ladybugjournal

[ladybugjournal]

The Bookshelf

29 June 2025

I finally painted a bookshelf I got in the breakup. It's been too hot here recently, a heatwave rolled through and decided to stay, but I needed to pain this damn bookshelf. I got it all set up: the black paint, my father's sawhorse stands, my wireless speaker, three fucking fans so I didn't overheat, and I finally painted the bookshelf.

There was nothing wrong with it, not really. There was dirt from being in my parents garage, a coffee stain that didn't come from my mug, and some nicks and dings from moving apartments the first time, then again when I took them the last time.

I didn't know how cathartic it could be to paint a bookshelf. It felt like I was erasing you, erasing what little left of you still lingers in my life. I don't think I can ever be fully rid of you, not matter how hard I try, but I think I need to hold on to some parts, let them haunt me along with the other traumas in my life.

I've changed now, or again, not reverting back to who I was before you, but welcoming old self back now that I am free of you. Without the lessons I've learned, the shit I've dealt with, and everything I've overcome, I wouldn't be me. I like who I am now. I'm starting to love her too.

As I painted this bookshelf I listened to the music I used to love- still love- but stopped listening to because you didn't like it and I didn't like how the comments you made made me feel. I felt myself healing. With each stroke of the brush, with each lyric I remembered, I felt myself knitting back together.

You linger in my thoughts, in my dreams, in my pictures. You're interwoven in my past, and pop up in my present, but I no longer react when I hear your name, I no longer feel sad, or mad, or anything when I tell a story that you are in. We are strangers. You are nothing to me anymore, just a bad dream, a cautionary tale, a bad situation that gave me the push I needed to leave and start new.

I finally painted that bookshelf. It fits in my room well. And when I look at it, I don't think of you anymore, I think of all the books I can buy now that I don't have your books crowding mine out.

[ladybugjournal]

Notice

26 August 2024

Drafting notices of departure feels a little too much like writing a final goodbye note, except it's far less damaging mentally, and people are encouraging me to do it.

Currently, I'm getting ready to move. I'm leaving a bad situation, I'm leaving bad friends/roommates, and I'm moving on to bigger and better things. I want to first make it clear that while my current roommates and I were classmates and co-workers before we moved in together, we were not best friends prior to living together. That being said, we are not friends anymore and it is for the best.

So, because of a lot of stuff that has been going on, I am drafting notices of my departure. I am putting in my 2 week notice at a job I have worked at for 3 months shy of 6 years. I am giving my roommates a (basically) 60 day notice of moving out. Then, at the end of the month, I will be giving my building manager a 30 day notice of moving out (when our lease is up).

I'm currently drafting all of these notices to get out any petty or off handed comments that come from being pissed off at my current situation/roommates, so, when I do have a final draft, I can leave them on the best terms possible.

This is more for me so I don't look back and regret being mean or feel guilty or bad for how I acted. I am trying to do what's best for me while also taking into account how other people may feel. I am giving a "2 week notice" at work, but if my manager needs me to stay on and train someone a little longer, than I am more than willing to talk about the options. I am giving my roommates as much notice as I can while also helping them as much as I can with the transition and moving process. I don't want to fuck anyone over, but I need to also protect myself and do what's best for me. It's quite the balancing act I'm doing.

It's strange, writing these notices, mainly because they are a final goodbye. I do not intend on coming back to this job once I am gone, at least, not at the same location. I do not foresee my roommates and I rekindling our friendship down the road. I also know I will not be coming back to these apartments, though, I wasn't here long so it's a little less sad (I do love this apartment though, the layout is perfect and I love my room).

These goodbye letters, in the form of a written notice, are cathartic. They're also giving me a lot of hope and something to look forward to. I like to feel like I'm moving forward and even these little steps of me typing out a silly little letter on my laptop makes me feel like I'm doing something.

I bought some boxes today, I'm going to start packing tomorrow, I have a draft written to my roommates, and I will have another draft written to my manager. I have a timeline, specific dates I know when things are happening, and each tiny step, each new detail of the plan, is bringing me one step closer to freedom and making living here a lot more bearable.

