So, your husband is a monster.

There is a trend I see emerging in the beautiful sub-culture of young, married LDS women on Facebook. Like many things I don't understand, it angers me. I am going to try and discuss it here to vent my building aggression towards strangers. Bear with me.

Pornography is something that both science and religion disapprove of. Recently there has been an influx of people being willing to openly disparage the affects that pornography has on individuals and families. This is wonderful news. Hopefully with the recognition of the damage that is done by indulging in such a dangerous material, many people will be able to avoid ever facing a pornography habit or addiction in their life. Hearts and smiles, I'm totally with you here. 

Where I get lost is when I see a wife crying out for help with her husband's addiction. Yes, help is important in this instance! It is important for him to work on climbing above his addiction, and it is crucial for the marriage for both spouses to establish their communication and understanding of each other like never before. What I don't understand is this:

[Young married woman posting on Facebook]: HELP! My husband has a porn addiction :( :( :( I feel like I cant trust him anymore. He is a monster, and he has been cheating on me with this smut. What do I do???? 

[other young married women commenting]: YOU DESERVE BETTER. HE IS A MONSTER. GIVE HIM AN ULTIMATUM. IT IS YOU OR THE PORN. 

Hold up. Let's just hold on to our knickers before we run around streaking here. Yes, porn is a terrible thing, yes your feelings of betrayal and hurt are valid and reasonable, but how in the world do you propose getting through this and repairing your relationship if you are slandering your spouse with strangers online? This issue is also not yours. It is primarily his (or hers, I realise I am being mildly sexist by using only male pronouns. Forgive me) and therefore, he is the one who is needing the most immediate help and support. The same as with any other addiction (drugs, alcohol, gambling what have you), berating the individual who is struggling, or handing them ultimatums as an initial response will only close any remaining communication that was left. If a spouse is abusing the other or engaging in dangerous behaviour, then an immediate walk away may be in order, but rarely is that a necessary first move. 

With the expansion of social media and the acceptance of sharing your entire life with everyone you have ever remotely known, people seem less concerned about the necessity for being discreet in marriage. There are things that deserve to be private, and the struggles and vices of your spouse are number one on the list of things that you do not need to be disclosing online. As soon as you invite others into your relationships, you face the danger of further biasing yourself against your spouse. Your own viewpoint is vindicated while people who are sympathetic to you, yet foreign to them attack and dehumanise the person who you have vowed to love, cherish, and respect. 

I also see girls asking other girls if they would like to discuss their trauma further, which is something that just leaves hypothetical chunks of my own brain matter on the wall. Isn't your spouse the one who is in need here? Can you not go attend to him? Work with him to step beyond this awful addiction? I understand asking "how can I help him?" but rarely is that what I see being asked. 

In discussing this with my best friend Allison she said, 

"Ask yourself 'am I asking for genuine help? Do I want to hear honesty? Do I really want to put some work in to making this better? Do I just not know how to do that on my own?' Because in all reality most of us know what could solve the majority of these issues, we're all adults who interact with people. It's good to genuinely need help with solving a specific problem, for people to provide alternative views, but that's so rarely what it is." 

This isn't to say that abuse isn't real. If you feel you are being consistently belittled, controlled, or abused in your relationship, seek help. Reach out and approach friends and professionals to assure you are safe. Reaching out to simply complain about your spouse or to get support for your side of the argument, however, will not end well for your marital happiness. 

I feel bad that I haven't managed to be even remotely humorous in this post, but the rage is embarrassingly real! Please do not interpret my irritation as me being someone who feels pornography is not harmful, or even that it has its place. I don't feel that way at all. What I do feel is the need for people to be aware of how little their relationships should revolve around themselves, and how much it should revolve around their relationship and their spouse. Putting yourself first leads to being selfish and easily offended, while putting your spouse and your marriage first helps you see how problems are never really simply polarised into "his" or "mine," but are almost always "ours." 

And with that, let's discuss ways to combat an addiction. Having struggled with my own addiction and going through the therapy for it, these are some things I have learned: 

1) Identify the problem, and the times and places it emerges. When are you most tempted to engage/to use/to lapse into the addiction?

