Crying right now. Reading some obviously biased “us vs them” statuses that link to articles and blogs.
I just wanna say…STOP
I hear it all day at work, you know…
I work with boys, so I hear “girls are” or “girls are not”
I work with mostly older customers so I hear “doctors are” or “insurance companies do”
I do it too. I say “boys are weird” or “customers are annoying”
But the articles on social media now? Do these people even TRY to research? They sooo would get failing grades from the professors of the (very few) journalism classes I took in college
RESEARCH
VERIFY
I am a girl. I live in Kentucky. My eyes change color according to my mood. My friend is a girl. She lives in Kentucky. HER eyes change color according to HER mood.
THIS DOES NOT MEAN THAT EVERY GIRL IN KENTUCKY HAS COLOR CHANGING EYES
It bothers me a little when people post things about historical figures without fact checking the things which they are distributing.
It bothers me A LOT when people post things about crimes being committed and the ways in which people are doing so when there is NO EVIDENCE that such an act ever occurred. Anywhere. To me that is a) spreading fear for no reason at all and b) giving future criminals ideas of how to spruce up their resumes.
It INFURIATES ME when articles are posted claiming that ALL members of a particular race or generation or profession or religious group do thus and such because EVERY OTHER MEMBER (without exception) OF SAID GROUP ALSO SPEAKS OR BELIEVES OR ACTS THAT WAY
First…I admit that I do-and have done- my own share of conversing thusly. I stereotype and generalize even though I HATE generalizations.
People are complex. ONE person may be a singer, an athlete, a middle child, student council president, a karaoke freak, a HUGE college basketball fan, a single mom or dad, a lover of Hello Kitty, and on and on and on. If ONE person cannot be made to fit into some pre set group or match some very narrow label, how are we honestly expected to categorize AN ENTIRE POPULATION.
I don’t know where you live. I don’t know who you know. I don’t know what conversations you have had, research you have done, beliefs that you have taken to heart.
Maybe a stranded horde of aliens with purple hair and skin colored in blue polka dots IS settling into your town, IS taking over the education of your children, IS infiltrating your water system. Maybe they ARE indoctrinating your toddlers into believing that picking one’s nose and eating one’s boogers is the only TRUE path to a life full of goodness, a world full of abundance and plenty. Because of this maybe you DO want to shoot anything purple on sight and ask questions later. After all, isn’t the different only safe when it is destroyed?
Gentle reminder, friend.
YOU are different too.
I’m willing to bet that not EVERY song on your playlist conforms to those on the playlist of your friends.
I’m willing to bet that you have some secret late night pleasure that you hide from all but your nearest and dearest. Are you a hula hoop champion? Can you limbo on roller skates? Do you smuggle badly copied episodes of “Hello Kitty” into your home to watch on the nights when you just can’t sleep? Do you secretly love show tunes and can;t admit that you know every word to the -Les Miz- soundtrack because your family and friends all turn on hard rock and rap?
Gentle reminder, friend
You don’t know everything.
You may THINK you know where “they” have come from.
You may THINK you know why “they” are here
You may THINK you know what “they” are after
What “they” teach their children
What “they” do in “their” meetings
What “they” say in “their” churches
You may THINK you know what “they” want
But there is ALWAYS ALWAYS more to learn
Have you actually done your homework?
Have you actually ever TALKED to them?
Are you basing your beliefs on what others say rather than what you have seen and felt and experienced for YOURSELF?
You know, not every green haired person DOES come from (name a place where not every person who looks slightly alike comes from)
You know, not everyone who reads (insert title of book you don’t believe that you agree with here) DOES go on to espouse those values that you are so afraid of.
Not everyone with a nose ring acts like every other person with a nose ring.
Not everyone with sandals instead of heels acts like every OTHER person with sandals instead of heels.
Not everyone with an ankle tattoo acts like every other person with an ankle tattoo
There is variety.
Even within geographic regions, there is variety.
Even within population groups or cultures, there is variety.
Even within genetic lineages, there is variety.
You may or may not look like the people in YOUR family.
You may or may not share the interests of the people at YOUR job.
You may or may not still be clinging to the values taught to your as a child in YOUR church.
