Normally I am not up at this time, but because of working the night shift on Wednesdays, I get to see the sun rise in the city of Portland. Everything starts off with shades of blue, due to the constant presence of clouds in the sky.

The sound of cars passing on the highway have become comforting rather than annoying. Absolute silence is deafening to me. It just makes me aware of the constant ringing in my ears.

when I’m up at this time, it just makes me wish I were wrapped snuggly in my blankets in bed.

I am not that great at expressing myself. Words are not necessarily my forte. But because of a Risk Project I did for a class, I think I can start on my journey finally. What was always told to me was that I had a wall up. That I didn’t let anyone in. I took that, and made it real. In front of people I cared about and respected in my class, I built a wall with boxes with each memory that I thought created a brick in my metaphorical wall. Then in order to give myself closure, I moved backwards and confronted each memory and pushed out a box. Eventually I pushed all of them away and stood up in only a bra and underwear (to confront my insecurity about my body). Little did I know that would be the spark I needed to move on from all of the things I had kept bottled up inside.

At the age of three, I had a best friend named Alex. We lived across the street from each other in historical Forest Grove. Almost every day, either one of us would ask to go over to play. One morning, I woke up and ran from my bedroom, still in my pajamas, to the living room window. I could see Alex’s house from there. In front, was a van and a trailer hooked up to it. My mother wandered out of her room heading to the kitchen, I yelled for her and asked if I could hang out with Alex. She then informed me that him and his family were moving away. Somewhere far. Three year old me yearned for a goodbye; for many years I still did. Wondering why my best friend never thought to give me one last hug, and why I’ve never heard from him since.