2) Find ways to avoid those times and those things.

3) Establish an alternative coping mechanism to replace the original behaviour. If you need to keep your fingers busy, pick up knitting, Lego construction, a musical instrument, painting, anything that you think you will genuinely enjoy and will distract you from the original urge. That first behaviour has been established because it is pleasurable, replacing it with something dull and tedious will not do the trick.

4) Accept that you probably won't successfully stop forever the first time. You will probably slip up, but if you allow one slip up to destroy your resolve to continue improving, you will never come out on top. Keep moving forward.

5) Find someone who will check in with you and hold you responsible for your lapses while still loving you when you do lapse. For me, I am addicted to self harm. Even when I am happy, and even though I am currently clean, I still get urges. Peter has been aware of this addiction since we first became friends. He knows it, he accepts me despite of it, but he hates it. Knowing this leaves me with three options when I am faced with a temptation: I can cut and hide it from my husband, meaning I have let lying into our marriage, cut and have him disappointed and sad, or resist and have him shower me with love and affection when I tell him I overcame my moment of weakness.

6) Seek professional help. When in doubt, find a therapist you can trust and rely on. They are trained, they are licensed, and they can give support to both you and your spouse no matter the issue. 

Be excellent, folks. You and your marriages deserve it. 

One score and three years ago.

My very first class of university was Acting I. It was a Wednesday, and class was brief as the teacher only went over our syllabus before dismissing us. I sat on the front row and attempted, but failed, to engage a conversation with anyone nearby. Acting was an awesome class for a Freshman in desperate need for friends *cough* me *cough*. While I didn't hang out with anyone from the class, I still felt like I belonged when I was there.

One day we played a storytelling game. A person would volunteer to tell a story while the class sat in a circle on the stage. Each time a new character or setting appeared in the story, students had to rush in to the circle to try and fill the roles. One story began, "once there was a beautiful fairy princess." Six or so girls surged forward, but were all beat out by a beaming boy with a head full of curls, who skipped around the circle fluttering his arms emphatically. 

"Wow." I thought to myself, while laughing hysterically, "that is one incredibly secure kid." 

Of course, that kid was Peter. 

Peter sat on the other side of the theatre from me each class period, but from my vantage point he always looked like someone who I wished I could be friends with. While we had never spoken, I was pretty sure we would get along and I wanted desperately to break the ice. One day before class he walked past me wearing a shirt I recognized from The Big Bang Theory, but didn't know what it represented. "Perfect!" I thought to myself, developing a cunning ruse, "I can ask him what the symbol means and also bond with him over good TV *maniac laugh*" 

"Hey!" I said, catching his attention. "That's Sheldon Cooper's shirt from the Big Bang Theory, what does it stand for?" 

To my surprise, I was met with a distainful look from this perpetually grinning boy, "uhhhh," he said, every word dripping with dislike, "this is the Green Lantern." 

"Oh," was my subdued response, but before I could try anything else, he had continued on past me. 

Thus ended my attempts to engage with Peter Gregory. We would run into each other on campus or the beach, and even spent time together in groups. Somewhere along the way Peter decided that he was passionately and madly in love with me and I fell in love with him too, so it all worked out. 

Tomorrow it's that silly little boy's 23rd birthday, so here, for you, are 10 things I love about Peter. 

(In no particular order) 

1. Peter pretends he knows what I'm talking about even when he doesn't. 

I don't do this as much as I used to, but as a Freshman I loved picking pretend fights. Peter knew this, and he engaged me in them. I would squint a certain way, or push him, and he would turn back, arms open and yell "WHAT?!" Or "DONT EVEN BRING THAT UP RIGHT NOW," or some other variation. Other times we would pretend to be able to read each others minds, even when we didn't know what the other person was even slightly alluding to. It made me feel like part of an exclusive club, and I adore that Peter would do that for me. 

2. He sleeps like a dancer. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen a human do while unconcious. 

3. He is passionate. Did you know that Peter taught a Lego class when he was a teenager? He legitimately got paid to teach kids how to do his hobby. What the heck. 

