Between the Rain and Sun-baked Sidewalks

           The suitcases sat quietly, clustered in the corner while the rain pattered against the window. Most of the apartment had been packed away: only the furniture remained, scattered throughout the small studio. Boxes filled much of the other space, most stacked near the door opposite the suitcases. Their coats were on the arm of the battered couch.

            Cassidy knelt down, stuffing the last of her colorful scarves into a little, black carry-on. With a huff, she zipped the over-stuffed bag and brushed her hair out of her face. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched her friend, Kim, tuck a particularly oblong plastic bin on top of the growing stack in her bedroom. They had met in their undergraduate Psychology program at Drake, during their sophomore year. The two had been close friends ever since.

Kim’s short, brown hair fell into her face as she shifted the parcel. They both jumped when one of the smaller boxes fell to the floor with a heavy thump. Cassidy looked up at Kim, an eyebrow raised.

            “It was just clothes. Don’t worry,” Kim said.

            Cassidy pursed her lips and resumed packing.

            On the desk, an acceptance lettered fluttered in time with the whirring space heater. It was emblazoned with the Boston University letterhead – all gold embellishments and bold, black lettering. Cassidy glanced up at it and a small smile graced her lips. She was really going. Finally.

            Kim huffed behind her. “Ok.”

            “All done?” Cassidy stood, brushing off her beat-up jeans. “My mom’ll be here with the car any minute.”

            Kim lifted a shoulder, tugging at the frayed hem of her sweatshirt.

            Cassidy frowned. “Kim, what’s up?” she asked.

            Kim pulled out a stray thread.

            “Kim?”

            “You’re leaving.”

            Cassidy exhaled. “Yeah. I am.”

            “You’re going to Boston. Grad school.”
            “Only for eight weeks. I’ll be back for Spring Break.”

            “And then you’ll leave again.”

            “It’s just grad school-“

            “I’m sure that’s what you said when you came here for undergrad too.”

            Cassidy’s face crumpled a little bit. Kim averted her gaze.

            “Kim, I know this is hard – “

            “Do you?” Kim glared at her. “Do you really?”

            The softness in Cassidy’s features hardened. “I do know,” she aid softly. “More than you realize.”

           

            Three months prior, the July sun beat down on the world below. It baked the concrete and parks alike. The sidewalk was almost too hot for them to walk on, even in her sandals and his boots.

            He held Cassidy’s hand loosely as they walked down the street. His fingers were wrapped around hers, nearly hiding her hand from view. Their hands perspired against each other’s, but they didn’t notice. Six months together seems to have that effect on couples.

            “How are you still wearing that outfit in this weather?” Cassidy asked. She lightly nudged his elbow with her own. “Aren’t you roasting?”

            He glanced down at his black t-shirt and jeans. “Eh. I’m fine. Besides,” he grinned down at her, “I’d rather not get my entire back sunburned.” He winked and Cassidy stuck out her tongue.

            “Halter tops are back in,” she stated.

            He chuckled and his eyes returned to the horizon. He was always looking into the distance – especially today. Cassidy would often ask him about it, but he’d just smile and tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.

            He did so when she questioned him as they crossed the street and ducked into the local coffee shop. He grabbed their usual table and she went to order – black coffee for him, and a white chocolate mocha for her. Iced today, given the heat, but their usual.

            She weaved through the smattering of tables, passing other patrons who talked quietly over the own iced tea or coffees. The space wasn’t too busy today. She found him staring out the window as she approached. Setting their drinks down, she sat.

            “What’cha thinking?”

            “Thoughts,” he said.

            She frowned at him. “There’s something on your mind.”

            Rolling his eyes, he turned to face her. “There’s always something on my mind.”

            “Yes, but more so than usual today.” She brought her mocha to her lips and took a sip. “Besides, you’ve had that look since Monday.”

            He raised an eyebrow.

            She raised both.

