I Will Be Me

I don’t care if I have boy hair, or that my eyes are the color of mud. I love my slightly bowed legs and I think I have interesting hands.

I wasn't allowed to watch Pokemon, and I’ve never seen or read anything Harry Potter. I’m still convinced I will find a way to Narnia. And someday, someday, I will marry Frodo Baggins. If Mr. Bingley doesn’t find me first. I will cry when Anakin becomes Darth Vader.

I don’t care how silly I look, standing by the side of the road with my camera on a tripod and a remote in my hand: me—my hands placed awkwardly on my hips—trying to look pretty. Or at least not remotely ugly. I will put a vintage effect on that photo, too. Not because I want to be a hipster, but because I love the 1960s. Because it makes me feel close to my mom.

I will sit for hours, pouring over old photos, laughing at the drama queen I used to be. Looking at how happy my family was, regardless of the illness and shadows that lurked beneath those frozen moments. I will cry seeing my mother’s smiling face.

I will sniff that book. Nothing smells better than aged paper and ink, stained with tears and the occasional spilled coffee. I will lay on the couch for hours and ignore you. Because sometimes, a girl needs away from reality.

I know I can’t quite hear right. I know that I mumble and say awkward things sometimes. I don’t care that I’m an introvert. I know how to be content by myself. I like to take solitary walks, listening to my eclectic library of music.

I will listen to bluegrass music and talk radio, driving down the road with my dad, the sunroof open, screaming at the flies that managed to make their way in. I will have conversations with my family about cows. And cars. And politics.

I will continue to watch History Channel. I will laugh at Ancient Aliens and freeze while watching Ice Road Truckers. I will watch Food Network until I’m starving, and HGTV until I’ve convinced myself I could be an interior designer.

I can’t help that I have panic attacks every day. Or that it bugs me when things aren’t symmetrical. Germ-x is my best friend. And you better not touch my straw. Or my food.

I love nonsense. And I will write until the day I die. I will play the piano for hours—because when I do, I forget my present troubles. And I don’t care what the sheet music says. I’ll play what I think sounds best.

I will make everything out of duct tape. My clothes never match, and I’m fine with that. My mind jumps from thing to thing, and none of it makes sense. I will cry myself to sleep and wake up laughing. I will play Words with Friends too competitively.

I will get lost in my daydreams, and doodle on everything that can be drawn on. I will make a mess with my watercolors.

I will loudly crunch ice, and drink and unhealthy amount of sweet tea and coffee. I will keep calm and carry on. My sister will be my best friend. I will love green and blue, even if they're boy colors.

I will pray constantly. I will love Christ with my whole heart and seek His face. I will be the person He wants me to be.

I will keep being me.

You leaving didn’t change that.

It didn’t change me.