A small herd of fluffy mule deer flanked my Xterra as I drove into one of my favorite parts of the valley, hoping I'd stop just long enough for them to get a taste of salt from the sides of my Xterra (winter wildlife sometimes seek out vehicles or sidewalks that have icemelt on them, because they like the nutrients in the salt). A place I affectionately call “God’s Ass”; a handful of massive red rock boulders, two of which come together to form a tunnel between them. Hence the name, God’s Ass.

But, across the field from God’s giant red Ass, are more red rocks which I like to scale up so I can sit atop the world and enjoy some alone time in the sun and wind. Few people go up those rocks, especially in waist-deep snow. But, me? I’m undeterred. 

I sprinted through the field of snow between my perch and God’s glorious Ass until the land rose up from the snowy field almost vertically. There, I dropped down to my gloved hands and began to charge up the rocky slope like a bear, slipping occasionally but getting up to continue till I reached the top. Up at the very top of those red rock boulders, the sun had burned off most of the water and snow, though the rocks were still kept cold by a stiff breeze rushing down the leeside of the icy western foothills. 

Up there, as I paused to catch my breath and make sure my phone and wallet stayed in my pockets as I climbed, I noticed something. Or, rather, someone. Another person in a hoodie had beat me up the rocks. They’d discovered my winter retreat. While they were pretty far away (about twenty yards or so), they were still far too close for me. So, with a scowl and a low, growling sigh, I turned back around and carefully made my way down the rocks. Back towards God’s Ass. As far as I am aware, that person never knew I saw them. 

But, before I made it too far down, I stopped to gaze around my surroundings and listen to the birdsong. Facing east, I could see everything from God’s Ass, to Green Mountain, to the city of Denver, and the Great Plains far beyond. In a nearby brush cedar, a Stellar’s Jay called from within, and two yelping Blue Jays from a barren Gamble Oak answered, inviting the blue-and-black Jay to join them (which it did, but it was too fast to get a good picture as it flew). Soaring high above, a red-tailed hawk circled the sky looking for something to eat. But, considering how healthy the deer of Ken Caryl were, I doubted that hawk would have much luck. A small flock of cute little Chickadees fluttered into a red cedar near the base of my red rock perch, making all sorts of noises as they bounced from branch to branch, tree to tree. 

While I had human company behind me, I was still able to pay more attention to the nature around me. At least, until the guy behind me on my favorite boulder sneezed, startling me and the surrounding birds. That startle was enough to make me slip on some snow and ice. I didn’t fall far or hard, but it was still quite angering. 

I brushed the snow off my legs and butt, rolled my shoulders, then made it the rest of the way back down to the snowy field, growling like a pissed off dog as I did so. I planned on heading over to God’s Ass, until I picked up on some noises echoing between the rocks, and then saw a rowdy group of teenagers emerge from the tunnel between the two giant red rocks. I watched the teens from behind a grove of barren brush, as they did what kids do: raise hell and act upon their impulses without thinking first. 

Again, I scowled and grumbled, but never once tried to approach anyone who was invading my territory that day (in fact, I did my best to hide from them as much as possible). I would have to find someplace else to get some alone time with nature. Where that was, I didn’t know. 

Unfortunately, I’d run out of time. I had to return home and finish up another section of classwork for college. Instead of leaving the valley refreshed, as I hoped, I left only angrier. More irritated. More foggy-minded. Sore, caked in red soil, soaked in snowmelt. 

This feeling of frustration, or rather of being trapped without a bolt-hole, has really gotten to me as of late. I've been irritable as ever. I'm pissed off by the state of the world. It baffles me that two years into the pandemic, many people still haven't gotten their shit together. The government's handling of pretty much everything (especially my healthcare) irks me even more. College has also been a thorn in my side, or rather, some of the people I'll be having to deal with this semester. And, on top of all of this, I'm pissed off at the fact that my anxiety medication is starting to wear off. I will soon need to try a different medication, as I am now maxed-out on the dosage of my current medication, and my depression and anxiety have begun to rear their ugly heads again, despite my efforts. 

