How's Your Cup?

"You cannot pour from an empty cup. Take care of yourself first."

How fitting for today- I am anxious about the 'This is My Brave' show tomorrow, nervous about my parents visiting this weekend, and sad that so many of my favorite students are graduating next week. All week, my cup has felt bone dry.

And today, as I walked into my office, I was greeted by this little guy: a gift from a co-worker to remind me that my cup needs filling. I need to take care of myself. How's your cup today?

Family Secrets.

When I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder in September of 2009, I made the promise to myself that no one would ever know. I wanted everyone who met me to think I was perfect- an unattainable goal that no one can ever meet. A mental illness would mean that I wasn't perfect; that I was broken and flawed, a reject from God's assembly line. The shame of having a mental illness would drive me to great extremes, including lying to friends, family, boyfriends, and bosses. If my depression chained me to my bed for a day, my excuse was that "my car wouldn't start" or I had "caught a stomach bug". If I couldn't contain my emotions- sadness, anger, anxiety- then I was "just on my period". This sham went on for nearly 6 years. I was afraid that, if people found out about my mental illness, then everything that the depression and anxiety had been telling me would be true. No one would love me. My friends would leave me. My family would be embarrassed of me. As the years (and therapy sessions) went by, I started to overcome this fear and became more and more comfortable with sharing my story with others. First, my sorority sisters, then boyfriends and other friends. But I could never find the courage to talk to my family about it.

I am so very blessed with two of the most amazing parents on the planet, a sister who is both my foil and my soulmate, and an army of aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins, and people who aren't biologically related, yet absolutely part of my family. I was so deeply ashamed of my diagnosis- the idea that I could possibly bring shame to them was paralyzing. Mulan had nothing on me...

"Dishonor. Dishonor on your whole family. Make a note of this- dishonor on you. Dishonor on your cow." -Mushu to Mulan, Disney's Mulan (1998)

The thing that truly scared me the most was that I was afraid that they would blame themselves. That they would see my depression as a result of something that they did- that they weren't loving enough or didn't give me enough attention. Often, when trying to process mental illness, people seek something or someone to blame. I was terrified they would think it was their fault, that it would hurt them, or bring them guilt. That would be the farthest thing from the truth ever possible. I had an amazing childhood. I come from a family that bubbles over with love for each other. Although far from perfect, my family is perfect to me. The idea that they may feel like they were to blame for my mental illness felt like it may kill me. I couldn't bare to think of it.

So I decided that they would never know. The manager of our insurance account, my mom knew I was seeing a therapist and that I was struggling with anxiety and some depression- but what college student isn't? She would get the bills from my doctors, so there was no use trying to hide everything from her. But my dad and my sister? I couldn't let them know. I couldn't let the facade of the perfect daughter and sister drop.

That is, until I decided to start this blog. While home for Christmas break this past year, I knew I needed to tell them myself rather than let them read about it secondhand. I sat down in my father's office- him behind his desk, I in the recliner across from him and my mother on the bench next to me. I remember that my mom was doing laundry in the adjacent room so I could smell the clean, fresh scent of detergent- I thought "please help me clean this air, make this easier". Through tears, sobs, and snot, I explained to my parents that I had been struggling with a mental illness for years and that I was going to start sharing this story, my story- with them and with strangers. My dad's response?

"Okay. You know I love you and am going to support you no matter what."

It felt so anticlimactic. I had waited nearly 6 years to tell them that I was sick and the response I got felt so easy and relaxed. Like I had just told them that I was starting a new job or buying a new car. That's when I realized that it didn't matter that I had a mental illness, I was still me. My depression and anxiety had never defined me, thus my family saw me for who I was. I was the one who had built up this idea that their love could be swayed by the revelation that I was not their perfect daughter or sister. Their love would never change- mental illness is no match for a family's love.

And for that, I am most thankful.

In the Middle of my Brave.

Happy Mental Health Awareness Month! Lets spread the word to stop the stigma around mental health. What are you going to do to challenge yourself this month?

Today's Reminder.

