My name isn't actually Susan Greenwood

I have a confession to make. 

My name isn't actually Susan Greenwood.
But before I tell you who I am I feel like I should say some stuff about myself. Like the stuff 99% of people reading this won't know about me. 

I listen to dubstep more than you think I might. 

I love my sister more than I love anyone else on the Earth. 

As hard as I try to convince myself I'm not, I'm still a hopeless romantic.

I've read Harry Potter upwards of 14 times. 

I made both my Prom and Preference dresses. 

I've always wanted to get a pixie cut but my dad tells me I'd look too butch.

I haven't been kissed yet. (VL game still going strong)

I want to live in New England or on the East Coast when I move out. 

My favorite store is Barnes and Noble. 

I get really bad road rage. 

I've been told I have a killer glare. 

I found Paris on page 27/42 of my journal. 

My name isn't actually Susan Greenwood.

My name is Emily Running.

(That's me there on the right standing next to my best friend, Megan)

1. 

P.S. I actually do like running. Sometimes.

Things you are and things you are not

You are the first ray of sun as it comes up over the mountain. You are the bright yellow of a school bus and the satin gold of my skin in the summer. You are deeper than the black dots in my left Iris. Somehow, you are every leaf that has fallen off every tree. But you are not the branches. I am the trunk. You are the rough rock of prayer on my kitchen windowsill. You are not the stop sign, but you are red. You are not the dull color of my eyes. You are the soft smell of my perfume. You are the green egg in my basket. Although you are not the spiderweb in the corner of the attic, you are the darkness that resides there. However, you are also the window light shines through. You are the friction that allows me to skate on ice. You are the constant readjustment of my hair, and the smell of warm things. You are the last sip of hot chocolate, when it's only lukewarm and your stomach is full. You are the state of mind I get into when I am about to fall asleep. You are the ricocheting echoes when I yell in a tunnel. You are the unbound dreams of little children, and the discarded advice of teenagers, and the heavy feeling in adults. You are the soft lead of my pencil. You are the pain felt when cold fingers warm up. You are the scent and touch of brown leather. You are the sounds heard when it snows. You are the in and out breathing of the earth, so faint, only I can hear it. You are not the lamp post in front of my house. You are not the starched collars of my dad's shirts. You are not my doll eyes. You are the water inside a cactus. And you are the sky during rainy days, and the sea on stormy ones. Supposedly, you are a mallard but I know you're more like a penguin. I am the ripples in the water and you are the rock that makes them. You are the coarse wool yarn of my favorite scarf, and I am the knitting needles that made it. You are the lack of anything in space, and I am the red eye on Jupiter. You are bent pages in the books I own, and the mistakes I find when I read them, but you are also the letter "i". You are not me but I am you,

 and together, we are the number zero. 

Dear Future Husband

Hi!

You probably don't know me yet, but my name's Sue. I hope I'll meet you soon! I think I dream about you sometimes. When I wake up from a nice dream with someone else in it talking to me or holding my hand I try to remember the face but it always seems blurred out. I like to think it's you. I see little pieces of you places, like when Parker got up and bore his testimony in seminary and nobody was expecting it, or when Spencer's shoulders shake when he laughs. In the way that Carter's eyes scrunch up when he smiles or in the way that Tyler used to look at me out of the corner of his eyes and half smile mischievously. I see you in the way Mr. Manson talks about his wife, and how she grows more beautiful to him every day. 

I hope you know that I just want to be held when I cry, and I'll try not to get too many tear stains on your shirts. I hope you're not scared away by my weird family (you probably won't understand half the dialogue unless you were born in the early 90's). 

I like to debate in my head whether you'll have green eyes or blue ones and if you'll have curly hair or not. I wonder if you're the oldest or youngest or middle child (I'm almost the youngest) and how many brothers and sisters you have. 

I like to think about you at night while I'm lying in my bed and if you'll want a big family or a small one (I hope you want a big one:) I like to imagine the scene where I announce to you I'm pregnant and your eyes get all big and you have to sit down, because we're having twins. I like to think about when we're young parents with three or four kids and we're putting them to bed and you read them a story as they sit in your lap. After you tuck them in all snugly and kiss them goodnight while I sing the song my mother always sang to me and kiss them too, we'll leave together and just peek through the crack of the almost closed door until they're all asleep.  

That's a long time from now but I can't wait for it. 

I hope you're out there thinking about me once in a while. And I really do hope it really is you in my dreams. 

Love, 

Sue 

Locked Out

I found myself this morning, eating toast in my jumper and pajama bottoms. I was missing for a while this time. It's like I'm locked out of my own mind. I'm locked out of creativity and locked in this mindset 

of you're not thin enough

you're not smart enough

you're not pretty enough

you're not good enough

you are not enough.

But I am good, and I am healthy, and smart, and pretty, but not enough. 

And I will never be enough in this point of view.

I need to fight it.

Pick the lock.

Talk to strangers,
knit a sweater,
wear it to school,

stand naked in front of the mirror

long enough

until I love myself enough to tear these interlocked chains from beneath my skin,

and bury them next to my closed mind.

Dear Carolina Liar

I said hi to you in the hall the other day, and you smiled at me. Out of courtesy I think. Isn't it sad how it's come to this?

I still remember the first day we met. Mrs. Jolley put us in our seating arrangement in choir and we ended up next to each other. I'm pretty sure my coy 9th grade self broke the ice by saying something like "omg who is that boy over there?", pointing at Hunter. I dimly remember you asserting yourself as childhood best friend, and future girlfriend, which I took as a challenge to win his affection. Right then and there was when I think we became bff's. I was thoroughly convinced I would win (after all (my detestable ninth grade self thought) I was attracting all the boys left and right) and I think we were both hurt when he chose my sister, although we tried not to show it. I remember playing it off when they held hands at my house, and trying to be as nonchalant as possible, even though I'm pretty sure we wanted to kick her out of the picture. I eventually gave up when I realized I had no chance, but we were better friends than ever, having bonded over our mutual jealousy of my sister and our uncanny similarities. I'd never had a friend like you before. I was feeling rejected from my former best friend after she decided a different girl was going to be her new best friend (oh how petty we all were then) and I was looking for someone to replace her, and you came along like my second self. We had so much in common (I sort of recall your want to escape from your friends at the moment but maybe I can't remember right) and it was a new door for both of us. And nothing bonds two girls together more than a friendly war for a boy. There's a blank space after the first innocent weeks of our friendship in my memory, possibly because I've tried to forget how much of a relief it was to have a true friend because I ruined it at the end. The only thing I can remember is being happy and choir, until I confessed my attitude of not caring if one of your friends didn't get the boy I currently liked because he chose me. And then I remember the rest after that. You know if that really is the reason our friendship came to a stop I'm sorry. I'm just sorry for the wasted potential that we could have had, and really, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. I may have meant to at the time, but I certainly regret the heck out of it now. I was so blind by the want of shallow revenge, I didn't even give one thought about it. 

So, sorry. 

I'm sorry we didn't talk at lunch anymore, and I'm sorry I didn't talk to you in Seminary. And I'm sorry I said mean things about you to other people, and to you. And I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when Hunter died, because I know how much he means to you. And I'm sorry this is so long, but I didn't have the guts to tell you all this when I talked to you for the first time after 3 months at the black light dance. So I guess this doesn't make up for any of it, but I just want you to know that my heart hurts a little when I think of what our seemingly best friendship turned into. And I hope you'll forgive me.