4. He raps and beatboxes in both English and Japanese. He has also told me, and I quote, "you don't understand, when I was a teenager I was the epitome of gangsterdom." 

5. He is an excellent cook. Without him I would starve. Without him I do starve, actually... 

6. He serves me. A couple weeks ago I came home from work with an agonizing migraine. Peter put me to bed, and then got me ready all while I lay there. He brushed my hair, dressed me, washed my face, and brought me my tooth brush and a bowl to spit into. That isn't a surprising thing, though. Peter is always looking for a way to care for me, and for anyone who he loves. 

7. His eyelashes are incredibly long and dark. It's revolting. 

8. We are equally yoked in how clean/messy we are. This is actually super important. Watch out for this when you're dating. It will save your marriage. 

9. He always smells fantastic. 

10. When he was a teenager he made a suit out of duct tape. 

There are a billion and one reasons why I adore my Peter. I hope if you meet him, you love him too. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART! 

Maybe don't read this one.

Recently I've been feeling super fantastically crappy about my appearance. This is something that is a vicious cycle of frustration for me.

Step one of cycle: Feel ugly.
Step two: Feel sad because feel ugly.
Step three: Feel angry because feel sad because feel ugly.
Step four: Become indignant because feel angry because feel sad because feel ugly.
Step five: Have berating inner monologue, reminding self that it doesn't matter what you look like. Are smart human. Are kind human. Are loved by husband. Are actually kind of stupid for caring what you look like.
Step six: vow to be smarter human who does not care what looks like.
Step seven: weep.

The cycle of self love/self deprivation is a really tough one to try and get out of. We're constantly seeing AcCemptanz blogz everywhere, and campaigns to try and destroy the "old beauty standard" or whatever. Us throwing harts and lurveee at each other to remind one another that IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT WE LOOK LIKE. However, side by side with those things, is the desire and encouragement to put your best face forward and be a presentable human being who showers and looks appealing. So, really, it does kind of matter what you look like.

I don't have a soapbox that I'm standing on right now; I honestly don't really care one way or the other if someone puts a lot of effort into their appearance or none whatsoever. I have fluctuated between the two extremes since I first discovered makeup at 13. Ultimately, I think it's probably the attitude and circumstance of the individual that dictates which extreme is best for them.

Once in my Abnormal Psychology class, we were discussing body dysmorphia. My professor told us all that in order to attempt to try and understand the pressure that many young girls feel in criticising their own appearance, for about one week he took five minutes at the beginning of every day to look in the mirror and honestly critique and analyse what he saw. He said he has never felt so depressed in his life.  Hearing that, I took a personal challenge to not look at myself in the mirror ever. My days got roughly five billion times more wonderful.
Since then, however, my complete indifference to my daily appearance has started to make me a little bit sad. Usually, it's only when I see a photograph of myself that I realise how sad it makes me. So, I'm starting my own experiment again. Instead of refusing to look in the mirror, I'm going to try and take a little extra time at the beginning of each day to put on a bit of a face, and then work to not look in the mirror again until the day is finished. Baby steps into a new routine and all that.

Really, we all need to work on being fulfilled in our own way. If you aren't happy with yourself, that's a terrible place to be. Imma work on that. 

This post contains the word vagina.

In addition to my Skills Trainer job, I spend Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday babysitting. M/W/F I watch two little boys, Nash who is two, and Max who is six months. Our time together is made up of laugher, spit up, and lots of hugs and kisses. On Thursdays I watch a brother sister duo, M who is four, and her little brother A who is 2. Adventures with these two are readily more complex simpy due to M's age, but made doubly so by the fact that she is easily the sassiest four year old I have ever met.

Thanks to the fact that I am bffs with Nash and Max's mother, and she knows M and A very well, I have many stories stored away on my phone as I text her in exasperation and amazement for each new insanity that unfolds. Enjoy some texts, and some scary moments in child care. (Clarification, Jenna is mom to Nash and Max and Jen is mom to M and A.)

--------------------------

Thursday December 4, 7:34pm

Me: Oh no. Oh no. I think I just taught M the word vagina.