Whatever you do, never lose hope. No matter what else is taken from you- hope is the one thing you will always have.

A Follow-Up.

After posting Falling in Love When Depressed, I learned something that I have long tried to preach to my students, yet apparently have not done a very good job at internalizing. Intent versus impact. When I wrote that blog, my intent was to share how I experience relationships as someone with a chronic mental illness. My hope was that the blog would help others that may get stuck in the same routine of self-sabotage when in romantic relationships. When I 'give and give and give', it is not to my relationships or to individuals. It is to my own self-doubt. That is my fatal flaw. That is why many of my relationships have failed. While building a support system over the last 10 years, I have learned that this tends to be a common problem for people who suffer from depression. We do not believe that we are worth the love that is given to us, thus we reject it and hurt our friends, families, and loved ones in the process.

Unfortunately, the impact was that some individuals took to speculation regarding the former boyfriends that I eluded to in the post. The point of the post was not to throw anyone under the bus or paint anyone in a malicious light. I made sure to have an in-depth conversation with the man referenced in "my last serious relationship before meeting datemate" to let him know what I was writing about so that he would know that it was not about him or about our relationship, but about how my mental illness impacts my life. He gave me his blessing. We ended on good terms and continue to be on good terms.

Saying that, I have not always been the most upstanding person when it comes to dealing with exes and failed relationships. I would like to blame part of that on my obsessive behaviors or anxiety or depression, but there is no one or nothing to blame but me. The easy route has always been to hide behind my mental illness; yet, over the last few months I have learned that this doesn't make the hurt go away- it only spreads it wider and deeper. Sometimes hurt makes us say and do terrible, awful things. I have let wounds fester and resentment grow. For that, I am sorry. I am sorry for what I have said about others and for how that may have impacted their lives. I am sorry for who I let myself become at times.

Each relationship I have been in has helped to mold who I am today. However, those relationships are now over and are of our own private business. This blog is about my personal experiences with mental illness- I never want it to be construed any other way.

This is my life, my journey. I am still learning to stay healthy, be a better person, and let positivity prevail. Thank you for being a part of that.

This is My Brave... Almost.

Next Thursday, I am taking my first leap of faith and sharing part of my story with strangers at the Kroc Center in downtown Greenville. The show is May 5th at 8pm and tickets (plus more information) can be found HERE.

Falling in Love When Depressed.

I am one lucky lady. 8 months ago, I started dating one of the most amazing human beings to ever grace this earth. He is a level-headed, introverted gentleman- I am grade A, regulation crazy. It is an odd, but perfect fit. Before I met the datemate (as I so affectionately like to call him), I had let my mental illness call the shots in my relationships. I settled for less than I was worth because my anxiety had me convinced that I did not deserve to be happy. I dated men who saw my depression before they saw me, who used my low self-esteem to grow their own egos, who took advantage of the victim mentality that I had internalized. Although not every gent that I dated fit the aforementioned bill, more often than not I found myself in relationships that fed my mental illness rather than help to overcome it.

In my last serious relationship before meeting datemate, I found myself spiraling out of control, caught in the throws of a major depressive episode. I had lost myself in my attempts to be "good enough" for someone that I had placed upon a pedestal- they had lived through pain and come out on the other side okay; maybe I could to. I gave and I gave and I gave of myself until I had nothing else left to give. In the end, I had my heart broken because I had finally given so much that I was a shell of a person. When there was nothing left, he was gone thus throwing me even deeper into the cycle of self-loathing, depression, and unbearable hopelessness. We are both left to blame for this failed relationship, yet I am the only one to blame for what it did to me.

Being in love with someone else when you have a hard time loving yourself is incredibly difficult. I have been so amazingly lucky to find someone who is willing to teach me how to fall in love- both with him and with myself. There are days where I will ask "are you sure you love me?" a dozen times or will obsessively replay conversations in my head, convinced that datemate is going to break up with me over a misplaced word. Fortunately for me, it doesn't matter how many times I need to ask for reassurance or how many times he has to drive me to McDonalds for a post-anxiety attack Happy Meal. Datemate sees how a mental illness impacts me, but he does not let it define me or our relationship. I am not my depression or anxiety- something he knows well and does a fantastic job of reminding me of.