“Witches can be right”, we are taught in the lyrics to -Into the Woods’- “No One Is Alone”
“Giants can be good”
People in pants can be evil
or kind
or a combination of both
People with TV audiences can be idiots
or geniuses
or something in between
This “us vs them” stuff has GOT to stop
Or we’ll end up tearing ourselves apart more fiercely than those we fear could have ever dreamed of doing.
Not everyone with brown hair want to teach people to wear socks with no shoes
Not every blonde wants us all to sing off key
Not every person we pass in the grocery store is an enemy
And yet, we are so very afraid
The only way different is safe is when it is destroyed, yes?
So we can all go back to our one cat, one dog, 1.5 children, two car garage, yard sale on Saturday little life?
NO…of course not. Some of us use Saturdays to sleep, some to swim, some to samba…
We are not the same
We are not ALL the same
Neither are “they”
We do not all look the same, dress the same
We do not share the same history, language, literature, DNA… we live very different lives
So do “they”
And “they”
oftentimes
Are afraid of “us”
To “them”, WE are the aliens, the dangers, the differences, the villains
To “them”, we preach hate
Spread violence
Shoot first and ask questions later
To “them” we are as uncaring as we accuse others of being
Guess what?
You don’t know everything
Neither do I
There is still so much left to say
There is still so much left to learn
Small towns are NOT being taken over by EVERY person who dares to move into the place that has, to you, represented freedom from the outsider for generation after generation
Children are NOT being taught to hate everyone who does not share the color of their hair
Violent crimes are NOT being committed solely by the members of one race, one doctrine, one generation (of which you, of course, are most assuredly NOT)
People
Whether they belong to “us”
Whether they belong to “them”
Are dying
Begging
Starving
For connection
Purpose
Love
Understanding
There is still so very very much left to learn
There are still so very very very many
conversations to have
There are still
so
veryveryvery many
Friends
You just have not yet met
If
you
and I
and all of “us”
Would just go speak to
Listen to
Just try to SEE
Just try to HEAR
one of “them”
Maybe then
I wouldn’t spend my nights
quite so broken hearted
Maybe then
there would be a different reason
That I cry
Every time
I open the news
And I begin
To read
July 28, 2017
It’s Not As Simple as “Us vs. Them”
July 24, 2017
We really are trying. I promise. We so totally are. It’s just…hard.
You know how sometimes things come into my head and I mull over them, write them, mull over them and rewrite them?
You know how sometimes things come into my head-usually late at night-and I just take off without much self editing?
This is gonna be one of those nights.
Okay, so you know how I do a lot of reading of headlines, but not so much reading of the articles?
You know how I don’t really have strong opinions about much but the things I DO happen to believe I REALLY REALLY BELIEVE and CAN’T be moved?
Yeah.
See, maybe it’s just the main topic on the hearts of the people I follow. Maybe it’s the culture in which I live. Maybe it’s because I’m paying more attention since being diagnosed myself.
Whatever it is, depression accompanied suicide has been on my heart A LOT lately.
And sometimes….sometimes I get bothered.
See, I work in a place where the average age of our customers tends to skew more toward senior citizens than it does toward teens and twenty somethings. And senior citizens, at least THESE senior citizens, aren’t shy about vocalizing their opinions.
And it’s a lot…I mean a LOT of “us” vs “them”
And the “us” side is always good, or moral, or hardworking fighting against the government or the tax man or the terribly messed up young people in today’s world.
It bothers me.
I don’t believe every official to be corrupt.
I don’t believe every law to be unfair.
I don’t believe every choice to be manipulative.
I don’t believe every youth to be egotistical.
And, I’m sure that my customers don’t either.
They don’t think EVERY doctor is a moron.
They don’t think EVERY real estate agent is a problem.
Their words aren’t to be taken literally.
They exaggerate to make a point.
But
I
Still
Get
Bothered.
My world, as you know, currently consists of my husband, my co workers, my online life with occasional pop ins from my parents and brother.
My world, as you know, toggles back and forth between opinionated customers to alarmingly confident friends and acquaintances.
They, too, feel that doctors are idiotic.
They, too, feel that politicians are crooks.
They, too, feel that the upcoming generations are going to hell in a handbasket and getting nowhere fast.
Unlike our customers, however, people on the Internet, rarely, if ever, back down from their certainties.
They KNOW what they know and nothing will change that.
And what they know, at least what they know this month is that they are experts on mental health-especially where mental illness is concerned.