            He sighed and took a sip of his iced coffee.

She pursed her lips.

“I’m moving to LA next week,” he said.

            The world fell quiet and began to spin around her. “LA?”

            He nodded; green eyes angled back out the window. “I got a job offer. Production Assistant.”

            “Where?”

            “Scat-Cat Studios. They’re an independent film company.”

            She swallowed another mouthful of mocha. “Oh.”

            Her eyes dropped to the cool drink in her hands. Around them, a few pedestrians trickled in, laughing and expressing their gratitude for the invention of central air. An even more daring group meandered out, cold drinks perspiring in their hands. A bead of moisture rolled between her fingers, slipping into her palm.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

            Closing his eyes, he turned back to her. “I though it would be easier to just let things play out.”

            Her jaw clenched. “Play out?”

            “Yeah. Go with the flow. See what happens.”

            Cassidy’s hands tensed around her drink. “Why?”

            He blinked. “It’s easier that way.”

            Cassidy slammed her mocha down on the table, pushing her chair backwards with a clatter. He and the other customers jumped.

            Words trembled on her lips as her eyes misted over and her shoulders hunched up and forward. “So you were just going to leave. Just like that,” she managed to choke out.

            He shrugged. “Yeah.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Seemed best.”

            She closed her hands into fists and ground her teeth together. “Then why are we even here?”

            “It doesn’t mean I like you any less –“

            “But you don’t like me enough to stay.” She wiped angrily at her cheeks. “I get it.”

            “Cassidy –“

            She glared at him – furrowed eyebrows, narrowed eyelids around dilated pupils, lips pressed into a thin line.

            He fell silent and looked out the window.

            Cassidy knocked the mocha to the floor in a fit of motion. The clatter of another chair had her turning and facing the staring patrons. They watched as she ran, leaving her drink in a puddle on the floor.

           

            “I never heard from him after that,” Cassidy said. “No phone calls, no letters.”

            Kim shifted her weight.

            Cassidy sought out Kim’s gaze. “You knew this was coming Kim. I know it’s hard, but you knew.”

            “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

            Cassidy sighed. Kim dropped her crossed arms.

            “Look,” Kim said, “I’m happy for you, honest. But…”

            Cassidy cocked her head.

            Kim rolled her eyes. “I’m pissed, ok? I don’t want you to go.”

            Cassidy smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. Her eyes remained still. “Kim…”

            “Cassidy, I still –“ Kim’s mouth closed and she clenched her hands. “Damn it.”

            The brunette strode forward and tugged Cassidy roughly into a hug. Kim buried her face in Cassidy’s hair as moisture dampened the strands. Cassidy’s blue eyes went wide. She could feel Kim’s breath on her neck.

            “I don’t want you to go.”

            Cassidy’s arms wrapped around Kim’s waist and her hands fisted in the other woman’s shirt. Cassidy pulled Kim to her and buried her face into Kim’s shoulder. Their grip tightened on each other.

            The rain tinked quietly against the window. Ragged breaths filled the space.

            “I’m sorry,” Cassidy whispered.

            Outside, a car horn honked.

            Kim pulled away abruptly, scrubbing at her face with her sweatshirt sleeves. Cassidy hastily pawed at her cheeks in response.

            “That’s your mom,” Kim said.

            “I know.”

            The silence stretched.

            “Kim, we’ve talked about this…”

            “I know, I know.” Kim sniffed. “We’d never work long distance.”

            Cassidy laughed softly.

            “Besides,” Kim gave a stiff grin, “We’d be too badass for the world to handle.”

            The blonde snorted.

            Kim turned and grabbed the nearest box. “Shall we?”

            Cassidy’s lips pulled upwards and, this time, the smile touched her eyes. Just a little bit. 