[ladybugjournal]

I Don't Want to Go Back

7 August 2024

I'm dreading going back to the apartment I share with my roommates tomorrow morning. It's not a good place for me to live. Being with them, interacting with my roommates isn't good for my mental health. If it wasn't for my lease, the stuff I need to pack, and my job, I wouldn't go back. Thinking about going back there makes me feel sick to my stomach, but I have to. I have to go back and I have to be civil.

I do think I'm catastrophizing. Logically, I know it won't be horrible. I know I'm not technically in danger, at least physically. Emotionally and mentally I'm not safe, but I haven't been safe in a very long time. I know this is not the worst living situation I could be in, but I'm just so exhausted. I'm so tired of mind games and feeling like I'm not welcome in my own home. I'm tired of being blamed for things that I shouldn't be blamed for. I'm tired of the double standards and made up rules that are only for me (and are not made known to me). I'm tired of walking on egg shells, and getting berated for vague things.

I'm tired, but I'm also hurt. I'm hurt that two people I trusted and who I thought were my best friends don't actaully care about me. I'm hurt that they would lie to me and fuck with head and then blame me for it. I'm hurt that they would blame me for their problems when I tried to help. I'm hurt that they're mad I didn't do more. I'm hurt that they're mad at me for how hard I did try. I'm hurt that they would blame my mental health for them not being good friends to me, when the entire time they were making my mental health worse with the lies and mind games.

I don't want to go back. I don't want to have to be around them. I don't want to have to go back into survival mode. I don't want any of it. But I have to.

I have to be an adult, even though they're acting like we're still in high school. I have to be the bigger person, even though they are the ones manufacturing the problems.

I hate myself a little for this whole situation. Mainly because I feel stupid. I also hate that I am a winey little bitch when it comes to this situation, always ranting to my friends and sister about everything. I hate that I'm still letting them get under my skin. I hate that I'm doubting myself and wondering if I am playing the victims like my roommate said in her video on TikTok, even though many people have told me that I'm not. I just hate that because I trusted them more than I really trusted myself for so long that I'm still struggling to not listen to them. I hate that I'm struggling to listen to myself.

I hate this situation, and I know I'm being dramatic, but whatever. I'm doing whatever I can to cope (in the healthiest ways possible), and it's not like they'll see this. It's not like anything I said wasn't true. It's not like we're friends anyway. Might as well let them be mad about me stating the truth than have them mad at me for something they made up.

It will be okay, I will be okay. I have set myself up for success and survival, and I have a clear path out. There is a light at the end of this tunnel. I won't be with them forever, just a couple months. This all just really sucks.

I don't want to go back :(

[ladybugjournal]

Tarot

4 August 2024

I am not an expert on Tarot, let's start with that. I dabble, I practice, I do it for me. I'm spiritual but slacking. I value Tarot and readings and card pulling, I think it's a great way to help sort my thoughts out and a great guid for my intuition. Most of the time I use Tarot as a way to meditate (like journaling), and I've found it's a great translator for my intuition.

Today I participated in a Tarot class with one of my favorite teachers (she was my former teacher in undergrad for many many classes because I love her and her classes were always so interesting and education AND FUN). Now, she teaches at another college (one I will be applying to for my Masters lol), and through her business, Divine Discourse Learning, she tutors, does private readings, teaches classes (like the Tarot classes I've been taking with her), and more.

I was so happy when she texted me inviting me to join her Major Arcana class. She walked us through the Fool's journey and how he met the other faces in the Major Arcana. For the rest of the deck, she split the Minor Arcana into two classes. Today we focused on Wands and Cups, next Sunday we'll be focused on Swords and Pentacles.

As a water sign, I am more fond of (or maybe more drawn to) the suit of cups which has the element of water, so learning more about the cards I love so much was amazing. After going through the symbols in each what the card represents, or who/what the card is relating to in our life, and what it would mean if that card were to appear in a reading (reversed and upright), we each putlled cards of our own.