It feels as though I'm once again getting sucked into a familiar black hole of disability and despair. It's tough, scary, and stifling. I'm running out of ideas on how to cope with it. Because, at this point, I can't really avoid or even escape it. The depression and anxiety are there. The fear is there. The frustration and cabin fever are there. The grief and despair and downright rage are all there. The unfairness and injustice of winning the genetic lottery in the worst possible ways are also there. I can't deny it. I can't run from it. I just have to live with it. Weather the storm and learn to survive it all. 

But, I desperately want to do more than just survive. Living in "survival mode" my whole life has really taken its toll on me. And, it's also standing in my way of really thriving in college (and life in general). There is so much I wish I could just do, such as strike up a conversation with a peer without being forced into it by some group project, or go camping without getting so nervous about every cloud and shadow and gust of wind within a ten-mile radius of me. I wish I had the stamina to work, go to college, and maintain a healthy social life all at once. I wish I was less skittish and cowardly. I wish my mind and body weren't seared with scars from my past. I wish I didn't have to take so many damn pills and be so mindful about what I eat and drink and breathe. I wish my muscles weren't so tense with stress and anxiety all the time. I wish I was just normal. 

Therein lies pretty much every one of my challenges, both past and present. I've never been normal or average, and I never will be. Why is that so hard to accept? Why is it instinct for me to compare myself to everyone I come across? Why can't I just be content with myself and where I am? Why can't I accept the fact that I'm extremely unique, to the point it's especially ridiculous to compare myself to everyone around me? Why? Why? Why?

I don't yet know the answers to those questions, though I can (and will) speculate. After all, I have always felt like grossly out-of-place. Since I was old enough to begin to spot similarities and differences among people, I have known, damn well, about my own "stick-outs" and weaknesses. And, as a result, have felt like I just don't belong anywhere I've ever been. 

That feeling of being an outcast and a misfit is certainly not a good one, at least for me. While I do cherish and value individuality and my alone time, I also don't want to be bullied and rejected time and time again, especially for things that are way out of my control. Yet, throughout my life, time and time again, exactly that has happened. I mean, I was an easy target for bullying and ostracization growing up. I was tiny and skinny, quiet and docile. Teachers and peers alike relentlessly went after every weakness of mine they could. As I reflect on my childhood, even so-called "friends" treated me similarly, just not as badly as everyone else did. 

I do recognize that these days, things are way different than they once were, even if they feel the same. I'm not the same sickly, docile, doormat of a little girl I once was. I'm still quiet and don't like conflict, but I can stick up for myself and fight for my needs these days. I'm ever-so gradually beginning to realize that I'm a lot smarter and better at things than I give myself credit for. I'm beginning to truly attempt to rise my self-confidence from its grave; something I never thought I could do. It's just taking a lot of time and a lot of effort to erode away twenty years' worth in bullshit left in my mind from my past. I've only really seen any real results from years upon years of intense therapy in just the last few years: my courage to learn how to drive and get my license, graduating high school on time, and now attending college. But, all that effort is worth it.

Well, at least, that's what I have to tell myself every morning when my alarm goes off. 

Silver-white clouds made up the entire morning sky as I stepped out with a container full of sidewalk salt to preemptively combat the coming snow. I wasn't about to slip and fall down my concrete stairs again like I did the previous week when I didn't have any salt. I still have a little bit of a bruised ass from that epic fail. 

After I salted the concrete all the way from my porch to my Xterra, I put the salt container on the ground behind my giant blue spruce tree, and got in my truck to go to college in-person for the first time this semester. I wasn't so nervous anymore, but I wasn't in the best mood. My fuse was shorter than usual, and I was extremely sensitive to every noise louder than a mouse's footfall. I spent a few minutes waiting for my parked Xterra to heat up, before I shifted 'er into gear and headed off to college. 