Beyond building a strong relationship with a foundation of trust, understanding, and patience, we are partners who attempt to push each other to be better people- not just for each other, but for ourselves. He reminds me to take my medication (a fitting job for a pharmacist), always makes me feel beautiful, and gently lets me know when I am letting my anxiety or depression speak for me. I pull him out of his shell, challenge him with new experiences, and always have a stupid pun or one-liner ready to make him smile. Although I have said the 3 most daunting words in the English language to many people, I don't think I ever truly knew what "I love you" meant until now.

Love will test your patience, challenge you, force you to face the ugliest of things within you, show you how wonderful life can be, build you up and then tear you down. The ups and downs are what make love the best therapy- by learning to love another, I have started to learn how to love myself.

"Do not bring people into your life that weigh you down. Trust your instincts. Good relationships feel good. They feel right. They don't hurt. They're not painful." Michelle Obama

April Fools.

"Am I a fool? I don't think I'm a fool. But I think I sure was fooled." - Kenneth Lay

This year, I almost got through April Fools without incident. That is, until about 6:00pm, when I received a text message from my boyfriend (who happens to be a pharmacist at a children's hospital) that explained that he was involved in a medicine error that caused a child serious brain damage and could have cost him his job and license. Looking back, this was probably hysterical as I texted him asking if everything was okay and then sent a slew of expletive-riddled tirades about how mean he is after he broke the news that it was all a joke. I mean, any logical person would have probably seen through his ruse because how likely was a 1-in-a-million error like this to happen on April Fools Day.

However, there is something different with an anxiety brain. Instead of thinking "oh, he must be joking", I immediately jumped past the thought of April Fools and started running through every worst case scenario in my head- how would I support us both financially? What about the dreams that we have created together?  How can I manage my depression and the inevitable depression that would come from a situation like this? What if he becomes suicidal?

As I sat in my living room- waiting for the punchline, my stomach twisted into knots, I felt like I would vomit, and I started breathing exercises to avoid a full-blown panic attack. None of this is logical, yet it is something that I experience often. An email that come across as scolding, a text message that seems too short, or a frustrated glance can trigger feelings of anxiety- what did I do wrong? Is there something wrong with me? Is everyone mad at me? Am I annoying? April Fools Day is my least favorite day throughout the year, as it seems to play into my anxious mind and thus turns me into a hot mess express headed towards dysfunction junction.

My poor, sweet, amazing boyfriend then felt the needs to apologize over and over again, as he never intended to trigger my anxiety. He felt bad that he upset me; I felt bad that he was feeling bad. This amazing human being, who supports me through thick and thin, loves me for all of me, and tries his best to understand my mental illness, tried to play a little joke that (on anyone else) would have been hilarious and my anxious brain turned the entire thing into an ordeal.

One positive thing has come from this whole experience- forgiveness. Although salty for a few hours, I did forgive the datemate for freaking me out. He forgave me for the harsh things I said in a state of anxiety. But most importantly, I forgave myself. Many times I have found myself replaying similar situations and getting angry at myself for being overreactive or overemotional. I have anxiety- it is going to cause some awkward situations, but that's okay. My anxious brain doesn't control me- I can forgive myself and I can live a life bigger than my mental illness.

Dream Big. Do Bigger.

I have always been somewhat of a "head in the clouds" kinda person- imagining the world how I would like it to be and the person I hoped to become. When I was in 1st grade, I was actually nominated for & won the Disney "Dreamers and Doers" Award for enacting positive change in my community. As a 6 year old, I had no idea what that truly meant- to be a dreamer and doer- and yet, that has become such a huge piece of who I am today. As children, we all have crazy dreams. I wanted to be a figure skater, country music star, crime scene investigator, wife by 21 years old, and mother by 25 years old. None of that really worked out and I am REALLY thankful that it didn't- I am sure as hell not ready to be a momma and I pass out at the sight of blood so CSI definitely wouldn't have worked out well. Dreams evolve and grow, they give us vision for the future, and are the driving force in helping us find our path.