The truth, of course is that no one is an expert on anything. There is always, ALWAYS more to consider, always ALWAYS more to learn.
But the Internet is faceless. The Internet offers no immediate reaction. The Internet doesn’t express anger, nor does it burst into tears.
And so we who live on social media continue to be convinced of our own rightness.
Even if, especially if, someone has been harmed
Even if someone has died.
The truth is, of course, that we can only really bear witness to what we ourselves have felt and seen.
We AREN’T in someone else’s head.
Even the closest among us has secrets that even their loved ones can’t see.
We can’t testify to what we do not KNOW to be true.
But,we try
By God, do we try.
We, with our opinions presented as facts.
With our theories presented as knowledge.
We, the casually cruel and the carelessly dangerous.
We don’t care who we hurt.
As long as we are heard.
We don’t care who we leave bleeding.
The truth is…
well, the truth as far as I have felt it, is…
That more people are bleeding than we would ever suspect.
Almost two years ago, I became mentally ill…
er…let me back up a bit:
Almost two years ago, my mental illness was Recognized and Confirmed
And I was swept into a community of people
That I barely knew existed.
Here’s the thing, ladies and gentlemen
EVERYONE
EVERYONE
EVERYONE
feels alone.
The feeling doesn’t always last.
Some of us find our place.
Some of us chase our dreams.
Some of us discover like minded souls
Who assure us that we aren’t so alone
After all.
But some of us.
Some of us.
Even the most communal of us
Never do.
Here’s the thing that I din’t know
And you, of course, have the right to disagree
But there is some evidence that
loneliness can beget depression
Depression can beget feelings of worthlessness
Worthlessness can beget suicidal thoughts
All of that,
or so I have been told,
CAN ACTUALLY CHANGE YOUR BRAIN
Mentally, yes
But physically too
Mental illness (which Depression is classified as)
Can reshape your brain
This is considered a disability folks
Parts of your brain get smaller
PHYSICALLY SMALLER
It’s a loss
Now, note…loneliness is not, by any means, the only cause of depression. Depression is an umbrella term for several diagnosis, many of which have much in common
INCLUDING SHRINKING YOUR BRAIN
I’m not talking about your mind or soul
Depression CAN AND DOES affect those too. Your ideals can suffer, as can your faith and spirituality.
But, here? Now? I’m talking about something physical. Something you can touch, feel, hold
Something tangible
Something real
Which brings me to point one
Don’t get me wrong
I don’t know WHY people come to harm at their own hands
I am not everyone
I can only speak from my own experiences
I DO know that SOME of the hurt is caused by a reduced ability in rational, realistic thinking.
See, when your mental pathways change, your thoughts do too.
There are people who CAN’T see that they are wanted, needed or loved.
And, as an aside,
These are not JUST the artists, the entertainers, the poets or the dreamers.
There DOES seem to be a correlation between mental illnesses (i.e. loneliness, anxiety, depression, panic attacks and self harm) and creativity but such conditions can be found in ALL segments of the population.
You don’t HAVE to be a teenaged girl to have such thoughts
You don’t HAVE to be a tortured artist
Or an assault victim
Or the only survivor of an accident
Or a caretaker for someone with a severe disability or terminal illness
A veteran
A schizophrenic
A runaway
or any other stereotype
At all
You can be a businessman
A lawyer
A young wife
A bus driver
A single parent
A high school athlete
Heck, all you have to be is HUMAN
for such feelings to break through
One of the problems though,
At least as I see it,
Is the secrecy
As open as we are nowadays about what goes on inside our heads
As creative as we are in our songs and movies and TV shows
We’re still missing the mark
People with depression are often depicted as “crazy”
People with terminal illnesses are often said to explore options to hasten the end of their lives
We’re scary, we mentally ill
At least according to today’s popular entertainment we are
We’re dangerous
We’re irrational
We’re the butt of jokes
We’re holy fools
We’re easy targets
We’re some kind of punchline
we’re either sacred angels
or sub humans
What we are, of course
Is often alone
Quite frankly, being diagnosed as chronically depressive and bi polar shook me
What I knew was what I saw on TV
The highs included dangerous delusions and indiscriminate sex
The lows included too much self loathing and too many pills
And then I found them
Or, rather, they found me
And for almost two years, I’ve been learning
that we’re not people who hear voices
not always, anyway
We’re wives and mothers, husbands and fathers
Students and leaders and children and grown ups
We live and love and learn
But most of us are still scared
See, as enlightened as this century is, there are still stigmas
Heck, it wasn’t too long ago that we were cutting into people’s brains and locking them in institutions for life
And when it all gets to be too much
When it hurts and burns and opens up our scars again and again?
