The topic of this blog is "This is Just to Say... tell a story about yourself that needs to be told." Its a post that I have been putting off until right now which is literally the last minute that I can do it, because I cant think of a good story about myself that fulfills the post requirements. I guess the best I can think of is that in a really catholic family I'm atheist.  Growing up my mother was very religious. Her family was strict roman catholic because  both her parents grew up in Italy which just in general is religious.  My dad was religious not because his whole family was, in fact his mother wasn't very religious at all until she got older and her kids started taking her to church.  My dad was religious because when he was little his dad would take his kids to church every Sunday morning until they got older and started protesting having to spend up to two hours every weekend in a stuffy building that smelled of old people and smoke. My dad found faith again when his dad died. My grandfather died when my dad was 20 I believe. Because of their religion my parents tried to raise us the same way.  My little siblings just accepted it but I never did.  I am not saying that I have a problem with people that have religion. Theres a stigma about atheists that we all hate religion and think people are stupid for believing in a god.  While there are those people, people that hate exist everywhere. People from one religions hate people who believe in something different. I always hate telling people I'm atheist because I can see how they look at me change to "Ohhh she's one of THOSE assholes, better not say anything at all." That bothers the hell out of me because I am actually quite happy for people who found religion. If that's where people find solace or happiness that's fabulous! I know my mother whenever she has a problem prays and she feels better, that's just not me.  There was so much I never understood about religion, one of those things being that a religion that preaches "love thy neighbor" says well only love thy neighbor if they are straight.  I've always have friends who were different, gay, transgender, whatever they are.  I loved them but the religion that my parents where trying to teach me said that it was wrong. That they should go to church and the gay would leave them, as if it was a disease that being preached to would fix rather than how you were born. My true denial of faith happened in about sixth grade.  Going to church just made me uncomfortable. I didn't believe it and I felt like these beliefs were being shoved down my throat and choking me. Even though I didn't want to go I went religiously (ha) to church with my parents and religion classes every Wednesday because my parents wanted me to and it made them happy, but It didn't make me happy. in eighth grade I made my confirmation and FINALLY it was done. But it wasn't. I didn't really escape it until tenth grade in fact when finally one morning when my mom was yelling at me to get up for church it just blurted out of my mouth. "mom in not religious!" After I said it I was shocked at myself. I didn't know what to do, my mom didn't know what to do, she started crying and yelling and me that I was ridiculous and said sooo many statements along the lines of "the familys religious and you are too!" It was like coming out as gay in a homophobic family. But at the same time I finally felt free. One of the biggest secrets that I had been keeping for 6 years was free. I didn't have to hide it. My mom finally calmed down and what did she do, but pray. In that she found the answer that it had to be MY choice, I was old enough to decide and it would be wrong of her to force me. My dad had a harder time but my mom told him to stop it and accept it and he accepted it. (Sorta) My choice to not be religious I don't actually think defines me but it is a part of me. I find answers in thinking. In my choices I have free will. I choose my fate and I love all my friends for who they are. And I am happy.

To be perfectly honest im not entirely sure what to write about for this blog prompt. I guess ill just sort of start and see what happens. This is about an experience that really made you grow up, but in all reality I don't think im anywhere near done growing and I cant even think of one exact instance of epiphany for me.  As much as im an adult in one sense and I act it (well, most of the time) I still rely on my mommy when I need help and I still sleep with my two favorite stuffed animals every night because they offer protection in their little fuzzy bodies. I guess the closest experience I have is when my grandpa died. He died of some form of dementia, so it was a long drawn out process. When I was little he was fine and I have many fond memories of him. He was an old school Italian so he was definitely a bit chauvinistic, a doctor, and he was stubborn as they come, completely set in his ways and no one was going to tell him otherwise. Me and my older cousins that remember him before he was ill like to tell stories of him because he was unintentionally hilarious.  One time he was out driving (back when you DID go out just to drive around) and the women in front of him was really pissing him off. As he passed her and finally got a good look at her he said "Jesus! everyone has a right to be ugly but SHE is abusing the privilege!!" We love those goofy stories of the ridiculous things he would say, because these are the things that shaped my mother, aunts and uncles, and that has shaped how they raised me and my cousins.  So the fact that all my younger brother and sister remember is a scary guy in a wheelchair is really disheartening.  As the dementia got worse and worse, he could speak less and less, he would get really frustrated because he couldn't say what he wanted so he would squeeze your hand painfully hard while yelling in Italian. That was the one thing he never lost, before he ceased being able to speak he stilled remembered his native language. Italy was where he met and married my grandmother and that was the language they spoke in their household. I guess its kind of cute that that's what stayed in his final memory but my little siblings don't see it that way All they have in their minds is the scary old man screaming at them in Italian.  I remember when my grandfathers time finally came. It was pretty quick in the end, his organs shut down and he died all within about a week. But that's not what I remember most. I remember my parents telling me what was happening because I was the oldest. They told my little brother and sister that my mom was going to long Island for the week to help my grandmother clean the house or something, but they told me that really it was because my grandfather was about to die. This whole experience was the first time I really saw my mom cry and that was a shocking experience. I guess that's the real growing up experience in this whole story, seeing that your parents, the ones who you rely on for everything, are just human. They are not the strong pillars that we see as little kids, just humans, who laugh and cry and feel pain. Its hard to see that everyone is susceptible to life. Being Given responsibility with such big things is a reality of life and its hard but we all learn.  We all have to face the fact that people aren't immune. So, I guess I still don't know where this post is going because im still growing up, with my teddy bear by my side. Maybe one day ill grow up fully, and ill have a real moment to come back and write this blog on, but for now ill hold onto that teddy bear. 

