I feel old. Accompanying your mom to surgery is not a little-kid thing. It's not a kid thing at all.
My mom decided that she wanted me to drive her to the hospital for her heart surgery (nothing major, no worries), and I was like "okay, no problem."
I didn't really expect the waking up at 5 to leave, or the moment when they say "we'll be taking her into the procedure room now" or the moment when she came out and had to lay still without moving for hours. Or even the time at the end of the day when they told me to go get the car and they would bring her down to the hospital door.
It was all very strange. For most of the day I sat and did homework, ate little meals in the cafeteria and watched Maury. But once an hour they would give me an update on the surgery, and when she was finished I sat in the recovery room with her. I felt like she was the kid and I was the mom while I gave her water to drink and steadied her when she finally got to stand up.
It wasn't only me, of course. My dad and sister came for a few hours while she was in surgery, but they left almost immediately after she came out. While they were there, I took the opportunity to drive home and take a shower, something I hadn't done in the morning.
She's doing fine, and she'll be up and about in a few days. But even though I knew that it was not a big deal, I was still terrified as they said "give your mom a hug for good luck" and wheeled her away. And I have never driven so carefully as when I brought her home.

This is definitely like the eighth post I've done on this topic, but--

It's official! I'm a National Merit Scholar!

I got the letter today. I had been worried because they've been sending out the letters over the past week and a half and I hadn't gotten one yet. Jacob got his on the weekend and I was panicking. Now I can breathe a big sigh of relief for all the free money I'm going to get. Whew. I may go to college after all.
I was so worried about it that I'd been calling my mom after school to see if the mail had come. When I found out, I was in Panera and I did a little victory dance. People gave me funny looks.
I think that part of the scholarship should be that they make it into one dollar bills and you get to dance in it. I'm aware of how superficial the scholarship is-- I'm lucky I was having a smart day-- but I still feel like I've earned it somehow. Worrying and applications and extra essays (essays, bane of my existence). Anyway, I'm super-pumped.
Rock.

Wow, guys. I have to say, I love you. I'd been kinda sad that no one had commented on any of my recent blogs.
Finally, I realized that I set it to 'moderate comments,' which means that i have to approve all comments before they appear. Thank you for all the lovely notes over the weeks, they made my day and made me feel much better about everything.
Yeah, people will support me if I don't forget to moderate the comments...

I thought I'd kicked my depression, but it still shows up in little pockets of melancholy.
This past week or month I've fallen into one of those pockets and I can't seem to drag myself up by my bootstraps. I hate realizing that I don't have any right to complain about anything anymore. I already got all the sympathy one can expect for depression last year. Everyone views my sadness and related OCD/guilt complex as too silly to even discuss.
Depression is not intuitive. Intuitively I know that I'm not worthless, but that doesn't stop me from crying myself to sleep. As I've mentioned before, I validate myself through my interpersonal relationships and through school. It doesn't help that I'm losing friends and getting little to no response about my academic successes.
Right now, I feel as if I couldn't possibly be uglier or more worthless.
People insist on taking horrible photos of me and then showing me. Sure, I've seen decent pictures of me. My senior portraits are a good example. But while everyone else manages to look cute, or at least normal, in snapshots, I continue to look dead. Everyone seems to take great pleasure in telling me just how horrible I really look. "Omg Amelia, you're so pale, you look dead." "Are you sick? You have huge rings under your eyes." Mirrors are the devil. So are digital cameras. I don't want to know what I look like right now, in my mind I could look great. I sleep almost 9 hours a day, and I take my vitamins. It's not my fault I always have dark circles under my eyes.
Even though I haven't been markedly gaining weight, it has definitely been migrating from acceptable places to unacceptable ones. When I sit in classes, I can feel my rolls. I squirm in my seat to make sure they're not noticeable. None of the clothes I like look good anymore. I'm addicted to baggy T-shirts and sweaters. If I happen to glance in the mirror as I leave the restroom, all I see is my double chin. If my weight would distribute itself evenly, I would have less of a problem. It all seems to be concentrated in my face and stomach. No fair; if only it'd pick the middle-ground. Again, this isn't my fault. I've been trying to eat less, and I've been doing half an hour of DDR most nights.
I know enough psychology to understand that most people gravitate to others whom they feel are in their 'attractiveness range,' especially girls. Still, I hate being ignored. I wouldn't be offended if people wouldn't look at me, as long as they'd talk to me. I'm suddenly jealous of Islamic women who wear burkas. It must be nice to leave the house and not worry about how you look. More than that, I'm jealous of every girl who manages to look good every single day, or even those that manage to do it once a week.
While I'm trying to lose some weight, and willing myself to be generally more attractive, I'm getting pretty resigned to my situation. I had been thinking of not participating in the spring play so I could join a sport. I've decided that it probably wouldn't help much, and I'll get more enjoyment out of theater in the long run. I love the people who've been encouraging me to do theater; I would enjoy seeing the sudden death of the people who say "well, if it bothers you that much, maybe you should do something about it."
Please join us next time for installment two: Amelia Rants About Worthlessness.