xanga made me post so I wouldn't lose my blog.  Lame.  Read the next one to see where I went.

This is a story about a man I did a grave disservice to ten months ago that I recognized only recently. He did nothing to deserve a lot of the wretched things I did to him, and so without motive or a personal gain to be made, I’d like to start my apology with a small step to set things right. I may not be able to change much, but at least I will have affected the small group of individuals who may read my blog.

Disclaimer: It is not the whole story but instead what I could fit reasonably in a blog entry. Additionally- this entry contains only one perspective (my own biased perspective through hindsight).

No, he’s not a saint. He wasn’t the perfect boyfriend. He is imperfect, like anyone else. However, I have caused people who don’t even know him to judge him harshly. I caused people to take my side against him when he tried over and over again to fight beside me just like them, but truth be told, he was more on my side than anyone else has ever been. This story is about Phil Allen, but it starts with some background on two other people- my mother and myself.

My Mother was a wonderful woman who passed away unexpectedly on January 27, 2004. She was your best friend, but also your worst enemy. In many ways I cannot begin to express the ways her family (mine) suffered through her intolerable moods, her anxiety, her stress. She suffered from bi-polar depression, schizophrenia, insomnia, ADHD, and was diagnosed (either incorrectly or correctly) with several other mental disorders over the span of her 43 years. Though perhaps one of the most loving individuals ever to walk the earth, her grasp of reality often was clouded by hysteria or medication. Often her and I would end up in fights over things that did not matter. While I was a pompous asshole of a teenager, I was also a reasonable individual, as were my brothers and my father. That did not stop the cops from returning to the house after our second or third domestic occurrence, or the endless discussion of custody in fear of the ever impending divorce she threatened the family with on a weekly (sometimes daily or hourly) basis.

The truth is, she fought her entire life to conquer these things, and in the end died accidentally on account of something completely unrelated to those illnesses.

Unfortunately, my maternal side is littered with mania. Even worse, I have garnered genetically and God knows how else, (if you did not know), ADD, insomnia, OCD, and bi-polar depression. It is important to pay attention to the last one. It will be important to the story.

My freshman year of college I thought of killing myself. Roommates, friends, and family helped stop me from doing so and got me on medications that would eventually help curb the urge and make me care about my life more than previously. It was the first step, in the miles upon miles that I have traveled since, but an important first step none-the-less. Finally I was diagnosed with bi-polar rather than just depression, allowing a mood stabilizer to work where so many other antidepressants had failed. I felt more like myself than years, but at the same time began to resent the tiny white pills that now controlled my world and my mood. My creativity dwindled, my writing faltered. The meds were keeping me alive, but often I felt like they killed the most beautiful aspects of me all in one fell swoop.

Phil Allen came into my life late one night on the Internet where he opened the dialogue by asking if I was the girlfriend of Foy, a mutual friend. He would continue to badger me, encouraging me to date Foy for months after, raising suspicions that I was only a target of harassment and amusement for Phil at my own expense. With some reflection now as I write, I realize I have never asked him about it, and do not really care. If he got amusement out of some minor belittlement, I would say the debt is still on my side as I will explain later. Phil was on the team that I had quit, so our interactions were largely Internet confined since I never saw him.

Freshman year ended and the beat rolled on. I took my medication diligently over the summer, improving my mood and stabilization with each passing day. My insomnia did not improve. In fact, as I write this blog at 3:39 am, I can safely assume my insomnia will not be cured anytime soon. I have nightmares, which only worsen under medication. It is a fact of my life, and I am willing to accept it. Besides, if it weren’t for insomnia, Phil would have never come into the picture.

Late at night, Phil and I would investigate the world through conversations that spanned hours. Days and weeks flew by, each night my friends signing off one by one as they weakly turned in for sleep. Phil stayed on. Like a beacon in the night, there he was, making me laugh out loud or gaff in shock at his sarcastic and startlingly quick wit. By the time the summer was drawing to a close I was looking forward to meeting Phil and ever so disappointed to know that he wouldn’t be returning to Creighton, where he also attended school, until after the campaigns were over (he was working in Vegas on elections that fall semester). I counted down the days until the end of November.

So by fall 2006, I had acquired a friend unlike anyone I had known before. Primarily he became so important because he was there when no one else was, the middle of the night. As I pulled all-nighters cramming the genus and species of insects for Entymology, he would log on and brighten my day like only my favorite dotcomrade could. Since I had never met him before, I revealed aspects of myself I probably shouldn’t have, was honest in ways that one can only dream of. Our conversations made my blog seem bland. They still do.

I saw Phil the week after he returned to Creighton with some of my friends at the Rice Bowl. It was insane to put a face and a voice to the one that typed all the eloquent words I had come to love in lonely darkness of Swanson Hall. I will admit, I had a crush. I went home for Thanksgiving and returned with a boyfriend, long distance from New Mexico. Drunk on my last night in Omaha, I IMed Phil and he walked up to Swanson from Davis to join me for a middle of the night walk. I lost my car keys and any fleeting misconceptions that I did not have strong feelings for Phil. Drunkenly I cleaned up garbage downtown, and then staring up a skyscraper I would ask Phil how big he was. Phil laughed off my drunken antics and then threw the trash bag of garbage away for me. The boyfriend, Will, and I went out until I brutally broke up with him on Christmas Day (I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, that would be one of my lower moments). I would ask Phil out only a few days later, after telling Will that I wasn’t looking for a relationship. Like I said, not one of my finer moments.