Jenna: Oh this made my night. What happened?! At least it's not the P word [laughing emoji that won't show up on my blog]

Me: She went to the toilet, and when I came to check on her she was investigating herself. She asked what the part in the middle was and I said, "it's all just part of your vagina" and she said "what's a vagina?"
So that was a scary moment. I tried to explain it as best as I could, saying that girls have them and they are private parts of our bodies, and she said, "so we should just pull down our pants if we need to prove we're girls!!"
AAAH! NO! ABORT MISSION!

Jenna: oh.my.gosh. You can't make this stuff up!!!! Totally innocent moment. Jen will be understanding.

Me: I hope so! I didn't want to just say, "we don't talk about that," or anything, and I was kind of hoping she already knew the word. It's harder for girls, because technically, it's NOT her vagina... Penises are much easier to comprehend, I think.
Oh, my. Haha.

Jenna: I think by that age I called it my vagina... I'm sure they knew the day was coming.

This particular story has an even better follow up. At the end of my nights with M and A I talk with Jen and her husband Kyle and tell them everything that happened in their absence. This particular night had me incredibly nervous, as I wasn't thrilled about having to tell two parents that I had educated their four year old on her reproductive organs.
After telling them the story of what had happened, Jen laughed,
"She DEFINITELY knows that word. She was playing you." They then went on to tell me about life shortly after M had learned the words penis and vagina. Each time a male guest came into their home she would eagerly ask them, "Do you know you have a penis??" Which would then be followed up with a factual, "I have a vagina."
Kyle had been on deployment at this time, and was not sure how and when they would be teaching the V and P words to their daughter. Thus, when he had arrived home and was out driving with M and she quietly asked from her carseat, "daddy, do you have a penis?" He responded, "you know, I'm not sure, let's ask mommy."

I'm pretty certain she told them yes.

---------------------------

Thursday, January 29, 9:43pm

Me: Funny story.
I arrive at Jen's today and M is screaming, which honestly isn't too unfamiliar.
I come right as quiet time is ending and because M doesn't sleep as much anymore, she's often wreaking havoc behind her closed door. Jen asks me to play with A while she deals with M. When she comes out to tell me what happens she is super serious and says, "M pooped in a drawer. When I asked her why she was naked and if she had an accident, she lied, and so she has lost her book privilege and now I need to go clean everything." And I look at her, and I try to look solemn and serious but then I'm like, "oh my gosh, she POOPED IN A DRAWER?!?! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Sorry. Sorry. No, but really? Bahahaha"

Jenna: Lololololololololol!!!!

But really, she pooped in a drawer?!

Me: Apparently!! I didn't ask the mechanics, but I really want to know them. Did she squat over the drawer? Did she poop and then move it to the drawer? Why didn't she go to the bathroom? So many questions, Jenna.

----------------------------

Thursday, February 26, 6:41pm

Me: Adventures with M #5638951

"What are these?" *lifting up shirt and pointing at her nipples*
"Those are your nipples"
"What are they for?"
"Well, everyone has them. You know how A has them too?"
"Yeah, but his are very small! How big are yours?"
"Uh, probably bigger than yours, because I'm bigger than you."
"Show me!"
"No. I'm not going to show you my nipples."
*grabbing at my shirt and then patting my breasts* "oh wow, yah, they are very big!"

I then explained that mommies feed babies with their nipples and she said "MISS JENNA DOES THAT FOR BABY MAX!!"

Jenna: oh.my.gosh. I loveeeeeeeeeee your M convo recaps. They are THE BEST!

Me: We then moved on to belly buttons and I tried to explain that they are where babies are connected to their moms when they are inside and then we cut the chord when they are born. She told me she was there when you guys cut Max's chord ;).

Jenna: Lolololololol I do love that girl. She is hilarious!!!

The adventures with M are never ending, and I appreciate her peppering my life with spunk and stories. Hopefully this year of babysitting will prepare me for my own hobbit-haired children who are certain to poop in strange places of their own and ask to see my nipples. It's all just part of life. Right? Right. 