Somehow, between becoming a figure skater and landing my first job as a fraternity/sorority life advisor, my dream became to help, inspire, challenge others through the power of storytelling. Today, that dream came true. Today, I joined ForCollegeForLife as a professional college speaker, dedicated to breaking down the stigma surrounding mental illness and advancing fraternity/sorority life. A dream that seemed so unreal, so impossible came true today.

For years, I have told myself "not yet, you aren't ready, you can't do this". I have sifted through doubt, fear of failure, and self-set boundaries. The one thing, the only thing that can help overcome this overwhelming feeling of "I can't" is a deafening, resilient, unwavering sense of courage. Courage to dream big and do bigger. Where's your courage? What would YOU do without expectations, boundaries, or fear of failure? Do that.

"Have the courage to touch the butt" -Finding Nemo

Meet Minnie.

"Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep."-Scott Adams

The day before I was leaving the state for a business trip, the woman who has been my rock since I moved to South Carolina (hi Liz) came into my office with the cutest, sweetest little puppy in the entire world. As soon as I laid eyes on her, I started to cry. I knew that this little runt of a pup was going to be mine.

I immediately rushed with my friend to see the co-director of the local Humane Society that was fostering Minnie. I would have done ANYTHING to adopt Minnie, but it was as simple as filling out an application and promising to make Minnie's foster parents her permanent god-pup-parents. Imagine Kristen Bell's sloth meltdown (Google it). That was me when I got the word that Minnie was mine- ugly crying all around.

Our First Picture Together

Minnie is my first puppy. I have been a cat mom for almost 7 years now- raising a puppy would be easy, right? ABSOLUTELY FREAKING NOT. From peeing on the carpet, to biting everything in sight, to chasing the cat around, to jumping on furniture, to scratching people. EVERYTHING WAS HARD.

Days after I adopted Minnie, my (amazing, adoring, wonderful) boyfriend sat me down and told me that he thought getting Minnie was a mistake. As I sobbed hysterically and asked him if he wanted me to give her back, he calmly explained that he would never ask me to give her back and this conversation wasn't meant to make me feel bad. Instead, he was simply pointing out a lesson that he had recognized early on, but I had not yet fully grasped.

Minnie is my perfect mistake. Was I impulsive in adopting her? Yes. Did I get in WAY over my head? Absolutely. Is she one of the best things to ever happen to me? Hell yeah. Minnie has taught me selflessness and responsibility, and has inadvertently become my greatest therapy. I can't let myself stay in bed for hours. Minnie needs to go potty or needs breakfast. I can't let my anxiety take over. Minnie feeds off my anxiety which leads to a very stressed pup.

Now I am not advocating that everyone who is struggling with a mental illness go get a puppy and that everything will magically get better. See my previous blog about Addycat for reference. I was in the right time of my life with the proper financial stability, a network of people to help me, and the dedication to take care of, train, and love Minnie. Even with all of the logical factors in place, adopting Minnie has been one of the biggest challenges I have taken on thus far...

and I wouldn't change a damn thing.

The Beginning of My Brave.

Last Thursday night, I went to the cast party for the Greenville production of the "This is My Brave" show. A group of about 12 beautiful people who were all struggling with or have been touched by mental illness sat in a circle to openly talk about their experiences. There were a variety of mental illnesses that could be found in that room- schizophrenia, PTSD, bipolar disorder, anorexia, depression, and anxiety. I have never been more uncomfortable in my life. Not because of the people surrounding me- they made me feel courageous and strong. But because that was the first time that I talked about my disorder with other people who have experienced the same thing that I have been struggling against for over 8 years. I felt validated, like I wasn't a crazy person or someone seeking attention or someone with an attitude problem- all things I have been called after being open about my illness in the past. It was therapy of sorts to be able to tell my story and be met with smiles, nods of support, and applause after years of being met with eyes full of sympathy or concern.