Practical Soldier to Busty ‘Babe’: The Construction of Appearance over Depth of Characters in the Mass Effect Trilogy

            For years, video games have been targeted at a primarily straight, masculine audience. From The Legend of Zelda to Pokemon to Halo, male gamers and male protagonists have dominated the video game world. When women have been featured, it has usually been as busty, scantily clad, and sexualized, occasionally sporting an actual, believable personality. Most games adhere to the traditional gender roles society sets forth: men are dominant, aggressive leaders, while women remain eye-candy in supporting roles.  Bioware’s Mass Effect series challenges some of these gender roles, allowing players to choose between a male or female protagonist and providing an array of unique supporting characters. Mass Effect steps outside of society’s set gender roles, allowing female characters to step forward into traditionally masculine roles. However, Mass Effect 2 and 3 become entangled in societal standards, exemplifying how the societal constructs of gender continue to trap others and place the appearance of characters as a priority before depth of character.

Mass Effect can be played as a female or male Commander Shephard, providing the opportunity for a woman to step into the protagonist role. Bioware sets a high standard from the beginning: “The difference between the male and female Commander Shepard is cosmetic and aesthetic only. In terms of personality, there is little difference and both incarnations are treated the same way by the NPCs that they come across” (Minnie). The lack of personality difference between MaleShep and FemShep is a telling precedent that reveals the company’s early attempts to treat both sexes equally. Bioware shies away from the ‘eye-candy’ stereotype placed on many women in video games, dressing FemShep in a modest uniform and providing practical, sensible armor. Her character has as much depth as MaleShep’s as she experiences the same events, recruits the same squad members, and completes the same missions. The squad is no different, featuring an array of human and aliens, each with their own story, goals, and desires. An emphasis is placed on depth of character in Mass Effect, setting the example with FemShep and affirming her position through reinforcement and praise, as well as criticism and questioning – depending on the player’s choices. This strong example allows the other women of Mass Effect to step forward, reaching above, “We’re only as hot as our willingness to put on a show for guys” (Valenti 44).  The women are individuals, comfortable in themselves and what they do, and are still attractive to male and female players.

Mass Effect stood out with its powerful characters, especially as the game allowed women to take the lead in roles traditionally held my male protagonists. Specifically in videogames, violence and aggression abound, encouraging players to embrace a more volatile (and masculine) aspect of themselves. Male videogame protagonists usually represent the societal construction of masculinity: “to be tough, to quash their feelings, and even to be violent” (Valenti 183). The values of social masculinity are evident in their behavior, actions, and interactions, coloring the game’s experience. Allowing a woman to step into the protagonist role applies these masculine ideas in a completely different manner, stepping outside of the societal construction of feminine and masculine. Masculine is as powerful as feminine in Mass Effect as FemShep is rewarded and affirmed in the same tasks as MaleShep. As Renzetti describes in Women, Men, and Society, “the two processes – reinforcement and modeling – go hand in hand” (78). The reinforcement of FemShep’s actions by other characters in game, regardless of her gender or sex, supports the lack of gender roles applied to FemShep and allows other characters – and players – model her and her behaviors. Her development and depth of character is placed above her appearance, creating a new experience for players.

Unfortunately, the equality of gender and sex did not last in Mass Effect 2. Shephard remained the same, overcoming impossible odds to save the day while retaining her balance of masculine and feminine attributes. The same cannot be said of her supporting squad mates, however. Miranda Lawson is the epitome of societal female sexuality: large breasts, an ample behind, and flawless skin. Genetically engineered to be ‘perfect,’ Miranda shows off her body in a skin-tight cat suit that doubles as armor on missions. “Pop culture sex is sugar and spice, tits and ass” – Miranda is an embodiment of pop culture sex (Valenti 41). Camera shots clearly emphasize her physical assets, distracting from the compelling character behind the engineered ‘perfection.’ Players who were able to empathize with characters in the first game struggle to do the same with Miranda:

“The main failing I find with Miranda’s character development is the continued visual objectification, despite the constant reassurances that she’s more than that… When a narrative tells us, ‘You are more than the sum of your parts,’ and combines it with an image of a painstakingly animated ass in a skintight jumpsuit, the message gets a little lost.” (Elyse)

            The objectification of Mirada through degrading camera angles and over-emphasized physical characteristics prevents players from believing her personality and becoming engaged with her as a character. The message is lost as her appearance takes priority over her character. She does maintain a position of power as Shephard’s second-in-command during Mass Effect 2 and is a very capable, intellectual character, but it is lessened in significance due to the priority of her visual appearance. 

