Back to Normal.

The background has returned. My life is settled, and it's 1:30 in the morning and I'm writing a blog instead of sleeping before my midterm tomorrow. Life is back to normal. This week has been hectic. I probably over-reacted every step of the way, which I am prone to do. But knowing that I made it out to be such a big deal doesn't make it feel less stressful, if that makes sense. I work on it, though. This post doesn't have much of a purpose, so we'll see where it leads.

Here's a thought that was on my mind this week. When I was in high school, I couldn't wait to move out of my house. I was ready to make it on my own, and go off to college, away from my family. I wanted to make my own decisions. I wanted to make choices. I wanted to be in charge of my own life. I wanted to be an adult, indepent, not needing anyone. I think it's a universal thought that all of us self-centered teenagers run across in life, the desire to prove ourselves and our independence to a world much larger than the house where we've been forced to abide by rules and curfews for 18 years.

I got my tonsils out when I was four months short of seventeen, in the midst of this rebellious independent phase. Both of my parents attended. Now, anesthesia and I do not mix well. I come out of anesthesia unhappily. Violently, actually. I don't remember the first twenty mintues of waking up after the tonsillectomy, though it apparently involved alot of flailing and me being strapped to a bed to avoid punching any nurses. I think I wanted to stand up and they, with good reason, refused. My first actual memory is being in the bed, just not feeling well. Anesthesia does weird things, but I think the body can realize that something is wrong--the limbs are too lethargic, it's difficult to move, thoughts are foggy, and time has passed for which my mind cannot account. Maybe it's the loss of control, I don't know. Either way, I just felt kind of twitchy on the outside and distressed on the inside. Mom was on one side of the bed, and Dad on the other. I was holding Dad's hand. I flailed to the other side of the bed and squeezed Mom's hand. This continued for a few minutes, since I couldn't remain still long enough to hold either one of their hands for long. I tried to touch my surgical wounds inside of my mouth, and they stopped me. (I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to try that, but I tried nonetheless.) I tried to sit up and they gently pushed me back down. I held their hands longer. They brought me a cup of ice and mountain dew, since I needed to get something in my stomach. Dad spoon fed me the chips of ice and mountain dew while Mom held my hand and continued to soothe me. They drove me home, where I promptly collapsed in bed.

In retrospect, I smile at that day. It opened my eyes. I was so bent on being independent, on believing that I didn't need my parents. However, as soon as I was waking up, lost and confused, the first thing I remember doing is reaching for their hands for comfort and support. I proceeded to ignore this lesson and assert my independence throughout senior year of high school, pretending that I didn't need anybody. Then, college happened. I spent the first year visiting occasionally, but still deluding myself into believing that I was doing it all on my own, that I didn't need my family, that their help was appreciated but not necessary.

But little by little, it's more and more apparent to me that I need my parents as much now as I did as a six-year-old girl trying to find protection from velociraptors. When I couldn't sleep after a breakup, I called Mom in the middle of the night for somebody to listen to me cry. When I have questions about my car, or I'm stranded and don't know what to do, I call Dad and know that he'll always make time to give me the help I need. I lean on them both throughout the harder situations in life, and they are always there with constant support and love.

This whole thing might sound like some sort of bribe on the off-chance that my parents will read my blog, but I guess I just figure it's an important lesson. We all need to lean on somebody, and not always someone as an equal. Friends are important, too, but nothing is quite like the fact that my parents have seen me at my worst. They saw me in diapers, they saw me as a brat, learning the word no. They see the worst of my temper and the meanest I've been. They've seen me when I'm sick, or an unkempt mess, or when I didn't feel like looking clean or pretty or presentable. And despite this, they will love me just the same, even if I make entirely no sense or look completely miserable. Somewhere along the way, I tried to delude myself into believing that I didn't need their unconditional love. World... I was wrong. Who knew that a stubborn 18-year-old could be so wrong.

Okay, this is getting too personal and sappy. So, to lighten this, don't take things for granted, whether it be the fact that you are loved or the fact that you have food to eat today, that you are walking about without pain, or that you learned the valuable lesson of laughing at yourself. And hope that you don't come out of anesthesia violently. I think my parents were a little embarrassed as they comforted their flailing daughter while the girl in the next bed just smiled peacefully. Though I'm not sure Dustin was such an improvement. Dustin doesn't come out violently. He did moonwalk after getting his wisdom teeth out, along with writing poetry, making kissing faces, and creating sound effects to accompany the x-ray machine. There are some interesting youtube videos as testament to the crazy effects anesthesia has on him. Mom and Dad were at least more entertained by his reaction. Like how they felt about his GPA as opposed to mine in high school...

There's really nowhere else for this post to go. Have a great day.