Now it is time for an update on the medication/mania. By Christmas 2006 I had grown in leaps and bounds from the spring, but I was not better. March to December had not healed me, but I unfortunately believed it had.

By December 27 or 28, Phil had said yes to my request to date. We set up ground rules, like not telling all of our friends immediately, I failed to follow the code. Soon everyone knew we were dating. The day I returned to Omaha I saw Phil. Butterflies erupted in my stomach and I was a royal mess, he took it all in stride.

As time progressed, it became evident that I was self-conscious and insecure. Phil was encouraging and patient. We had minor bumps and scrapes (me more than him since I’m such a klutz), but nothing too terrible went wrong. I was a frightened college kid in my first real relationship. Phil took it, again, all in stride.

Then, I went off my medication.

Long desiring to feel ‘creative’ and free again and hating the moment in the day where I would have to swallow the five medications I was then on, I stopped cold turkey. I told no one.

The decision, despite my best efforts, was not unnoticed. My moods became erratic, sometimes turning from laughing to crying within moments notice. Not only was I insane in moments, but also more dangerously, I believed I was in the right. Seeing it in retrospect, I have now gained a better understanding of my mother than I ever hoped to achieve in my lifetime. I was the logical and coherent one; the rest of the world was crazy.

I began spending more time with Phil in order to escape my other friends that for a year and a half had not fully understood my problems. Phil was my outlet, my protection, and my way to lose myself in insanity without losing any former friends. He was a scapegoat.

I spent a night drunk and stoned out of my mind on Creighton campus. When I was dropped off at his door because my friends couldn’t sneak me past the RA in my incoherent condition, Phil held my head up as I threw up the entire night. Embarrassingly, that is how Phil’s roommate met me as I sprawled on their bathroom floor, begging Phil never to let me do this to myself again and admitting I only drank to destroy myself. Suicidal urges had returned. The next morning Phil and I would have a sobering conversation, and later that week we would both decide it was best for me to have more clean adventures in the future. Phil gave me a reason to be clean.

When I didn’t want to Phil forced me to take my medications. He encouraged me to continue counseling, advice I did not follow until it was too late.

During this time Phil was blamed for my disappearing act with my other friends. At best, that accusation is only partially true. I needed time to try and get better, and to try and get through school. With school, work, speech and debate and any sort of close friendship, which Phil served as, my time was pretty filled. On weekends I was out of town or judging, and weekdays I was practicing, working, studying, sleeping or creating manic tasks that weren’t really that important but I thought were.

My bi-polar, (I told you it would be important), was in overdrive. After Phil went to bed I was up for hours cleaning his apartment or just surfing around on the Internet. He would wake up to the whole apartment being significantly cleaner than when he went to bed. However, there was the downside too, which hit equally as hard. I would want to sleep endlessly, driving Phil crazy, as I would want to nap after a 12-hour night of sleep. I began fighting over stupid things, with my family, my friends, and especially, Phil.

Things became on and off, as I would throw HUGE hissy fits. Phil had not signed up for this sort of treatment, and by all counts I had lost my mind. Things only got worse. By the end of the semester I was completely out of control. I felt smothered and like I did not get enough attention at the same time. Phil did everything in his power to patiently try and help me.

The thing is, Phil held me accountable and refused to allow the illness to define me. He believed in me, enough to spend five months trying to make it work. Meanwhile, I believed he was acting irrationally and with a cold heart while he held me while I cried to him and shook with manic passion. I stopped cleaning the place when I was on a high and took to being angry instead. Phil was still patient through all of this. Additionally I became so firm in my attacks against him I garnered others against him. Blogging while angry I turned opinions of respect to contempt. Most of my friends still dislike him and my family….

Needless to say, Phil and I did not work out, and midway through May he broke up with me. As I told him only a few nights ago, I could not thank him enough for doing so. It was the kick in the ass I needed to change. Now I actually take my medication and diligently attend counseling, and have become clear-headed enough to regret all my past indiscretions.

He was strong when I could not be, rational when I was nutty. Like I said- I’m not trying to get the UK to knight him, I don’t think he is God, but he was there for me like no one else could be, with brutal honesty when I needed it the most. He was sincere and courageous always, and loyal even when I stabbed him the back infamously by claiming that he was the crazy one and reminded me of my Mom. I articulated that he was cold, standoffish, controlling, and verging on evil, and I was wrong. Phil was good to me, and I did him wrong.

In short- every story needs a villian. Phil was just a red herring which stopped me, him, and everyone else from fighting the real individual who held all the cards, myself. I misused credibility to tear down his in order to preserve my own reputation. I did not and could not believe that the true criminal stared at me as I brushed my teeth. "I could not be crazy like my mother- could I?" I asked myself in the mirror while I brushed my teeth. I was not well enough to see the disasters I was causing in my own life, let alone others.

