mawwiage is what bwings us togevuh today

I love my husband.

Like, a lot.

He's the end all be all when it comes to men.
And to friends. He's my best friend.

I'm fighting a panic attack currently. I had literally the worst day at work you could imagine, and then some. I have all of my finals due tomorrow night approximately two hours after I get out of work. The absolute last thing I want to do is cram, but here I am.

I tell him about my nerves and worrying, and he calls me immediately. He makes jokes to calm me down and asks me what kind of pizza I want. He tells me that I'm not in this alone, and it's all going to be okay.

He always tells me it's going to be okay.

That's weird to me.

That everything will be okay.

I'm not used to this. I wasn't raised this way. I don't know how to accept it.

But I believe him. I trust him. And, he's almost always right. (Except for when I'm right... which is always.)

Marriage is fun. People still stop us in our tracks and give us lectures about how we're too young. You know what I think about those people? I think their life is sad that they can't imagine a life where people could love one another so much that they would beg their parents to get married before they graduated college. So much in fact that they would spend almost three years away from one another because being on a break due to distance seemed like a stupid idea. So much that they've been through the absolute hardest and ugliest of times together, and together they made a beautiful life.

Yeah, we're the stupid ones. To all of you who think these things, I feel sorry for you. I hope that you see what a foolish thing you're saying. I hope you see that all you're doing is killing spirits because yours is dead.

I feel sorry for you, and I hope that your life gets better.
I really, really do.

gray area

Though I've experienced it once before, it never fails to hurt every time.

I went and visited my family last week, right? My dad is on the depressed side right now, and I knew he wouldn't be up for much. We went out to dinner, and then planned to meet at Starbucks the next day to spend more time together.

We said we'd meet around 1:30pm. I called him to let him know we were on our way and would be there at the time we planned. He told me he couldn't get there until 2. Not a problem. My brother and sister, husband and myself killed time at the mall until it was time to head over.

When we arrived, I got a call from my dad saying that he forgot about an appointment he had with a creditor and would be unable to make it. He was sorry. I know he means this. I know he wanted to see me one last time before I venture back almost 923 miles to Bristol, Connecticut.

But, I was hurt.
It still stings three days later.

I don't know that things like this will ever become easier... I think they'll always be this hard, just different every time. I can't talk to him about this stuff. Even when he's back in a pretty clear mindset, I can never tell him all these thoughts. I think that's the worst part. I feel like I'm lying to him, and I hate lying.

I fear sometimes that I'll end up like him. His disorder was not diagnosed until he was almost 30, if I'm remembering correctly. I'm only 21 now. I try not to fear of this, because ultimately my God is in control. I trust that my God doesn't have that as my plan.

However, there's always that little bit of doubt.
My reasoning for my little bit of doubt lies solely on the fact that my father, in his most manic moments, claimed that God told him what to do...