To send us off for the night, I give you an inspirational quote: 

"Ms. Melly, you should exercise. You're so slow." - M. 

Now I can stalk everyone and drink soda.

A few weeks ago I did something bad. I allowed myself to get heated on a Facebook post and say something mean. The problem with mean words is that, even if you regret them as soon as you have formed them, once you have sent them out into the world, they cannot be fully recovered. I didn't call anyone any names, or attack someone's mother, but I snapped at someone very rudely, and was called out on it immediately. And thus, my Facebook privledges were revoked.

I mean, no Facebook gods stole my password or anything crazy like that, but I had clearly shown I was not able to handle the adult responsibility of stalking every person I've ever known. After discussing the situation with Peter, and recognizing that I have a serious Facebook addiction, I deleted Facebook off of my phone and iPad and vowed to finish Lent without it. (My original Lent sacrifice was soda. Just so you're aware. It was a big thing.)

My problem with Facebook was that it was dictating my entire life. The only daily social interactions I was having, besides Peter and children under the age of 5, were those on Facebook. Every day I was seeing the worst of every one I know. Facebook is like attending a party with hundreds of people, but the party lasts forever, and everyone is telling you everything that they think, do, and eat ALL THE TIME. Most sane people would become lunatics if trapped in a situation like that. However, most sane people would also just hide the people they can't stand updates from on Facebook, but NO that is just TOO EASY for Ms. Melece to do. Instead, I hide those people and grow increasingly anxious about what they may possibly be posting. What if they are poisoning others with their aggressive political views and rants about their spouse??!! If I can't see it, HOW CAN I STOP IT? 

Well, the reality is, I can't stop anything anyone says or does ever, but I can give myself a time out for bad behaviour. 

Someone told me I was stupid for giving up Facebook, because any social interaction is better than vegging out in front of Netflix. I have to disagree. When you allow your social (*cough* online) interactions to become toxic as I had, those conversations don't really allow you to improve or grow. They just live in your brain and fester until you're unable to do anything else without steaming over what someone said. For now, I am back, and I have very much enjoyed reading the wonderful things friends have shared on my wall in my absence, but this whole situation has been very enlightening to me. If I want to become a successful therapist, I need to be able to manage my own emotions and seriously reconsider how I interact with the people around me.

Azterece

 This past Sunday morning I woke with a throbbing headache. Recently I have been getting frequent chronic headaches, and my doctor took pity and prescribed me drugs, HOLLA. I popped my pills, and went back to sleep. I was awoken abruptly at 1pm by someone pounding at my door. I ignored them, but then was forced to put on clothes and answer when the phantom knocker wouldn't leave and continued to pound. I opened the door to find Azriel Stinson stood on my stoop. He greeted me with, "Peter is worried because you haven't answered his texts all day."  

I felt mildly insulted by how little faith Peter has in my ability to adult in his absence, as Azriel was the second person to admit Peter had tasked with making sure I was fed and watered while he was gone. I did feel a bit better when Azriel showed me his texts and the conversation went:

Peter: I haven't heard from Melly all day, do you know if she is okay? 

Azriel: Want me to go over and check on her?

Peter: Yes please. Text me after. 

Azriel, Peter and I have a complex relationship. Almost 5 years after initially meeting in 2010, our relationships with one another are still well established, making both Peter and Azriel the longest, closest friendships I have had since I was about 13. Peter and I jokingly refer to Azriel as our "Plutonic Life Partner," which he agrees to, so long as the "plutonic" describes the relationship, not him as a person, because, as he puts it, "I am VERY sexual, thank you very much."  

Peter and Azriel met and started hanging out at the beginning of fall semester 2010, while I didn't meet Azriel until winter. Although we all hung out as a group, we each developed relationships indepedent of one another, especially the semester after Peter left Hawaii to prepare for his mission, as I then spent most of my free time with Azriel. I cared very deeply for Azriel, and saw him as a big brother, while I found myself falling in love with Peter. 

One day during spring term 2011 I told Azriel that I thought I was falling in love with Peter. To my surprise, he looked stricken. 