Miranda is “trapped by the limiting sexuality that’s put out there – a sexuality that caters almost exclusively to men” (Valenti 42). Society encloses women in the box of feminine sexuality, teaching them what to fear and what to desire (to fear being ugly, and to desire to be hot, sexy, and beautiful). Through characters like Miranda, the societal construction of beauty is set forth. It is unattainable – Miranda was genetically engineered! Yet if one is not striving for Miranda’s ‘perfection, “you’re not trying to ‘improve’ yourself… you’re gross and you don’t ‘take care of yourself’” (Valenti 206). Appearance takes precedent in society – it has become how many define themselves and set themselves apart, men and women both. Through characters like Miranda, the societal construction of beauty shines through – as does the expectation that one is striving for said construction. If one is not, then society and their peers frown upon them. The reinforcement of these beauty ideals extends throughout all media, exemplified by female characters everywhere. Christy Haubegger explains, “none of the magazines showed models in bathing suits with bodies like mine. Handsome movie heroes were never hoping to find a chubby damsel in distress” (Haubegger 210). Movies, magazines, games…none regularly strive beyond the concept of ‘beauty’ and reaffirm the societal ideal time and time again. Emphasis is placed on appearance and the concept that “the way she looks/dresses/appears has some bearing on who she is as a person” (Valenti 200). A woman is defined by her appearance in society, regardless of what she does. Miranda is a beautiful, strong, talented woman, and her objectification implies that she is no more than she appears (which Bioware proves false as soon as the player speaks to her). Bioware’s character development helps and hurts, undermining her strength through objectification, while yet confirming that she – and all women, for that matter – are more than just their appearance.

             The decline in the importance of character continued into Mass Effect 3 with the introduction of Diana Allers and James Vega. Both characters portrayed stereotypes of both genders: Allers strutted about in a skintight, leather dress, occasionally conducting flirtatious interviews with Male/FemShep while seemingly open to perusing a sexual relationship with either; James was a bulked up mass of soldier, constantly working out or working on guns when not fighting alongside the Commander. Allers was sexualized like Miranda, embodying many double-standards encouraged by society while distracting players with the low cut of her dress and its tightness around specific areas. “We’re expected to be available to men but we’re also expected to be ‘mysterious’”: this double-standard is embodied in Allers as she teases, commenting, “If you keep feeding me info like that, I might have to follow you home” before striding out with an emphasized sway of her hips (Valenti 50, Mass Effect 3). James is just as defined by his stereotypes, definitively masculine by societal standards. He’s big, he’s tough, and isn’t afraid to crash a shuttle to get the job done. He is the embodiment of “the new cool… this ‘bros over hos’ mentality…where playing cards, watching football, drinking beer, and picking up chicks is the norm” (Valenti 187). Men are coerced into following this societal ideal through characters like James Vega. James spends most of his shore leave either at the bar, gambling, or boasting with his fellow squad mates about kills or other feats; if he’s not flirting with FemShep.