I left about an hour early, to give myself some time to just drive around, listen to some heavy country-rock music (my motivation playlist), and think about my game-plan for the day. I had a list of to-do's in my mind that, if I got done that day, I'd reward myself with a platter of grocery store sushi:

1. Go to Literature class.

2. Look for next week's Literature class book in the campus bookstore and/or library.

3. Find a quiet place to get some writing done. 

4. Go to "college experience" class, AKA career counselling.

5. Leave campus and get brother from school.

6. Shovel (if there is snow). 

7. Relax for the rest of the day (with my platter of sushi).

While that may not seem like a lot for most people, it was for me, considering how I was feeling that day. But, as I drove my usual circle around town for a couple laps (Chatfield to Simms, Simms to Quincy, Quincy to Wadsworth, Wadsworth to Chatfield), listening to redneck rock music by artists like Upchurch and Brian Setzer, my mood and energy began to lift. Sure, I was still irritable and didn't have the patience to wait for longer than five seconds before honking at idiots distracted by their phones at stoplights. But, at least I had a slight smile and was subtly nodding to the beat of my music. I wasn't happy, but at least I wasn't seething either. 

When I arrived on campus, I was relieved to see that the parking lot was quite empty. Of course, spring semesters tend to be less busy than fall semesters at college, especially at community college. But, there were still quite a few people milling about. I drifted up and down the lot till I found a place to park that I liked, then I gathered up my things and headed into the ACC fortress. 

My first class was on the fourth floor of the building. Most people waited for the elevator to take them up there. But, being the extreme claustrophobe that I am, I hoofed it up the stairs to the fourth floor instead, never stopping once to rest. I only took my mask off briefly upon reaching the fourth floor to get in one good breath. I then trotted through the maze of corridors till I found my classroom. I got to class with a few minutes to spare, but most of my peers had already arrived. I wasn't sure what to feel about what I saw. 

I know we're not supposed to judge books by their covers, and I damn sure try not to do so. But, when I strode into my Literature class for the first time in-person, I felt a rush of anxiety as I scanned around the classroom at everyone already there. It was clear that I was the only tomboy in that class, by quite a lot. Every other woman was dressed up like they were going to a wine party at someone's luxury apartment in downtown Denver after class. The men were dressed the same way. A lot of students were also quite obviously non-gender-conforming, which I didn't (and don't) mind, but I wasn't sure how I (a redneck tomboy with messy, long hair, no makeup, fucked-up fingernails, wearing hiking boots caked in red mud) would survive in a class of yuppies, hipsters, and goth-girls (and I use those terms affectionately). 

Still, I had to try. It would be a character-building experience, regardless of how well (or not well) I got along with everyone else. I just planned on being my usual polite, quiet, though assertive self, and hoped for the best. So, with a smile and a quiet, "Heyyyy...", I made my way to a seat in the classroom and got set up for class. 

Things started off as usual small college classes start. Nothing remarkable there. But, when the professor asked who was enjoying our first book of the semester (The Book of Yaak by Rick Bass), everyone shook their heads. Everyone except me. Gingerly, I raised my hand to declare that I was loving the book. What wasn't to love about a non-fiction memoir written by a redneck environmentalist who lived off the land? Apparently, my peers didn't like the author describing (in great detail) how to clean a grouse and use a chainsaw the wrong way. Because, to my peers, it was "gross" and "outdated", and a few people went as far as to call Bass "childish" for not liking the city or government, and "immoral" for killing so many innocent animals for food. 

Needless to say, I felt quite awkward that whole class discussion. Everyone, by then, knew I hunted and fished, and spent every moment I could out-of-doors. My professor had asked me the first day of class online, if the feathers and skulls on the wall and shelves behind me were from animals that I personally took, and I gave her a very enthusiastic nod and thumbs up. My professor and maybe two other students in the class nodded and smiled in approval. Everyone else seemed to be giving me death glares, or were doing their best to advert their eyes from my "wall of death". Now that we were in-person, I could sense some of those same people were purposefully giving me cold shoulders. 

I wish I was bullshitting...

Regardless, I did my best not to let the strange vibes get to me. After all, not everyone has to like me, or even be friendly with me. They just have to respect me. Treat me like an adult. And, vise versa. 