To me failure comes in many forms. Theres the little things, like one day i'd been sitting on an excersise ball on the computer skyping my boyfriend because we dont have chairs when the ball out of nowhere popped. It took me a minute to realize what had happened because one second I was at the computer the next my butt was on the ground. My boyfriend after asking if i was ok started dying laughing because it was just so random. It turned out there was a few staples on the ground that I had rolled onto.  Than there are the larger failures, like getting to high school and realizing its nothing like middle school when your grades start to go down. Sometimes its something as little as you promised a friend something and you forget. No matter what the circumstahne failure sucks.  Its an awful sinking feeling.  It makes you feel like you cant do something, it even at times makes you feel worthless and gives a feeling of why bother.  I dont know if this is everybody but I know that when i start to do poorly in a class I get the feeling of "nope im just bad at this whats the point" and almost give up when what I really need to do is start studying and finding people to help me out. According to older, wiser people you're always supposed to learn from failure but I dont think theres always a lesson to everything. Not everything happens for a reason.  Sometimes excersise balls pop just because someone left staples on the ground, or something happened just because it did.  Not every paper cut or broken leg is to teach you not to do something.  Life isnt something we have for a long time, though it is the longest thing well ever experience.  Sometimes stupid accidents happen because youre enjoying that time that we have.  At the same time though, I now find myself checking the floor for staples and sitting down carefully on anything that could break.  Though they may not happen for a reason failures finds a way to force us never to repeat that feeling of defeat.

To me one of the best places to think is the shower. Theres something about the water running over you washing away that day thats relaxing. In the shower behind the closed doors of the bathroom theres no sound except for the rushing of the water and your thoughts.  Theres no one there to judge you for whatever you are thinking, or feeling at the time.  I always find when I have a problem or a question on my mind or I even cant figure out how to start a piece of homework or an essay the best thing to do is go take a shower and the words start coming to me.  All problems are worked out in the calming beat of the hot water against your skin.  There have been days when I was fighting with my parents or friends and ive taken three showers in a day. I guess to me its not really a happy place but the one place i can solidly think. I can just stand there and shut out thoughts of school and people and just let me mind go where it wants to.  The thoughts that come into my mind sometimes make me stop and wonder where did that come from, but often times I just let my mind go and itll go to some really cool places.  I always hate that moment getting out of the shower, not just because its so cold because thats when reality kicks back in. Almost instantaneously thughts of oh I have to do chemistry homework, and math homework and go to the gym and omg regents are coming up.... Unfortunatly nothing can change reality and all the things that people have to face, but a shower can offer a moment of relief, a moment of happiness where theres nothing but you trapped in the warm steam enjoying the hot water and just letting your thoughts be.

To me as a child reading was not something that i was just able to do.  I hated reading with a firey passion because while everyone else could just pick up a book and start reading the wonderfull, enchanting storys encased within I could hardly read two words. A moment I will never forget is in kindergarten we had to do these reading tests. Your teacher would hand you a book that was on your level and you were supposed to read it making minimal error. When my teacher handed me a book I should have been able to read I couldnt read a word of it so she handed me an easier book. I couldnt read that one either so she handed me another even easier book, and i still couldnt read it. I started to cry because the look on her face was of utter confusion and i felt so bad about myself that I couldnt read like the other kids could. I couldn't read until around third grade. I started reading these Little Bill books that my one teacher had.  They were really simple but for me they were amazing because I understood what the word said rather than just guessing based off of the pictures. Once i was finally magically able to read, and i still dont know how I basically woke up one day and could do it, my parents had to rip books away from me. Most parents have to tell their children TO read but my parents had the opposite problem. For me I think it was all the hard moments of seeing everyone else enjoying books that I didnt understand without pictures that made the storys all the more wonderous. I loved the Harry Potter books and I once read the first two books in ond day because they were so enchanting. Between the two pieces of cardboard that made up the book, someone had managed to create this whole entire new world with walls that you could walk through, and magical wands that could turn a teacher into a cat. To this day its always one of the most shocking moment to get ripped out of a book by my mom yelling "Dinner!" or even just the end of a book. I always want to yell back not now mom, dont you understand what just happened?! How am i just supposed to carry on with my regular life after being captured by Hogwarts?! Just eat dinner at the dinner table when I just read about the great hall? I dont think so! I guess theres not really just one books that has great meaning to me, its more that magical moment when I could finally understand the wonder that everyone else experienced at the hands of a book.