"This is My Brave" is about breaking down the stigma- that it is a weakness or something to be ashamed of- attached to mental illness by the telling of stories through various mediums like music, poetry, or essays. By drawing attention to mental illness, we create a world of understanding that makes it safer and easier for individuals to express themselves and overcome their illness. We break down the stigma imposed by society.

Never would I have thought that the internal stigma that I have carried for so long would also be broken down. I have always been afraid that I would be treated differently if people found out that I had a mental illness. That the looks of sympathy or concern or disgust would eat me alive. That no one would ever be able to accept me for the whole person that I am- depression and anxiety included. However, walking into that room, I was normal. Better yet, I was the NEW normal. The normal where it doesn't matter what mental illness you are struggling with because who you are as a person is more important than your diagnosis.

[Cough, Cough] I'm Sick.

Rambling & Medication.

This one is a little bit harder to post- I don't like sharing this part of me. I feel vulnerable, nervous, and scared. But this is important and something that isn't talked about enough... medication can be so helpful in managing a mental illness and yet, there is such a stigma and misconception surrounding it. There is no weakness in relying on medication to make things easier to cope with. It actually takes great strength to seek help.

Self-Fulfilling Prophecies.

Have you ever been to Charleston, South Carolina? If not, put it on your bucket list. This weekend, I spent 4 beautiful days with several coworkers turned friends turned family. Being around these brilliant, loving people in such a calming and wonderful place filled my soul and gave me the energy to keep king on this semester after weeks of trouble and stress. Realizing how fortunate I am to have this army of support around me caused me to pause and reflect upon how rare this can be for someone struggling with depression or anxiety. Often, the support is there but our brains won't allow us to accept it.

Mental illness is not rational. There are days where I catch myself stressing over whether or not I am too much of a burden on the people who love me, if I am deserving of such amazing friends, or if people just pretend to like me because they feel obligated to. I constantly fear the day that my best friend will push me away out of disgust or the day that my boyfriend will break up with me because he has realized that I (and my depression and anxiety) are truly too much to handle.

In the past, this has created many self-fulfilling prophecies. I believe that my depression and anxiety will become too much for others, thus I push them away before they have the chance to see the person behind the illness. I will ask over and over again "are you sure you still want to be with me?" My constant worrying and need for confirmation will come across as needy or insecure or just plain annoying. The relationship ends in heartbreak and again, I feel like I am not good enough or a burden or undeserving.

Being plague by these feelings of doubt and fear is far worse than any rejection I have ever experienced. The day that I realized that I could be loved and, better yet, deserved to be loved was the most liberating day of my life. Depression and anxiety is a part of me and therefore, often becomes a part of my relationships. However, it does not have to define them. Yes, I still ask my boyfriend if he is absolutely positive that he still wants to be with me on a weekly basis. Yes, the thoughts of self-doubt still pop up every time someone is short with me during a conversation. Yet instead of letting myself fall into the cycle of cataclysmic thinking, I pause and ask myself where these feelings are coming from. I remind myself that I am loved because I deserve love.

Love is the Achilles' heel of depression and anxiety.

An Episode.

The Blame Game.

Today was a bad day. I knew when I woke up this morning that it was going to be hard to make it through today- that today, depression would win. It took me 3 hours to convince myself to get out of bed and another 2 hours to get ready to go to work. During that time, I processed through all the regular questions once again:

"If I don't go to work today, will I get fired? How bad would getting fired actually be? How long would I be able to live without a job? Does anyone even really need me at work today? What meetings do I need to reschedule? Do I even need to reschedule? Does everyone hate me?"

This internal barrage of questions is the hardest part of navigating my depression. The answers are always the same and always end up reaching the same conclusion- I am worthless, I am a burden, and everyone hates me. This toxic thinking bleeds into every aspect of my life and puts me in a terrible mood, thus making me a horrible person to be around. Today, I was grumpy, mean, and bitter. I complained more. I was short with people.