Note: my favorite tarot deck (and the one I used today) is The Halloween Tarot by Karin Lee and Art by Kipling West. In this deck the suits are changed so the wands are imps and the cups are ghosts.

I did a simple, three card spread (past, present, future), and while shuffling another card popped out so I kept that to the side as a single card pull. My past present and future came out as the Five of Imps, the Page of Ghosts (reversed), and the Nine of Ghosts. I gave my instructor the spread and together we worked through what the reading meant for me (the whole class was given the opportunity to do this and it was a fun way to practice what we just learned and also to end the class).

My Reading: Past: Five of Imps (Wands) - Upright this can mean: people fighting or arguing. Conflict, aggression, tension For me, this immediately resonated as my situation with my roommates. There was a bad night, a fight, followed by a lot of tension. This officially started at the end of December 2023, but if I'm honest with myself, there had been tension for a lot longer. Present: Page of Ghosts (Cups) Reversed - Reversed this card can mean doubting intuition, an emotional immaturity, and creative roadblocks I admitted to my prof that because of how my roommates (who became my best friends after we moved in together and who had become two of the people I trusted most in my life) had been lying to me and messing with my mind for over a year prior to our falling out, and the lies and gaslighting had made me doubt myself, doubt my intuition, and doubt my memory. I trust my professor academically, professionally, and personally so having her jump right in and say that it sounds like I've been dealing a lot with emotional immaturity from my roommates (who blamed me for things I should not have been blamed for because they couldn't face the truth that they messed up) and doubting myself and intuition is understandable made me feel a lot better. Future: Nine of Ghosts (Cups) - Upright this card means contentment, satisfaction, gratitude, and a wish coming true. This hard also represents a cycle being almost complete. My lease is almost up. I have less than four months until the lease is over and I can officially be moved out. So that part stood out to me first when I looked at this card. After a while of sitting with this card and talking to my prof, I came to the realization that I am, surprisingly, grateful for the conflict and the tension and the fighting. I'm grateful because without it I would still be living in those lies and the doubt, I'd still be begging them to love me, trying to change myself so they would love me, going out of my mind to figure out what I did wrong and feeling like I was literally going insane when they repeatedly said "until someone tells you there is a problem, there's no problem" but then acted like they were mad at me. Without the fallout, I wouldn't have this independence. Without the yearning for being free of them, I wouldn't have considered my options. Without the fighting the truth wouldn't have come out, and I would still be listening to them when they discouraged me from going to grad school. Without all of the shit I've been through, I would not be able to be content in the future. And that's what that card means. (At least for me in this reading) The single card that jumped out at me was the King of Ghosts (Cups) which, when I told my prof this she got excited for me because it means I'm coming into my power and recognizing my worth. Which I am, more and more everyday I am.

Tarot isn't for everyone, I know a lot of people have reservations on the craft or the practice, my sister loves to hear about it and gets excited for me but doesn't want to dabble in it herself. It's understandable. I grew up religious (or surrounded by the religious) and I learned the doctrine, and endured the lectures (which is a big part of the reason I avoid organized religion), so I completely understand weariness when it comes to anything close to "witch craft". But personally, Tarot helps me and it's important to me, and this reading really just solidified how important it is for me and my life.

here are some bad pics of the spread I took during class:

past, present, future:

single card pull:

[ladybugjournal]

I'm not giving up. I'm just moving on.

3 August 2024

TW: talk of mental illness (a brief non descriptive and non explicit mention of an attempt on one's life)

I'm not giving up. I'm just moving on.

I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not giving up. Taking myself out of a bad situation, leaving a place I don't feel safe in, and moving towards a new goal does not mean I'm giving up on what I currently have. What I have is over. It's done.

That chapter is completed.

18 year old me made a plan and set certain goals. Along the way, that plan changed (mainly because of covid) but I adapted, changed the plan, made new goals. Still, I did what I set out to do. I graduated my first choice college with honors, made two short films (and worked on a many others), I got a job and have been working there for more than five years now, I made friends, I went to parties (I have never really been a party person so this was a big goal of mine. My mother even wanted me to go to parties lol), I went on dates, I went on adventures, and I grew up.