"Uhm, we should talk about that," he told me, as we both had to get to class at that moment (great time to get into a serious talk about love, I know.) 

Later he met me at my hale looking very somber. We sat on the couches and Azriel took my hands in his gently. 

"Melly," he started, "Peter isn't interested in you. He flirts with everyone. Really. Don't let yourself be strung on by him. I promise that it isn't worth it. He dates a bunch of girls, and he doesn't realize that he's leading them on, but he is. You're not special to him. I really think you need to move on." 

This speech was completely unexpected to me. I KNEW full well that Peter was over flirtatious, it had been a topic of great confusion when we first started hanging out as I honestly never knew what his intentions were. However, that had been cleared up, hadn't it?? Peter pretty obviously liked me. He had told me so! That being said, when your crush's BEST FRIEND who is also one of your closest friend and who you trust pretty completely to look out for your best interests is telling you your crush doesn't like you, that's a pretty big red flag. What would Azriel have to gain by SUCKING OUT MY SOUL AND CRUSHING MY DREAMS forever? Surely he would have some deep insight through his bro-ness with Peter on whether or not I was being "hearted" or not. 

I thanked Azriel and left to go to the beach, calling Peter on the phone as I went. 

"Do you even like me??" I demanded when he answered. 

"Uh...Yes..?" Peter said, mildly flirtatiously, like he wasn't quite sure if this was a new game of ours or not. 

"Oh really?!" I continued, with the kind of palpable sass and anger that 19 year old girls have aptly perfected and wield daily, "because YOUR BEST FRIEND just told me you're leading me on." 

I continued to rant at him while he denied all accusations of guilt and tried to soothe me. 

"i don't know why he would say that!" He told me, "I really don't. I'll talk to him." 

"Uh huh, sure," I said, before hanging up. 

The rest of the day I got several texts from Peter assuring me of how much he cared for me, and later, I learned, Azriel received a very stern lecture over Skype. 

I like to think about this story as a great indicator of how stellar Azriel has been to both me and Peter. The three of us still hang out, even now that Peter and I are old and boring and married and stuff. Azriel was there for me when I went through the temple, and there with us when we were sealed a month later. I know that he is there for Peter when I am away, and he's my replacement husband when Peter is gone. It works out. If you don't have an Azriel, I recommend you invest in one, they're a good thing to have. 

Emotionz for dayzzz

I cried tonight. It was much needed. No, nothing happened; I finally got around to watching the film adaptation of John Green's The Fault in Our Stars. I was actually quite pleased that I bawled through about 50% of the film, as I read the book completely dry-eyed and it made me feel like a soulless monster. How can I be so cold as to not sob for the pains of fictional characters?!?!

I am of the belief that a good cry is necessary every once and a while. I don't feel like I cry particularly often, although I suppose in comparison to some people I'm sure I cry all the time. Recently, I've been feeling really stressed out and worried about a lot of things. When Peter asked me last week what it was I was worrying about (it sounds sarcastic when I type it, but he was genuinely asking to try and help) I started the text, "eh, nothing really" but then went on to list about 12 different things. Because I'm a moderately emotionally stable adult, I don't cry about each of those things every day, even when I'm obsessing about them. However, if you're stressing about a lot of things for a while, you start to get all emotionally constipated and you JUST NEED TO CRY. Right? It's like you've got this snot ball in your nose that is growing obscenely large and so you just gotta get one of those baby syringe things and suck that monster out before it suffocates you completely. I know you feel me. You're human. (Or.... PLEASE TELL ME THERE'S A CYBORG READING MY BLOG THAT WOULD BE SO COOL) In order to help snot-syringe my eMotTiunZ, I often have a list of things I can turn to that are infallible in being able to make me cry. They're tools of tears. Very handy to have.

1. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

About this time last year, when I was living with four other wonderful women, (oh seriously, those girls were the best), I was always the first one in bed. I had early work to get to, while they were still young and cool and in school. Consequently, there were often fun gatherings in our house late into the night. A fun fact about me is I am dependent on audiobooks to get me to fall asleep. I can delve into that alarming issue at a later date, but let it be known that I have no memory of ever going to bed without listening to an audiobook or radio drama. (This is, in fact, how I came to memorize the first three Harry Potter books as an 11 year old.) One particular night, I was tucked in bed and listening to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, specifically chapter 34 "The Forest Again," where Harry goes to face Voldemort. I have never read or listened to this chapter without crying, even though I have now done so probably close to 40 times. Because I was crying so hard, I had to leave my room to retrieve tissues. I walked past a gaggle of girls on the couch, who quietened as soon as they saw my face.

"Are, you... are you okay?" my roommate Christy asked.
"Yeah" I sighed deeply, mopping at my face, "Harry is just going to go meet Voldemort in the forest and he resurrected his parents. He is so brave."

This statement was met with a moment of complete and utter silence from my friends, before they all burst into hysterical laughter.

I understand that my response was not one the expected, but they laughed at TRUE PAIN. Oh, man. The line that gets me:

“Does it hurt?" The childish question had escaped Harry's lips before he could stop it.

"Dying? Not at all," said Sirius. "Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

AHHHHHHHH. Oh my gosh, this scene is just so wracked with emotion! First of all, this 17 year old boy has just realized that he is going to die. He is knowingly walking towards his death in order to save everyone he knows. In order to save the entire world. He calls back four of the most important people in his life, all of whom have died for the same cause. This line is what breaks my tear ducts, however, because it is childish. Harry is approaching something completely unknown, and his seeking for comfort by his parents and guardians, just crushes my little heart. YOU ARE SO BRAVE, HARRY POTTER. YOU ARE SO BRAVE.

2. Marley and Me (both movie and book)

I don't think that Marley and Me is a sad story. I actually think it's a wonderfully happy story and I get irked when people say it's depressing. If Marley and Me is depressing, then so is life! (which is a distinct possibility, I realize.) It's dedicated to celebrating the life of a horribly wonderful bad dog. There are so many moments in John Grogan's stories where I laugh aloud. Marley was a wonderful dog, who lived a long and loving life. If, after getting to know this beautiful dog, watching or read him die at old age in his master's arms, and buried in his favourite spot in the garden doesn't make you cry, then maybe you are a cyborg. It IS terribly sad, and it makes me sob every time, but it's also probably the best most wonderful way he could have gone. Why am I justifying this to you? I dunno, but anyway, it's flawless, and I cry and cry and cry.

Look, even reading through Marley and Me quotes on Goodreads is making me tear up again:

“A person can learn a lot from a dog, even a loopy one like ours. Marley taught me about living each day with unbridled exuberance and joy, about seizing the moment and following your heart. He taught me to appreciate the simple things-a walk in the woods, a fresh snowfall, a nap in a shaft of winter sunlight. And as he grew old and achy, he taught me about optimism in the face of adversity. Mostly, he taught me about friendship and selflessness and, above all else, unwavering loyalty.”

3. This Scrubs episode

Dr. Cox's brother in law has died of Lukemia, but we don't work that out until the very end of the episode ^ as seen here. Dr. Cox is one of those characters who doesn't allow himself to show emotion. Throughout the episode everyone is very somber while he still laughs and jokes with his brother in law, who we later realize isn't really there. I HAVE TO STOP TYPING BECAUSE MY HEART IS GOING TO CONCAVE ON ITSELF AND THAT'S NOT A MEDICALLY HEALTHY THING FOR IT TO DO. Anyway, you should watch it.

4. "I Died Today"

Okay, so writing this blog post just made me realize that I may have a problem with dealing with death? I dunno. Possibly. Maybe this should be something I discuss with my therapist. I'll let you know how that goes. Anyway, this story hits me the same way Marley and Me does. Read it. IF YOU DARE. I so far have never made it even half way through without blubbering.

http://www.robynarouty.com/i-died-today/

So, anyway, if you were looking for a way to get that emotional snot ball syringed, these are my go-tos

Good luck with your sob-fest, and remember! Crying is okay! However, if you have a crying spell that lasts longer than 2 hours, please contact your health care professional, or, more preferably, your closest friend.

Whew, now I really need something happy.