Still, the feelings were there and were real. I couldn't ignore them even if I tried. My hackles were raised and remained so for as long as I was in that classroom. Again, I couldn't quite place my finger on what exactly was making my alarm bells sound. They just were, especially towards certain people. It wasn't based on appearance, or even on the way they talked or held themselves. There was just something else about certain people that had me on guard. 

I was frustrated by those feelings. In a way, I felt like I was doing something wrong. Like I was judging people based on their appearances. But, deep down inside, I knew that wasn't the case. Lots of people dressed and acted similarly, but not everyone who acted or looked a certain way alerted my sixth sense. Trying to put these feelings and instincts into words is almost impossible. All I can say is that my subconsciousness was picking up on the most subtle cues that my conscious mind couldn't pick out. Based on those subtle cues, my gut was telling me to be extremely wary of certain people. Not because they posed any danger to me, but because they were just immature. 

Again, I felt bad (and still feel bad) for feeling that way about some people. After all, my sense of humor will forever be stuck in middle school. But, the immaturity I have is different than the immaturity my instinct was telling me to watch out for. It's like the difference between childlike and childish. To be childlike in some ways is fine. But, to be childish? Not so much.

Once again, I wasn't all that excited when I woke up early Thursday morning and felt just how terribly cold it was. The sudden cold-snap made me feel like I had some sort of cold. I woke up tight-muscled and a little congested in the sinuses, and my feet felt like they were encased in concrete they were so heavy. Regardless, I peeled myself out of bed, did some stretching to loosen things up, washed my face with warm water and massaged my sinuses to encourage the snot out, and dressed in warm (though not overly puffy) layers to fend off the cold, but not make me sweat indoors. 

Outside, everything was just white and blue with ice. Thankfully, the night before, I'd placed more salt down on the concrete so I didn't shatter my tailbone leaving my house the next morning. It took me almost a half hour to chisel enough ice and snow off my Xterra to safely drive (I almost broke my windshield wipers in the process). And, it took forever for my Xterra to heat up (and it also complained about starting after sitting idle for two days in the cold, but beyond a little bit of a coughing-sound, the engine roared to life as usual).

By the time my Xterra was warm enough to start melting the remaining ice off, sending it into the air in steamy clouds, my lungs and windpipe felt like they had icicles jabbing into them, and I was almost convinced my fingers were gonna fall off by the time the Xterra got warm enough to thaw the ice. 

I spent another ten minutes or so inside my Xterra to warm up my painfully numb extremities. While doing so, my phone began to buzz like an angry wasp nest in the cupholder where I placed it. I was pretty damn sure it was my Literature group bitching about the cold, and I was right. One gal was snowed in without any of her stuff for class (so she couldn't work on it from wherever she was), and another had wrecked her car the night before (and she also complained about being unable to get her work done). I didn't offer any advice or even sympathy. I simply put my phone down without replying, took in a deep breath to expel as much frustration towards them as I could, and finally began my slow, cautious journey to campus in the bitter cold morning. 

On the way, I had plenty of time to dissect my thoughts and feelings. Why was I getting so worked up over other peoples' problems, especially since my professor wouldn't knock points off my grade because some people in my group didn't do their work? Why was I allowing myself to be so frustrated and influenced by people I didn't know and frankly didn't care about? Why was I so sensitive to others' shortcomings? 

I couldn't come up with a logical answer to any of those questions. Instead, the answer lied in my emotions. Emotionally, I was just frustrated by the fact that my college class didn't feel like a college class. I felt like I was back in high school, before Homebound. That seemed to be triggering some sort of PTSD-type response in my brain, causing me to feel personally slighted by the people in my class I just didn't vibe with. So, how would I deal with those emotions who's roots were planted deep in my past? I wasn't yet sure.

After a rather harrowing driving experience (far too many people have no idea how to drive on ice), I arrived on campus, parked the Xterra, and made my way to the building as fast as I safely could. I wasn't late, but it was far too cold outside for me to be out there. But, I warmed up quickly as I charged up the stairs to the fourth floor. 

In the classroom, not a lot of people showed up. Roughly half the class was missing that day, and the professor started class off by complaining about the weather. 

"They should've at least delayed class today..." she shook her head. 