The easiest solution would be to simply change my thinking, right? This is the advice I have received over and over and over again- "if you just change your attitude, you wouldn't be depressed". It truly isn't that simple. Imagine the story of the little Dutch boy and the dyke that is leaking- there are a million little holes leaking poisoning thoughts into my brain and yet I only have a few fingers to plug these holes. No matter how hard I try- the thoughts do not stop, the attitude cannot be changed, the depression will win.

This story is not to garner sympathy or to play the game of "woe is me". I share this story because (I believe) one of the biggest misconceptions surrounding depression is that the sufferer is to blame for their disease, as one should always have control over what they feel. Depression is no one's fault- trust me, no one would ASK for this disease. It is ugly, it hurts, and it makes some days nearly impossible.

Today was a bad day.

I wish I could end with something positive here, but as I was reminded by a friend who also struggles with depression and anxiety- sometimes the story doesn't have a happy ending and that is okay... because tomorrow will come and it may not be the best or even a better day, but tomorrow will come and that is something to smile about.

How a Cat Saved My Life.

There are two things that anyone who meets me knows to be true: I am lowkey obsessed with my puppy and I am a very proud crazy cat lady. I'll share more about Minnie the puppy later- she has already had her 5 seconds of fame on this blog. Today is about Addy, my cat and the reason I am still here on this earth. The semester of college right after I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder was the worst of my life. I was in a terrible relationship with a real loser. I was on a highly competitive, world-ranked winterguard team which I never, ever felt good enough for. I stupidly decided to take on way too many credits in school. I had just joined my sorority and wasn't prepared for the time/energy/self commitment. I was struggling to figure out my identity as someone saddled with a mental illness. Essentially, I ran myself into the ground and then decided to dig a little bit deeper- just for good measure.

Somehow in the middle of all this, I found some time to adopt a kitten. I grew up around animals and had convinced myself that if I got a kitten, everything would magically get better. My aunt (another crazy cat lady) took me to the local Humane Society to "look around", knowing fully that I couldn't leave without my own ball of fur. So insert Addy- the cutest, spunkiest kitten you'll ever meet.

Unfortunately, getting a kitten didn't solve all of my problems- shocker, I know. I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into depression, which felt impossible to overcome. I felt like my only out would be taking my own life. Living each day was so hard- all I wanted was some peace. Suicide seemed so serene, like I could finally get some rest.

I planned everything out- I cleaned my apartment so no one would have to bother, figured out my method- something simple and painless, and wrote a goodbye to everyone that I loved. However, there was one problem. I had no idea how long it would take for someone to realize that I wasn't answering my phone or showing up to things. I was worried that Addy would have to go too long without someone giving her food or water. I couldn't be responsible for both of our deaths. So I drove the 45 minutes home to drop Addy off at my parent's house. That is when everything changed.

My mom had come home early from work that day and had already started dinner. My plan to drop off Addy and run was no longer feasible- I had to stay and pretend to be the happy, wonderful daughter and sister my family knew. It was all too much and for the first time in my life, I finally broke down and talked to my mom about what I was feeling. I told her I was so unhappy that I considered suicide. The pain in her eyes was more than I ever wanted to see. I knew I had to find my courage and do whatever it took to get better. I couldn't hurt my family by taking my life- my personal pain would never amount to the pain my death would have caused them.

I started seeing a new therapist the next week.

I will often think back to that day- my decision day where I chose life over death- and think about what would have happened if I had never gotten Addy or didn't care about her well-being. Suicide isn't rational- I'm thankful that it isn't. My concern for a kitten saved my life. So when people reproach me for being a crazy cat lady, I couldn't be more proud. For if it wasn't for a sassy cat and an irrational love, I wouldn't be here today.

Considering suicide? There is help. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is always there to listen- 1 (800) 273-8255.

Thank You.

Thank you so much to everyone for the outpouring of support after posting my first video blog yesterday- Minnie was super nervous to have her first debut on my blog and I was even more nervous to take this first step. My dream is to be able to inspire people through storytelling, to change the misconceptions surrounding mental illness, and to challenge others to find their courage to speak up. This project of mine- Curiosity, Courage, and Cake- feels like my first step to making that dream come true. I cannot say 'thank you' enough for the support and kind words. I'm really glad to have so many people be a part of this journey. Minnie is pretty excited about the whole thing too. She is already getting a big head from being featured in the video. Diva.