            Characters like Allers and Vega only reinforce the stereotypical gender roles encouraged by society today. Affirming these attributes by creating characters solely centered on these ideals allows the social learning theories to take effect, encouraging these dehumanizing ideals through their presentation in game. Allers and Vega’s actions can be encouraged or chastised to a minor extent by Male/FemShep, but their presence reflects on how pervasive societal ideals have become in gaming. True, they have always been present, but many more games have been addressing some of these societal constructs in a more progressive manner (like Mass Effect). Even the sexuality of the characters is caught in the whorls of societal constructs: Allers is bisexual, attracted to both men and women, spurring the speculation of “Be a lesbian…who likes men” (Valenti 51). She flirts with Male and FemShep the same way and is a viable romance option for each. The equality is refreshing and again emphasizes Bioware’s ability to overcome traditional gender roles, but Aller’s almost sole purpose seems to be as a sexual item. The visual objectification of her character implies society’s construction of sexuality: standards like “be sexy, but [don’t] give it up,” “unattainable but simultaneously available for consumption,” and to “put on the ‘show’” to please men (Valenti 51). Allers is constantly on display, teasing if the Commander engages in flirting, but holds out before giving into his/her advances; and can always be found, if not engaged with. Embodying these standards provides a concerning vision for female players, setting an unrealistic model before them that is affirmed by her position and success as a reporter. Allers lives for the show – and other women should too.

            This demeaning progression from the gender equality in Mass Effect to the objectification and embodiment of societal gender norms in Mass Effect 3 presents just how influential and solidified societal gender roles are. Bioware challenges them through characters like FemShep, whose depth of personality takes priority over her appearance, but she is one of the few still treated that way by the end of the series. Characters like Miranda Lawson, Diana Allers, and James Vega appear with more frequency, embodying what it is to be ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine.’ Their appearance takes precedent over their character: Miranda’s genetically engineered beauty, Allers’s constant display, and Vega’s over-muscular physique. It is visually distracting and detracts from each of their characters. Mass Effect 3 in particular proves Valenti’s statement to be true: “We’re on display everywhere. We couldn’t escape it if we wanted to” (44).

Though she directed it more towards women in regards to pop culture, men are snagged in the same snares. In all media, men and women are put on display and expected to adhere to preconceived constructs of gender and gender roles: men are to be masculine, tough, authoritative while women are to be feminine, striving for unattainable beauty and expected to be submissive. Videogames are no exception as appearance takes precedent over depth of character. Mass Effect challenged those constructs through characters like FemShep who leveled the playing field, representing a balance of masculine and feminine and how the associated gender roles are not concrete. FemShep proved that traditional gender constructions do not have to be adhered to, and that traditional gender roles don’t always sell. Unfortunately, as the series grew, societal constructs and the importance of appearance became more influential. The target audience – white, straight, middleclass males – dictate the market and still clamor for the objectified, sexualized women of earlier games. To change the gender constructions in gaming, one must first change why traditional gender roles sell and diversify the target audience. Until such a thing occurs, appearance will continue to take priority over character depth: especially in female characters, leaving female gamers with a lack of constructive models in the gaming world.

Works Cited

Elyse. “Love in the Time of Reapers: Women and Romance in Mass Effect.” Geekquality. 7 December 2011. 21 May 2012. < http://www.geekquality.com/masseffect-women/>.

Haubegger, Christy. “I’m Not Fat, I’m Latina.” Reconstructing Gender. New York: McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc., 2009.

Mass Effect. Bioware Corp. Microsoft Game Studios. 20 November 2007. Xbox 360. English.

Mass Effect 2. Bioware Corp. Electronic Arts. 26 January 2010. Xbox 360. English.

Mass Effect 3. Bioware Corp. Electronic Arts. 6 March 2012. Xbox 360. English.

Minnie. “Women and Mass Effect.” Gaming Symetry. 19 August 2011. 21 May 2012. < http://www.gamingsymmetry.com/women-and-mass-effect/>.

Renzetti, Claire M., Daniel J. Curran. Women, Men, and Society. Boston: Pearson Education, Inc., 2003.

Valenti, Jessica. Full Frontal Feminism. Berkeley: Seal Press, 2007.

