Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.

My beginning comes from the end of a shy, closemouthed individual. She died as many young people do, exposed to unending scrutiny and a ceaseless shower of stinging words and harsh glares. Unable to live, she fell away and died one night as she cried into her pillow. She was buried without mark or ceremony, and was replaced with me.

I am a nineteen year old girl with an open mind, a love of silence, an addiction to books, a fondness for painkillers and coffee, and a small universe in my head struggling to get free. I have no interest in the clothes I wear or the action of obtaining them, I truly don't care much what most people think of me, I enjoying being left to myself, and I am a fairly good judge of people's character. I curse and often use humor to handle stressful situations. In short, I am what I was intended to be; me. And in doing so I have come to make some of the truest friends anyone could ever want. Their numbers are small, but their worth is immeasurable. Several have been lost, but you know, that's okay. Things change.

But there a few people I would surely be crazy without. Lauren, my sister and best friend. David "the Boy", for reminding me I do have a romantic side. Qurat and Aga and Jessica, keeping me alive and laughing during some of the toughest years I've been through. Peter, making me laugh and cry and yet feel equally safe doing either. Also, the only man to ever paint my nails. Hannah, Natalia, Becci, Amalia: my Enloe family and four of the most wonderful people you'll find anywhere. And John, my irritating but sweet and loving younger brother.

I have something of a nocturnal nature, so naturally I adore the nighttime and am often awake until five or six in the morning. These strange sleeping habits tend to keep me indoors, but I've been known to nip out during the night from time to time. And, as I'm sure you can tell, I love to write. Nothing would please me more than to know that somehow, in whatever minute way, my thoughts and ideas and words have touched someone else and illicited any kind of emotional response. Because, in those rare moments, I like to imagine I am connecting with those people. On a level I have never really connected before. It's impossible to do any justice to that sort of feeling, especially in words.

On a different note, I hate it when I make stupid typos. But I do it. I'm sorry. So please, let it slide. I assure you I am not illiterate, just a bad typist. On the upside, though, you should see my expert hunt-and-peck technique.

NOTE: It's been a while since I've been on FP. No real excuse for it... but I'm prowling around again, figuring things out. Hopefully more will come in the future, hmm?