I don't regret this last chapter. Not at all. Honestly, I wouldn't change any of it. It's weird to say that because a lot of it has been shitty and I had more mental breakdowns than was healthy, but I made it through. I learned, I grew, I became me.

This last chapter of my life has been a dream. Some of it a nightmare, honestly, a lot of it was a nightmare, but still, a dream. A fever dream, really.

In 2018, I was 18 years old. I moved 1100 miles from home, alone, to a place I knew no one. I moved in with a stranger (my first roommate), I got my first job (that wasn't a summer job as a camp councilor), I got in my first fender bender (it wasn't my fault), I went on my first date after breaking up with my longterm high school boyfriend. I went to classes, had a 4.0, and I survived.

I survived moving (with that same first roommate) because our school fucked up and had to put us in with another roommate (this one wasn't good and though we only cohabitated for 3 months it was far too long). I made more friends and lost friends. I moved again with my first roommate.

It's important to note that each move was a downgrade by the school. My first roommate and I went from having separate rooms in a 2 bed 2 bath with a full kitchen, living room, and dining room. To sharing a room and bathroom and walk in closet in the second 2 bed 2 bath apartment across the living room from our other (unstable) roommate. To living on a first floor studio apartment we called "the concrete box" that had barely half a kitchen, a rod between 2 broken shelves for a closet, a bathroom we shared with our neighbor we never met (with a shower that would flood from the drain and spill into our room), where the fire alarms would go off almost every night at 2 - 4 AM. We were there when covid started which was great because we had bunkbeds and couldn't quarantine from each other if we needed to (luckily we didn't need to).

I took a break and moved back in with my parents when Covid got really bad. I did zoom classes from my parents living room while my mother worked from home from the kitchen table and my father worked from home from the kitchen island. I got drunk a lot, hung out with my high school friends when I could. It honestly wasn't horrible for me. I'm lucky to have been able to do that.

When I had to go back, I ended up moving into a 4 bedroom 2 bath apartment. There were 5 of us. I shared a room with my friend from college/work and everyone else had their own room. It wasn't horrible. Not really. Not always. I was closer with two of my roommates, but really only friends with the one I shared my room with at first. Three of us worked together, which was nice except it was covid times and one of our little trio always thought they were sick so the other two of us were forced to isolate. The other two roommates were not great, they fought like children, screaming at each other and throwing fits. One of them continuously threatened to hit me, which I did not enjoy. But I was trying to make the most of it and just get through zoom university.

One night, one of the two outside of the trio tried to take their own life. I won't go into details, not now, maybe not ever, but I had to fix it. I was asked to "fix it". I called dispatch, I talked to the paramedics, I had to keep myself held together even when I felt like I was going to vibrate out of my own skin. But, even in what could possibly be one of the most traumatic nights of my life, I still have fond memories. I played tag in the parking lot with my friend. We were distracting ourselves, grounding ourselves, trying to keep our shit together and do something, anything, that would keep us from spiraling.

Even now, years later. Even now that I'm no longer close with that friend and I don't talk to that roommate ever since we had to kick them out. Even now, I look back on that night and even though it's so dark and so horrible, even though it still makes me sick to my stomach. I still smile when I think of playing tag in the parking lot. I still laugh thinking about sitting outside of the diner at 2 am, freezing while cupping my coffee, while I distracted everyone by telling stupid stories and quizzing them on random kids movies. Those moments are light. They're special. They wouldn't have happened if it wasn't peak pandemic when the ER wouldn't let anyone sit in the waiting room, or when the diner only had outside seating.

It was horrible and I was in therapy over it for a long time, but still, I wouldn't change it.

I wouldn't change moving out in a rush because we had to break our lease. I wouldn't change our downstairs neighbor who was paranoid and horrible and threatened to have her grown children beat us, and who called the cops on us while we were sleeping for "rolling bowling balls". I wouldn't change getting sick. I wouldn't change knowing something was wrong between be and my trio but having them lie to me every time I asked. I wouldn't change feeling like I was going crazy for over a year because of their lies and their mind games.