By Your Side

In your arms
I find my rest;
be the sun high in the sky,
or the moon rising at midnight.
In our bed,
or on the highway,
I find my rest
by your side.
Smiling or crying,
Fighting or trying,
I find my rest
in your arms.
When work weighs heavy,
or moving is too much,
I find my rest
by your side.

I hope you find rest
by my side too.

Fingernails

Fingernails like mine remind her to feel sorry for me. The jagged edges cut into my skin as she drags them slowly down my back. I hiss into her ear. She shushes me.

            “But Cassandra –“

            “Cassandra will take care of herself,” she whispers. Her lips are on mine again.

            I pull back. “Wait.” I could taste her lip balm – strawberries and vanilla.

            She sits back on the bed. Outside, the bass pulses through the living room, thudding up against the closed door.

            “She doesn’t know anybody Sasha. And with the Frisbee boys here-“

            Sasha sighs dramatically, pushing herself off the bed. She stands, arms crossed over her chest with her hip cocked. I can’t help but notice how her cleavage peaks out from under her forearms, pressing up against the tight v-neck she wears. Her nails dig into her arms this time. Does that mean I should feel sorry for her?

            “If Cassandra was in trouble, she’d come and find us.”

            “But what if –“

            Sasha glowers and I slide to the foot of the bed, across from her.

            “If you were so worried about her, why did you come in here in the first place?”

            I glance at the jagged crescents tipping my fingers. Even in the dark bedroom they glimmer; just a little bit. “Your fingers.”

            She frowns. “What?”

            “Your nails.”

            Glancing between her hands and mine, her face scrunches. The door closes quietly on her words as she walks out: “I feel sorry for you.”

Twinging

Something is twinging -
a muscle pulling against bone.
It's in my chest,
just to the left,
next to the beat of my heart.
I don't know what it is today.
It's an unfamiliar thing.
But it's only there when I see you -
your eyes,
your smile.
I do wish it would go away,
and let you stay.

Behind the Veil

A blue veil covers her face,
eyes dark behind the lace.
Lips red,
cheeks flushed;
her hair is tousled,
thick and dark.
She stands proud -
chin up and eyes ahead,
a sardonic grin twisting her lips.
Her back is straight in her black gown
and her lines are long and unbroken.
Inside though,
past the blank gaze and the twisted mouth,
past the flushed skin and the lines,
there's steel -
barricades so high that she can't see out:
no windows.
No doors.
No grates.
Here she sits -
knees to chest, head low, eyes ahead -
with broken lines.
She's pale, so pale,
and black smears her cheeks.
There is no dress to pool about her;
only nakedness,
barely hidden by her own limbs.
Bruises mar the flesh,
while cuts tear at her joints,
and mud crusts her limp, dark hair.
"Don't look at me,"
she whispers.
"Don't look.
Don't look.
Or you'll see..."

Fading

Happiness doesn't seem to like to stick around -
the smiles come and go as they please.
The fluttering of my heart,
the bubbly noise in my chest,
is fading as the days go by -
the bubbles are lessening
and the heart returns to a level throb.

I don't want to go back to the corner,
curled up under the sheets
and avoiding, avoiding.
I like being able to hold my head high,
to smile and mean it for once,
rather than just scraping by.

Is there a way to balance
the smiles with the hiding?
To share the bubbles,
the laughs,
the grins,
amidst the tears and stiffness?

I like smiling.
I like being me.
I found me again.
Don't let me lose her.

Here's to You and I

The biggest grin sits on your face
As a different one twists mine,
our guts' aching,
shuddering with laughter.
Seeing the smiles,
hearing your laugh,
shows me that all is as it should be.
The warmth that radiates from you
as you talk about her
brushes me and earns a giggle.

It's been a winding path we've walked,
you and I.
From never speaking,
to dancing,
to partners;
now friends.
Maybe we could have been
just that little bit more than you and I -
maybe,
once,
there could have been an 'us'.
But I like you and I now,
you and I as friends,
you and I on your couch,
sipping hot chocolate,
as you talk about the girl you met in LA
and I just smile;
the happiest I've been
in literal years.