Some Stories are Worth Listening To

Regret.

Today, I am full of regret. It feels hypocritical because nearly every day I ask my students or my friends "what would you do without expectations, boundaries, or fear of failure?" By living this motto, you should never have regrets. Yet here I am. On January 8th, this world lost a truly amazing human being after a year long battle with cancer. Larry was my cousin- albeit if you looked at our family tree you wouldn't be able to easily figure out where he fit. He was married to an amazing woman that I grew up calling my cousin, even though we have no blood relation. She is the unofficial adoptive daughter of my mother's sister- yet you would never know that we weren't all blood related, as my aunt has more love than what could possibly all fit inside her tiny body. She has treated all of us- daughters, nieces, nephews, boyfriends, friends- as her own children. Larry was her son- no question about it.

The last time I saw Larry was 2 years ago at my grandfather's funeral. The last time I saw his youngest son, Mason- my second cousin or nephew as I call him- was when he was still in diapers, a baby just barely a year old. Mason and I nearly share a birthday. He turns 4 years old in August. Between moving away from home for graduate school and then getting a job out of state, it has been easy for me to make excuses not to come home- to alienate the people who have always been family. I have been scared that maybe I have changed too much, that they won't understand me or like me anymore, that I won't fit in. I have had family members turn their backs on me before and I think, in my mind, it would be easier to run away from them than to let them leave me. My own fear has cost me the chance to learn from one of the courageous men on this earth.

Larry was the type of person that rarely spoke, but when he did, you knew you were going to laugh. He was kind, goofy, caring, and witty. At our last Christmas together, I remember him cracking a joke about how incredibly weird the sisters (my mother and her 3 sisters) are. What he, nor anyone else at that gathering knew, was that I was teetering on the brink of a panic attack that night- I hate crowds and dislike Christmas because I feel so much pressure to make everyone else feel happy. I have to hide my anxiety. His jokes helped keep me calm. He helped save me from embarrassment.

When I found out that Larry had cancer, it was easy for me to pretend that it wasn't happening. He was in Florida, while I was in South Carolina. I would get updates via text or Facebook. It was like reading about someone else- not him. That made it easier to lessen the pain. It wasn't fair that something like this could happen to someone like him. Larry was a warrior, a fighter. He was a father of 5, an adoring husband, a hard-worker, even when his body was turning against him. Throughout the whole ordeal, he never lost his faith in God- a battle that I gave up on a long, long time ago. He had courage in the face of tremendous adversity. He was a hero.

I regret not taking the time to learn more from Larry. I regret letting my own fear of rejection keep me from the very family that has always been there for me. I regret not taking the time to simply reach out and ask what I could do to make things easier. I regret not coming home to see him one last time.

Regret doesn't really do much, other than make you feel lousy. But I think that lessons can be learned from regret. Don't wait to reach out to those that you love. Don't let your own selfish fear stand between you and the people who can change your life. Be courageous.

For you, Larry. I love you, I miss you, and I am so sorry I wasn't there.

LARRY ROBERTS, 39

Larry Roberts, 39 of Lakeland, FL, died peacefully at home Friday January 8th, 2016, surrounded by his family and friends. Larry was a warrior and fought a year long battle with cancer.

Larry was an employee for G&G Electric Company in Lakeland and they became his second family. He was a friend to many and was always willing to do whatever he could for whoever he met. The world was a better place with him in it. He was a member of Oasis Community Church.

Larry is survived by his wife of 12 years, Tamara Roberts and their 5 children: Cooper (8), Mason (3), Alexis (17), Mitchell (15) and Tristan (13) and many other family and friends. The family will receive guests from 3 to 5 p.m. January 24th with a service at 5 p.m. at Oasis Community Church. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the C-5 Youth ministries at Oasis Community Church.

A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth. Ecclesiastes 7:1