So today I ask you to please, get the full story from me, and think twice about anything and everything I told you last semester. Chances are that 1. I don’t remember the conversation and 2. I need to remedy some facts. Like waking up with a hangover from a long night to look over my call log and see what relationships I messed up, I face this semester with a similar feeling. Though now restrained and industriously on medication and counseling, I have nothing but an apology to offer those I hurt last year. I understand what I put you through; I really do, more than I could ever explain thanks to my Mom’s struggles. It would be easy to blame the illness, and in many instances that is the only answer there is, but I am willing to take responsibility for my actions and make it up to you in anyway I can. That is all I have, so I hope that is enough.

Until then- let us raise a glass to my roommate, my friend, and my one time singular pillar of strength- Phil Allen. Not perfect, but perfectly willing to try to be. As I like to say- “Phillip Allen- Making Dreams Come True Since 1985.”

So it’s extemp prep right now, round two, 10:43 in the morning and no, I’m not on the Internet. This is a word document that I plan to post later to the xanga. If you are reading it, it means I was successful in the post.

3 hasn’t talked to me since I saw him on Wednesday. I know, only a couple of days, we’re not officially a “thing” and he knows I’m busy this weekend. I just fear that I’ve already blown it he’s no longer interested. I’m going to wait out his phone call…. especially since I texted him yesterday telling him to call me if he was free this weekend. Am I really this clingy? Apparently so. I just don’t really want to fuck it up; HE’S SUCH A NICE GUY. But knowing me, I probably already have. UGGH.

Fut. World Dictator and I have started talking again, nearing a pathway to friendship. I’m excited. I guess honesty and actually trying to make a difference is doing just that- actually making a difference, or so I perceive. It’s interesting to read blog entries about me. I have to wonder if he will read this one, and know it is about him.

I have had some really good interactions with the team this journey. Last year I would frequently feel lonesome, lonely, or excluded when out with the team. I was insecure. Despite the fact that I was moody yesterday and then later had a complete meltdown including tears about how scared I was to compete today (really hard tournament), I am awake today and ever so glad to be surrounded by the people I am. It was so weird revisiting this campus because in so many ways it seems like I’ve never been here before. There are only minor changes, and the stairs that gave me a scar look as rugged and treacherous as ever, but I have changed. I am still clumsy, but knowing my weaknesses means I can overcome them easier.


Ok, it is now 12:31, I’ve prepped and given another speech and am in prep for round three.

KHat seems threatened right now. My debate coach talked about me getting some help/practice w/ DW. However, the subject was mentioned in front of her and KHat immediately replied- “Well we shall see about that! He does not get final decisions on those things, I am your extemp coach.” My first question is- why would you stop someone from getting EXTRA coaching from someone else if you want him or her to do well competitively? Further- what threat is a coach from another team watching me give a speech? Incidentally, West judged me today, so I will get his feedback anyway. I just don’t understand the politics and feeling threatened about it.

In other highlights of this week- I think one of my close friendships may be over and there is not much good I have to say on the issue. :sigh: It’s such a waste.

In other news I have a story from this morning, an encounter that Jay-Z and I shared in the lobby. I had come from my hotel room to garner another towel for one of the girls who was currently showering since they did not provide enough in the rooms for us. (No free Internet, not enough towels, no iron, no hair dryer, but we have HBO! Thanks Red Roof Inn.) Jay-z met me as I was walking toward the lobby. He was hungry and refused to believe that there was not a breakfast to be had.

We enter the lobby. The desk-worker reminds me of the desk-worker from Hot Fuzz. He barely notices our entrance and motions to the towels sitting in a large stack off the side. I pick one up and the desk-worker may as well have vanished.

On two older looking big sofa type chairs are two people, a man and a women. The woman is wearing a yellow casual sweater and looks like she could be anyone’s Mom. The man stands out more. Perhaps it is because of the awkward taupe color of sweater that I am staring at, or perhaps the silver and brown colored cross that sits across his chest on a chain. I wonder for a moment if he is a pastor.

Lady: Are you all speakers in speech and debate?
Me: Yes Ma’am.
Lady: Oooh! What do you speak about? What’s your topic?
Jay-Z: Well let’s see…. :picks up USA Today lying in front of him and opens his mouth to explain extemp, I can tell the couple (if they are together) will not understand his or my explanation::
Pastor: Do you pick the topic? Well can you speak about your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?
Jay-Z: What??
Pastor: Your LORD and SAVIOR, Jesus Christ.
Jay-Z: You can speak about anything you want…. You just have to say on topic.
Pastor: What?
Jay-Z: Like, if it asks about…. :selects first newspaper article that catches his eye:: Bush’s water bill..
Pastor: Oh, they TELL you what to talk about. Well I…

The lady then broke in hurriedly seeming to want to change the subject as quick as possible.

Lady: Where are you all from?

Apparently the twilight zone. In round one, where the speaker after me got a question about the religious right, I had to wonder whether or not I would have breached the topic of my personal Lord and Savior.