It Hurts Me Too

It's the pounding ache
that rolls through your bones
like a semi
rolling to a halt.
It hurts as it makes your jaw clench,
your shoulders high around your ears
with tension that bleeds through your muscles.
It's knowing that the smile you wear -
all teeth today -
is fake,
and praying to God that they don't see it.
It's telling them you're happy
though something inside screeches
like a dying seal,
while the rest is genuinely light-feeling;
grinning with their accomplishments.
It's tearing you in two,
this unspoken connection
between them and you.

It Always Comes Back

It always comes back to the ache in your chest,
the tears in your eyes,
the way your throat constricts.

It always comes back to holding that bear
that was given to you by a friend;
curling up in the fetal position
on the carpet floor.

It always comes back to that hug -
the one you didn't expect
that brings you to tears and you can't explain why.

It always comes back to being lonely.
To missing human contact:
a hug,
a kiss,
a touch.

It's not that you don't like being alone;
being alone is ok,
and sometimes is exactly what you need.
But it doesn't mean you like being lonely,
because it always comes back to this.

Can I Not Stay?

I'm dreading the return
to that room
in the harshness
only cast by florescent bulbs.
I can hear the girls now,
a whole cluster of them,
giggling and swapping stories
in the open hallways,
or behind closed doors
leading to other rooms like mine.

Can I not stay,
cloistered away in this apartment -
the hardwood gleaming,
a warm bed shared,
a kitchen and fridge
all our own?
Can I not stay
in this sanctuary
where I am fed,
where I'm told, "Thank you for staying here"?
Can I not stay?

The sun is dawning and
the cold air is leaking
 through the cracked window.
The return has arrived
and I must pick up my bags:
carry on.

Another Year Over, A New One Just Begun

2012 was a hell of a year. It had its highs, it had its lows. It was a trying year, but a year of growth - in all aspects of life.

In dancing, I made it to BluesSHOUT! for the first time, found my love of dancing again, and was asked to be the dance partner of a man who has become the best friend I've had in years.

In school, I returned to writing as I enrolled in a Creative Writing minor and learned how to model the human figure in Maya.

In life though, I think I've learned the most. I've learned that it's ok to be broken. I've learned that it's ok to be selfish sometimes, in order to take care of yourself. I've learned that I'm a likable (even sometimes desirable) person. I've learned that I can't change the past, no matter how much I may want to, and that it's no good beating myself up over it. I've learned that I've been keeping people out, in an effort to protect myself. I've learned that it's ok to explore my sexuality. I'm learning love myself, because I can be a pretty cool person sometimes. Most of all, I've learned that I'm not alone. I'm not the only one who is suffering and fighting with emotions and crap beyond their control. I am one of many that are looking for healing, for answers.

At the end of the day, the best part of 2012 has been the friendships that have been born and/or grown: my dance partner and best friend, who I've known now for two years now; my MFA buddy, who I only met three months ago; my Detroit friend, who took me home for Thanksgiving. I've found friends who are ok to sit there while I'm having a flashback breakdown, hand on my knee, and telling me that it's alright to feel overwhelmed. To be hurt, or angry, or upset.  Who are ok to just listen to me rant about my day, or talk about recent discoveries I've made. Who are ok to make alcoholic pumpkin shakes and watch Supernatural while we plan our hermitage. Who are okay to dance until all hours of the night and fall asleep together, holding each other's hands. These are the people that I am proud, lucky, and blessed to call friends. They're the reason that I've been able to grow so much. They are what made 2012 truly wonderful, in spite of all the lows.

2012 has been an adventure in its own right, and one that I'm grateful to have been through. So here's a salute to the old year, and a cheers to the new. Let's see what 2013 holds, shall we?