I wouldn't change any of that because I learned the truth. I learned the truth after another horrible night where I felt rage for the first time in years. I wouldn't change finding myself once I learned the truth and realized that two people I thought were my best friends were actually not my friends at all. I wouldn't change any of that because it made me find myself.

I wouldn't change any of the bad, because then I wouldn't have any of the good.

I wouldn't have the friendship I have with my very first roommate. I wouldn't have all the memories. I wouldn't have my cat, my baby boy, I rescued from that first 4 bedroom apartment. I wouldn't know I can pack all my shit and move within a week (I had to do this twice). I wouldn't be confident that no matter what happens, I can stay calm in a crisis. I wouldn't know that I can move out on my own, completely alone (or with my cat) and still be fine.

I wouldn't be me without the good and the bad.

I wouldn't go back and change the 1-2 hour commute to campus when my school moved in my senior year. Because of that, I really don't care how long it takes me to get somewhere, anything is better than a 45 minute drive turning into a 2 hour drive when you're already late for class and then showing up to campus only to find there is no parking in the public parking that you have to pay for so you just give up and go home and cry to your mother on the way because you're having your third panic attack that week and it's only Monday. (Yeah, I still wouldn't change that).

I met my twin™️ and our other friend at that campus. We went on adventures down town because if we were going to make that drive might as well explore. I will always cherish them. We're still close and that's really nice.

Honestly, I wouldn't change going to that stupid party where everything went to shit, because that's how I found out the truth. That's what snapped me out of the blind love I had for my friends.

So yeah, it sucked, a lot of it sucked, but a lot of it was great and I wouldn't change it.

I just have to remember that leaving, starting a new chapter, going on a new adventure, getting out and going some where new, is not giving up. I didn't give up. I had so many opportunities to give up over the last six years, but I didn't. This is not giving up. This is moving on.

This is not giving up. This is moving on.

I am not giving up. I'm just moving on.

[ladybugjournal]

New Chapter: The Planning

31 July 2024

Growing up, I never liked changed. I hated when things were moved around in my play room, I hated when I changed schools, I hated things I couldn't control. I still hate when I'm not in control, but I'm working on it. Now, I'm actually excited for the changes that are coming in my life.

Soon I will be moving, and then I will be moving again, and I have a lot of feelings about this. The main reason I'm moving, the real big change is that I'm going to Grad School! I've decided to get my masters in creative writing, and I'm excited for that.

The first move will be when my lease is up at my apartment in the hills (not The Hills TM). That move will come around November. I'm excited and scared, but ultimately, I know this is the best move for me.

My current living situation is not sustainable, it hasn't been for a while. Honestly, it hasn't been great for the past couple years, but I was blinded by love and trusted people who were lying to me and playing games with my head. It's corn dipped in cheese but that quote "betrayal doesn't come from your enemies" is so fucking true and I hate it.

I don't want to get into the whole thing right now, that is a story for another time, but I will say, in relation to this move, it's important. I know this will be better for me, it will allow me the freedom to take the next steps and not have extra stress because I'm walking on egg shells and not feeling safe in my own home, and also it will allow me to save money.

I'm planning on moving back in with my parents for a while (the couple months from the time my lease is up until I get into a program and move to that school). I'm going to try and transfer so I can keep working at the job I've had for the last five and half years. I wouldn't be paying rent (my parents are generous and want me to be able to save money, but I'm planning on helping out with groceries and whatever they'll let me pay for). But it will be good. I'm excited.

I'm applying to a bunch of schools (I have a list that I'm narrowing down right now). I'm leaning more towards the east coast, lower populations, small towns, forests and shit. I think I want to be around nature. I've lived in an over populated city/county for the last six years and I'm ready for the underpopulated. I want space to breathe, space to write, space to just be me. I need to slow down. I need the quite.

Also, if I'm under-stimulated my creativity will thrive because I will need to keep myself entertained. Plus, I'm aiming for a 4.0 (or at least graduating with a higher GPA than the 3.66 I graduated with in undergrad). Honestly, anything 3.8 and higher I will be happy with. So, less distractions would be nice.