Interestingly, as I was unpacking my stuff for class, I noticed that everyone who gave me a weird vibe wasn't in attendance. Again, I wasn't sure what to do with that information. Obviously, my gut instinct had been warning me about the students in my class who hadn't aged out of high school. Why that was? I didn't know. 

Regardless, I felt much better being in class that day, especially since my responsible groupmate was there, too. As we discussed the last section of the book we'd read and annotated the week before, she also had a few comments on the missing half of our group. 

"They give me anxiety..." she murmured. 

"Same here." I nodded, "I wonder why..."

"Cuz they don't do their shit." my groupmate responded, "And they like..." my groupmate paused to think, "They have total Mean Girls vibes. You feel it, too?"

"Mmm-hmmm..." I smiled, "Glad I'm not the only one who does."

While my negative emotions remain, I've begun to feel better since that Thursday class knowing that I wasn't alone in what I was thinking or feeling. I wasn't just going crazy. I wasn't just being a judgmental prick. There was genuinely something off that my sixth sense was picking up. Still, I know better than to say anything or act as coldly towards some of my peers as they seem to be towards me. After all, I have morals (shocking, I know), and I don't want to ostracize people even if they ostracize me. Their behavior may be very weird, but I know (at least logically) that it's probably nothing personal. Some people are just like that. 

None of what I just said invalidates my rant or my emotions. Indeed, my frustration with my college class is very much understandable. But, if I'm gonna succeed this year without burning out, I must figure out a way to mitigate those feelings and emotions I have about college, and my negative feelings and emotions in general. Damn those pesky feelings!

Thankfully, it seems like my anxiety medication is finally beginning to work after being adjusted. I'm starting to calm back down to my baseline. I'm still a nervous, short-tempered creature, but not nearly as much as I was just a week ago. I'm sleeping decently again. I'm starting to eat full meals again. My brain fog is beginning to lift. I'm even becoming less irritated by the people I encounter on a daily basis. The Valley, once again, is my daily escape from society. Things seem to be improving, even if only slightly. Even the slightest improvements make big impacts in the long run. 

These last several months or so have been extremely difficult on my mental and physical health, and I'm far from out-of-the-woods. I still feel down and under the weather. I've lost ten pounds from not eating much over the last several months. I'm still generally sleepy and disheveled. But, at least I'm eating more than one meal per day, and my sleep schedule is beginning to form. I've started to work on my hobbies again (roughly fifteen minutes a day). I'm catching myself smiling and laughing at the simplest things again. Best of all, I'm garnering up the emotional strength to write for my memoir again, after barely touching it for over a year. Maybe, by the end of the semester, I'll be mostly back to my old self again. At least, that's what I hope.

Another thing that's probably improving my mood, are my plans my dad and I are coming up with together. This year, we want to pay a visit to Moab, Utah either with his Jeep or my Xterra. More importantly, we want to return to the farm again, this time by vehicle. Unfortunately, I missed out on cleaning the house and uncovering a century's worth in family stuff. But, I will get to take part in sorting through the stuff they stored in one of the outbuildings, and loading our things into (and onto) either my Xterra or my dad's Hyundai Santa Fe. I may also get to help with restoring parts of the farmhouse that can be restored, like the floorboards or the chipping paint on the house outside. 

Adventures like these are what motivate me in life. Sure, hiking around the valley daily is nice. But, it does get old after awhile, and some days there are just too many strangers around to really enjoy the serenity of nature. However, I've only been to Moab once, and I would love to go again and spend more time out-of-doors and exploring places few have explored before. And, everyone knows how much I love my family farm (and family, of course). If we go at the right time, I may have another calf story to share. Or, maybe I'll be able to witness my family burn the absolutely massive pile of trash that has been in the cow-yard over the last twenty years or so. Or, perhaps even both. 

Whatever the near future has for me in store, I'm excited to escape Denver for a week or two weeks at a time. I still feel trapped, but not so trapped now that I'm figuring out how to get the hell out of town as soon as the semester ends (or, during spring break). In the meantime, I just have to figure out how to cope with my current feelings. That'll be the most challenging part of the next twelve weeks or so.