There is help
Um…sort of
There is often
For us, there is often
Collective, societal help
But not personal
For five months I took to my bed this past year
Late nights are the worst
For me, anyway
I’ve been told to suffer in silence
That the rest of the people I love
(and who one would presume loved me)
was more important than my pain
I’ve been told to call a hotline
Only to be unable to connect
The stories of my new friends are even more disappointing
It’s trendy now to say “I’m here”, isn’t it?
It’s not so easy to follow through
See, the stigmas are powerful
The shame is real
And the loneliness is overwhelming
Until we’re sorrowful enough that our very brains turn against us
You know how it’s said that harming one’s self is selfish
That suicide is merely a permanent solution to a temporary problem?
Yeah…thanks a lot faceless confident Internet posters
Thanks a lot senior citizen customers with the many opinions and the little experience
IT”S NOT TRUE
(I mean it IS, but it isn’t)
Here is one of the great mysteries of our time
Those of us who DO ask for help, who are often dragged kicking and screaming to some kind of professional
Those of us who can just FEEL something is wrong
Are often given pills that have SUICIDE as one of the first side effects
The very medicine prescribed to save our lives has been known to kill us
This isn’t the only cause of ending one’s life
of course it isn’t
This is just one example
Talk to us
Get to know us
Some of us ARE in denial
Some of us are questioning
We can feel something wrong, we just don’t know the WHAT yet
Some of us, however
Have been told
Over and over that the people in our lives are willing to help
JUST AS SOON
as the chores are completed
or the sun comes up
or the trip has been taken
We get the message
We see
We can figure out that we’re important
Just not as important as whatever you have going on
At that time
Some of us have counselors who are horrified
Counselors are people too
Some of them stigmatize us just as much as the general population does
Some of us
When asked what it is that we want
Are reminded that NO ONE is indispensable
And ANYONE can be replaced
Some of us are unloved
Unwanted
Unneeded
or just plain abused
But some of us are just scared
Some of us HAVE reached out
only to find no one reaching back
Some of us HAVE taken the pills
The ones designed to help us
Only to find that they make us spin down
Even worse than before
We’re not intentionally selfish
We don’t mean to cause trouble
We’re stigmatized
and secretive
And ashamed
We’re told to hang on
To our families
To our faith
To our dreams
Meanwhile
Our hopes are dying
Our brains are shrinking
And we can LITERALLY SEE NO OTHER WAY OUT
Please
Please
Please normal people
If you’re lucky enough to BE normal
(a term many of us, yes, even people of faith, desperately wish we were)
STOP
Stop with the names
Stop with the stigmatization
Stop with the oh so entertaining depictions of “crazy” and “insane”
We’re not selfish
And if we are
We don’t mean to be
We’re sick
We’re ill
Some of us will keep on being ill
For the rest of our lives
Fighting against our own biology
Our own pills
Our own minds
And then fighting
Against you
So please stop
We need peace
We need faith
We need love and comfort and rest
But we need YOU
And it’s too late
Sometimes it’s too late
For “If only he had reached out”
Chances are he had
Chances are we ARE
If only our thoughts would quiet
If only our hearts would still
If only you,
even you the informed,
Could see
How very hard
We try
July 20, 2017
Twenty Years
It’s not been easy. It’s not easy now.
It hurts.
It jars.
It doesn’t always fit.
And I’m not always sure.
At all.
But we’re here.
Fifteen years ago, we didn’t think we would be.
Ten years ago, we were convinced that we wouldn’t make it.
Five years ago, there was still so very much rain.
And now?
Now?
Now there are still days when I’d rather go into my room and pull the covers over my head rather than talk to anyone at all, including he whom I love.
But the storms aren’t always there.
Not always.
Not anymore.
See, we didn’t begin with love. We didn’t even marry for love. Many people don’t know that. Many people don’t remember that minutes before our ceremony, I warned him to run, to leave, to get out. With all the arrogance and selfishness of my twenty three years, I told him that I would be nothing but trouble. I told him that I didn’t love him then and probably never would. I told him that life hurt too much, that I was marrying him for escape, that I was using him and would continue to do so.