I think I also just need to be by myself. I haven't been by myself for a very long time and I think we need to get to know each other again, become friends again. I've already started working on getting to know myself again. I've been journaling (by hand and here), and I've been having adventures on my own again. I think the best part about this is that even when I'm alone I don't feel lonely anymore. So, I'm calling that a win.

Okay, enough with the sappy shit, here is the plan:

September trip

Apply for grad school (applications are not open yet 😖)

Pack stuff I won't need for like 2 months (and take it to my parent's house already)

Tell my roommates I'm moving out at the end of our lease (and hope they don't explode on me)

October trip

Transfer request

MOVE

Start next steps for Grad School :)

This seems... doable.

I feel a little out of control, mainly because I'm just doing a lot of waiting. Waiting for the applications to open, waiting to hear back, waiting for my lease to be up, waiting to hear about my transfer. And yes, there are things I'm doing while I'm waiting. I'm preparing my portfolio and getting editing my submissions, I'm packing and planning, I'm going on trips and spending time with friends, but I'm still just waiting. I can't move past the next step because it's not time yet.

This is really turning out to be a training in patience. I'm not an impatient person, at least not an obnoxious impatient person. I'm fine to wait in line, I'm fine to sit in a car and drive for a long time to the fun destination, I'm fine to wait for a trip or something, but I like to be moving forward. I hate being stagnant , especially when I've decided on something.

Alas, I must wait, might as well plan and maybe try to distract myself from spiraling with creativity.

Wish me luck, Ladybug

[ladybugjournal]

Why "Ladybug"

I ask myself "why Ladybug?" far too often. But why the name? Because it's what my father called me. The story is pretty simple.

Back home, in a far away place where I no longer am and at a house which I will probably never return, there was a backyard. This backyard was not just a backyard, it was a sanctuary, a play ground, the home of my imagination. That backyard was bigger than the entire world, it was the entire world, at least it sure felt like it to a tiny little Ladybug.

The backyard had three main realms: The Deck, the Field, and the Left Side.

From the sliding glass door that brought you from the dining room to the backyard, the deck was straight in front. It was probably the biggest part of the backyard, mainly because it was also part of the patio. My parents built the deck that stayed up for over twenty years. There was a secret trapped door in the deck, certain boards squeaked and bounced, and the grey wood they built it with was a perfect canvas for my chalk. I spent many summers camped out on that deck, building a tent made of blankets with the railings and heavy mental patio furniture. I had lunch out there with the neighbor kids, slept under the stars with my best friend (who was possibly one of the first people I ever loved but also one of the first boys to break my heart), and sat out there when my parents locked me out of the house (on accident... probably).

The deck was always special. It looked like a stage (and I made it my stage often). I could see it from my bedroom window and could hear the conversations happening out there when I was hiding away. Parties were spent out on that deck. Pictures taken, games played, memories made. It was a good deck.

To the left of the deck, a realm deemed "The Left Side" was a flat terrain were the gravel and grass were separated by the River of Stones. It was home to my Blue Sky Castle (a treehouse/swing set my parents built for me), and was were the River of Stones (a lava rock path where my mother kept her painted stepping stones) was the barrier between the "backyard" and the side of the house where the shed and side entrance to the garage was. I never spent much time on the gravel, mainly because that's where my father kept his tools and there were usually a bunch of spiderwebs there. Plus, it's where my childhood family dog used to shit and I didn't want to step in it.

Just past my Castle, and beyond the tiny trees my mother planted, was the entrance to the "Underworld" a secret 4th realm that was a trench that spread along the back fence from one end of the yard to the other, and the underside of the deck. Under the deck wasn't very full, there was a broken hammock, random popped pool floaties that got stuck under there, a forgotten ball or two, and some plumbing or electrical accesses that my father sometimes had to get to (hence the trap door in the deck). It was scary under there for a tiny ladybug who's nightmares felt far more real than her dreams. It's where the monsters lived, where the bodies were buried, and where I wasn't allowed to go (I went anyway, obviously).

