Jolene.

I have always loved to write. I feel that I am better at articulating my thoughts when I put them down on paper, rather than speaking them verbally. Years ago, I would write all the time. Filling journals up with my thoughts, then tucking them away for safe keeping. Shortly afterwards, I would pull out a fresh notebook and start the process all over again. I stopped for a long time. I don't have an exact reason why. A combination of things. I guess unimportant stuff seemed more important, and my writing fell to the wayside. Although I had stopped putting pen to paper, I was still writing in my head. When I think about something, anything, I say it in my head exactly as if I were writing it down for others to read. It only occurred to me recently that that may be a little strange. I picked up journaling again over the last few years. It has been my form of therapy. And in a way, through this project, you have all sat and participated in my therapy sessions with me. I thank you for that. I have had a lot of things happen to me over the years that have changed the way that I view life. But what has happened to me over the last two has changed the way I live it. In my first blog post I said I would share the story of what I recently went through, and I will. Not now, but when the time is right, because I believe it is a very important story to share, even if it is a tough one to retell. I will say, though, that I was quite confident for quite some time that a stranger was going to murder me. It wasn't a matter of "if" to me, it was a matter of "when". All of a sudden, my life was time-stamped. It had an expiry date. I just wasn't sure of when that date would be. During this time, I started thinking of all the things I wanted to do in my life, all of the goals that I had made over the years that I never followed through with, because of self doubt. I thought about everyone in my life that I love so dearly. Do they actually know how I feel? Like, really feel? What if I never properly get that chance to show them what they all mean to me? And I thought about my dad's ashes. Was I really going to let them sit in a box for the remainder of my days? Not being able to put him to rest where he should be, because of my fear? My demons? I decided I was going to face everything head on. Hell, I figured nothing could be as scary as what I just went through. So, I started to plan this project, "Love notes to friends". I thought the first thing I needed to do was to get a computer. I am a high school dropout, and an early one at that, so I wasn't taught computer skills. Computers were just becoming relevant when I quit school. But I knew I needed one if I was going to move forward with this plan. So I did a little research and bought myself a cheap one… nothing fancy. I went to Best Buy and asked an employee to help me set it up. He told me I had to choose a password. He placed the screen in front of me. The password required upper and lower-case letters. I stared down at the keys. I couldn't find the caps lock. I straight up didn't know where it was. I felt like a fraud.

When the employee finished setting everything up, I left the store, walked out to my car, placed my computer in the trunk, and got into the driver's seat. And then I proceeded to beat the shit out of myself emotionally. “You fucking loser. What makes you think you could do this? You have no education. People go to school for this. What a stupid fucking idea.” I repeated the phrase, “You think you're somebody? You're fucking nobody.” Over and over in my head. That phrase was said to me frequently in my childhood and adolescence. And no matter how many times I've wrapped those memories up with rope, and fastened bricks to them, letting them sink deep deep down inside me, in my weaker moments, the rope disintegrates, the brick's purpose rendered useless… the words always floating back up to the surface. Then I had the thought that if I ever heard someone talking about someone I love the way I was talking to myself, I would want to hit them. I thought about everything I had faced over the course of my life, all of the hurdles I've had to jump, and thought this is just another hurdle. You will figure a way over it. I got home and phoned my best frien​d, Britt. I told her about my lack of knowledge with a computer. My fear of not being able to pull this off. She said to me “Dude, you don't know how to use a computer because you've never fucking had to. You will figure this out. We will figure this out. I’ll teach you". And so she did. She taught me how to set up my blog. She wrote down instructions for me in case I were to forget a step. And she edits my blogs for me. She never changes any of the wording or my writing, but she will put a comma where a comma should go, or capitalize a letter I've missed. And she never, ever, not once, has made me feel stupid. When she sends the edited blogs back to me, she always includes a little note saying how much she loved a specific part about it, or how a particular blog made her cry three times. I can guarantee you she cried when she read the last few paragraphs in this one. Because it hurts her to hear specific things about my childhood, and she absolutely hates when I doubt myself. She is an angel on earth, and saying that she means everything to me doesn't even begin to cover it. This project never would have come to fruition without her help. One day, someway somehow, I'll find a way to repay her. When I was ready to put up my first blog post, I was nervous. Really nervous. I have only publicly read one thing I've ever written, and it was a victim impact statement in the court room to my predator. It was something that I had to do to let myself move on. This was different. I

was willingly putting my thought process out in the world for all to see. It was terrifying. A few hours after I put my very first post up, I got a private message from a childhood friend, who I hadn't spoken to in years, telling me that she thought the first post was beautiful. That she looked forward to reading every one that I put up. That I held a special place in her heart. She said some very generous things to me about the way she views me - that I might not see it in myself, but it's there. It was incredibly thoughtful of her. I remember thinking, “Wow, my writing made someone feel something.” If that was the only message I got, it would have been more than enough. But it wasn't. Over the course of the last month I have received dozens of private messages from people I haven't talked to in years. From people I hardly even know. Telling me how much they are loving this journey, how they have been reading every blog, how something I said has resonated with them in some way. I'm incredibly humbled by the overwhelming amount of love and support I have gotten from so many people with this project. I hold every single message near to my heart. I will never have enough thank-yous to give. It's been an incredible journey so far, and it's even more incredible that you all have joined me in it. It took me almost 35 years to realize that just like how much money you have in the bank doesn't actually determine how rich you are, the same can be said for how much education you have. It doesn't reflect your self-worth or what you can accomplish. I used to wonder what I did in life to have been dealt the cards I was dealt. I don't think like that anymore. I know now that I just wasn't skilled enough at the game yet to realize I was holding a royal flush the whole time. JW