  And the answer?  He won't.  Why?

I believe sometimes, when showing someone love or even showing interest in someone, we should love with the heart, not with our eyes.  Our eyes can sometimes be deceiving.  Though someone may have a pretty face, they might not have the most beautiful of hearts.  Once we can see the true goodness in people with our hearts, I think even the pickiest of people can find love in everyone.

The eyes were meant for sight, but the heart was made for love.

My Buddies Stein and Leventhal,

"When something bad happens, you have three choices:  you can either let it define you, let it destroy you, or let it strengthen you." ~Anonymous

So if you haven't heard (heard the word), I've got two buddies named Stein and Leventhal. Stein and Leventhal have been with me for a few years now... let's just say October of 2009. So these two goons have been up my butt for about four years now, which is crazy to think about.  They've been with me through hook ups and break ups, school essays and reports, graduations, interviews, and college enrollments. They've been a part of my life for a very long time, and I can't really remember high school without them.

Now I know Stein and Leventhal seem like great guys, but they really aren't.  They cause me a lot of pain and sadness every single day, despite always being around.  Because of them, a lot of things in my life have been affected, like my appearance, menstrual cycle, hormones, and ability to have children. I want little munchkins in the next ten years or so, but Stein and Leventhal have said, "Carly, we don't want that for you! We want to be the only things you are concerned about! Why have children when you have us?! And you can also be fat and ugly and alone for the rest of your life while we laugh at everything you're insecure about! Yay!"  How about I get the cute kiddos and they can go away.  Maybe I'd be a little happier.

And with Stein and Leventhal around, my ovaries are even taking a beating! Instead of fully forming and having a period, my ovaries are just turning into little cyst bags or something like that. I bet at this very moment, you're imagining a beautiful picture of two cyst bags in my uterus. So cute.

There are only two things that really bother me about this relationship I have with Stein and Leventhal.

1. I don't know when they showed up.
2. I don't think they'll ever leave.

I can't just find some Harry Potter-like invisibility cloak to throw over these nuisances. I can't buy two one-way tickets to Nigeria for them so that they never come back. When I was told that they were gonna be hanging around for a while, I was distraught. This is something I wouldn't wish on anybody.  But with the help of my true friends, family, and my team of Stein-Leventhal exterminators, I can at least put a blanket over their heads for a while and pretend they're not there.

Today will be the start of my fourth year with Stein and Leventhal at my side. This year, I don't want them to beat me. I want to beat them. They may win the fights, but I will win the war.