To the right of the deck was the field. It wasn't actually a field, just a larger section of grass that led off to the swamp behind our house. A broken fence came to an acute triangle separating us from the marsh where the toads lived and the trees grew high, swaying in storms and threatening to fall on our house (hence the broken fence). The field ran from the gate on the side of the house, past the broken and rotting gazebo, past the newly built but sinking pool deck, past the garden and down to the triangle.

The field was important because of a small path of wood that wound from the side of the house all the way to the bushes that separated the yard from the drop off. That little path of wood was where the ladybugs were march.

Looking back, we may have had a nest or something near by, maybe an infestation that had to be taken care of, but for a little ladybug like myself, it wasn't for me to worry about. All I had to worry about was watching them march. It seemed, at the time, like there were hundreds of these ladybugs marching one by one on this little wooden path. I was mesmerized by millions of black dots on red bodies, tiny legs making the long hall from somewhere near the gate all the way to the bushes. Families of ladybugs marched, dutifully back to their home under my supervision.

I used to watch them for what felt like hours, but really, could have hours or minutes (I didn't have a good concept of time at that age). My father would watch me, sometimes my grandmother, sometimes no one, while I watched the ladybug march.

After this became a habit, my father, who like my mother, has never actually called me by my given name always preferring to call me by one of the many, many, nicknames they came up for me, deemed me his little ladybug. It was fitting because I too was small and red (I'm a ginger) and had little dots (I have freckles).

It's the nickname I most identify with, it's the nickname that means the most to me, and it's the nickname that I'm most referred to as.

So long story short, that's why "Ladybug".

[ladybugjournal]

The Ladybug Journal

30 July 2024

Dear Future Ladybug,

I've decided to keep make this "Ladybug Journal" to look back on later in life. This will serve as a digital reminder that we made it. That I have grown. It will also serve as tiny little entries to look back on cherish, or cry about, or just remember. Recently, a friend described me as a writer by nature, and thus, I write.

I'll keep this intro brief.

To start, I want to introduce myself and give you some context for what's going on in our life now. Future Ladybug, I hope things get better, I hope we get out, I hope this excitement and hopefulness we are allowing ourself to feel works out.

I am 24 years old at the time of starting this journal. I'm currently sitting on my parents' couch, in their air conditioned house in the desert. I'm house/pet sitting for them while they are in Vegas (Mom is doing her tournament and Dad is cheering her on/winning more money than her) and I've successfully binge watched the entire first season of Roswell New Mexico, yet again and have been annoying the hell out of Magoo and everyone (but mainly Magoo) talking about the Olympics. It's really is so funny to me how every 4 years I become the biggest sports fan and also love the USA.

Side note about the Olympics: I love routing for the USA as like an umbrella team (because I am from the USA) but also, I do have individual athletes from all over who I love (specifically Tom Daley who I've loved forever and is the reason I even started watching the Summer Olympics [I'm still more of a Winter Olympics girl tbh]).

It's July, so I'm here for Mom and Dad's birthday(s) and it's 2024 so I'm also here to get away from my current living situation back on the coast. I'm trying not to think about them though and I'm trying to not psych myself out too bad about going back even though there are some things I'm really not looking forward to. But I've realized it's only a couple months until I can get out for good. (More on this later, I'm sure).

We (me and you, the future me) decided to go back to school, and I'm freaking out just a little. I'm excited though, I'm ready for the change, I'm ready for the new adventure, I'm ready to get the fuck out of the city in which I currently live. I'll be sad to leave some of my friends, but I know those who are my actual friends will stay my friends despite the distance and those who are not are not will simply not.

Life is actually pretty good, despite everything (which I will rant about later). I'm trying to live my life as freely and happily as I can, and I'm just trying to be content while doing it.

So here is this journal, a letter to my future self, a live history of me, and a place where I can share my story. Yes it is public, and yes it is on tumblr, but this is for me and for you (future me).

Goodnight, Ladybug (present/the future's past)