And then I cried.
He didn’t run. He didn’t flee. He didn’t even argue. He just held me. He told me that he had love enough for both of us. He rubbed his hands up and down my back and told me that it would be okay. He assured me that I may not love him YET, but some day I WOULD.
He told me he’d hang on.
That some day, some way
I’d fall in love.
He told me that he’d hang on.
Hang on.
Hang on.
He told me that he’d hang on because it was coming.
He was right.
It didn’t happen all at once, of course.
There was no pronouncement.
There were no fireworks. There were no trumpets.
Birds didn’t circle around my head and my heart didn’t beat faster when I saw him.
But he was right.
Slowly,
slowly,
Oh so very slowly
twenty three gave way to twenty five,
Twenty five gave way to thirty.
And then, a year later, the year I was thirty one, he became co owner of a shop and I became
not just his wife,
but his employee.
And the ice began to crack.
Then, six years ago or so, I was hit by a car. I couldn’t use my hands much, my hair was a mess and Kenny put my the whole thing into his first ever ponytail. It was awkward and sweet and reassured me that I was not alone.
And the ice began to crack even more.
A couple of years after that, other people were asked to teach “my children” at church.
I couldn’t foresee how much this would break my heart, but
Kenny did.
He knew that those preschoolers were part of my identity.
He knew how much it would continue to bruise.
I’ll never know how many conversations he initiated, nor will I know how many members he questioned.
I DO know that he did so.
He’s not a kid person.
He doesn’t care who instructs them, just as long as someone DOES.
He is, however, a ME person.
He loves me.
He loved me
and I was crumbling.
For a long time,
I was crumbling.
He couldn’t fix it, but he tried.
Quietly.
It was someone else who told me what he had done.
And the ice not only cracked. On that day, for that moment,
it began to melt.
It began
It began
It began
To melt.
And I began to see him as a gift.
I began to see him as the man that God had put in front of me.
To spend a life with.
And I thought that maybe
maybe
just maybe
it didn’t have to hurt
so much
Anymore.
And then
And then
And then
And then
came my diagnosis.
She looked at me and told me that I was
That I was
That I am mentally ill.
I am mentally ill.
I am mentally ill.
That
I will always be mentally ill.
Forever.
And this
What she said
Began to affect him too.
I am bi polar.
I will be forever.
I will forget.
He.
He will remember.
I forget.
I forget.
I forget so much.
I live inside my head.
I forget anything outside of my room.
I forget myself
I forget him
I cycle up.
I cycle down.
I cycle down.
I cycle down.
I cycle down.
This last year, I cycled down.
Very down.
I didn’t really leave the house for at least six months.
I forgot everything but my bed, my cat and my tears.
I forgot that it would be hard on him.
It was hard on him.
It WAS hard on him.
He faced the world alone.
But he had taken a vow.
He had made an oath.
He had sworn.
I forgot.
I forget.
I had forgotten.
He had not.
My counselor
She reminded him
Of what he already knew.
She reminded him to remember.
Even when I forget.
They both knew that I would forget.
Form a team, she told us.
She needs a team, she told us.
She’ll always be ill, she told us.
She’ll always need care.
My husband is not emotional.
He’s the Spock to my Scarlett.
The Head to my Heart.
But he loves me.
He may not understand being part of my team,
but he accepts the responsibilities.
Even with his million jobs
And twenty hour days.
He remembers.
He accepts.
He lifts me out of my chair when I haven’t showered.
He carries me to the water.
He tries to fix it when I’m hurt.
He wants to know what happened.
He puts up my hair when I can’t move.
He tucks me into bed when I can’t think.
He comes to my room and hands me food
when I haven’t eaten all day.
He remembers when I forget.
He loves when I do not.
He cares
He cares when I can’t.
It still hurts, of course.
Twenty years hasn’t taken away ALL of the heartache.
There are dreams that will never mature.
There are needs that will never be fulfilled.
There are children that will never be born.
Trips that will never be taken.
Stories that will never be written.
Words that will never be spoken
and
Sights that will never be seen.
There are things
that twenty three year old me
Could never have imagined.
Times
that twenty three year old me
could have never believed.
I’ll test him.
I’ll hurt him.
I’ll forget to remember.
But he won’t.
Twenty years on
and he won’t.
I have enough love for both of us, he said.
He was not lying
He told me that he’d love for me until I could love for myself.
He knew it would come.
I’m still learning how.
Twenty years on.
I keep forgetting.
Twenty three forgot
Twenty five forgot
Thirty forgot
Through dreams
And realities
Through hurts inflicted
And scars raised
Through battles lost
and won
I keep forgetting
I keep forgetting
I will always keep forgetting.
But not him.
Not him.
Never
Never
Him.
Twenty years on.
And he
He
He
Will remember.
And I
I
I will will be saved
over and over
because he does.
Because he does.
Because he never forgets
Because twenty years on
Twenty years on
Twenty years on
He still loves me.
Twenty years on
He was right
And he never forgets
He never forgets
He never forgets
To remember.
July 3, 2017
You are More. You are More. You are So Much More.
You are more
You are more than your curly hair
You are more than your freckled nose
You are more than your brain
That sees numbers sideways
Or your voice that freezes up
When you are called on to speak
You are more than your muddy brown eyes
Or your big feet
Or your long toes
You are more than your test taking abilities
Or your grade point average
Or your final score
You are more than your jump shot
Or lack of one
You are more than the nights when your mind races
And you cannot sleep
You are more than the days
When that is all you do
You are more than the unwashed dishes
And the unmade beds
And the pile of laundry in the corner
That has been there
So long
That you have lost count
of how many days
It has been
You are more than the pooch in your stomach
The wrinkles around your mouth
The dimples in your thighs
You are more than your fear of the dark
Or tight spaces
Or monsters under your bed
You are more than the voices in your head
Calling you lazy
Calling you worthless
Telling you to give up
To not try anymore
You are more than the candy bar
That broke your diet
Or the rainy day
That curtailed your exercise
You are more than the neighbor
You didn’t invite over for coffee
Or the friend on the street
To whom you didn’t wave
You are more than your child
Screaming “I Hate You”
And slamming the door
You are more than the contest
that you ALMOST won
The award you were up for
But didn’t get
You are more than the house
That is too small
Too run down
And too crowded
You are more than the Thanksgiving Dinner
For one
And the echoing silence of your halls
You are more than the “If you Justs”
of your well meaning friends
and the people who tell you to just look it up
Because they want to get out of the conversation
You are more than your unemployment
Your food stamps
The people who ask you why you have a phone
But don’t have a job
You are more than the names you are called
Because of your weight
or religion
or the color of your skin
You are more than your accent
or your English as a second language
or the way people stare at you
When you struggle to read posted signs
You are more than the person you voted for
Or the person you didn’t
You are more than the opinions
Of those who voted the other way
You are more than your barronness
And the heartbreak you feel
When your best friend
Has baby number three
You are more than the nights
You have reached out for help
And there was no one there
To take your hand
You are more than the worst thing you said
The most awful thing you did
Even if
It hurt someone you love
You are more than the way
your partner has stopped looking at you
As if to really see
You are more than the nights
You go to bed alone
You are more than the secret stash
of chocolate
That you keep
for when life
Won’t stop closing in
You are more than the books you read
And the music you play
And the headphones you wear
Because you simply
Have to block out the world
You are more than the wheelchair
Even if
It’s all people see
You are more than the way
You begin to stutter
When you feel
All eyes on you
And the words
They just won’t come
You are more than the teddy bear
You take to bed
For comfort
Even though
You are now twenty three
You are more than the students
In the classroom
That you are supposed to control
Even though
Everything seems tilted
And spinning
And you are managing
Anything but
You are more than the rules
The unspoken ones
That have always guided your family
Even if
they don’t make
Any sense
Anymore
You are more than the questions
That you are dying to ask
But you stuff down
Because you don’t think
Anyone
Would really understand
You aren’t your grades
Or your hair
Or your freckles
Or your fingernails
Or your job
You are not the things
That are said
In your hearing
You are not the things
That are said
Out of it
You are not your secret tears
You are not your lonely nights
You are Your own story
With words in your soul
And chapters in your eyes
And a journey
That only you can take
You are not what they say you are
You are not who you think you are
You are you
You are beautiful
You are loved
Oh darling one
You are so much
More