The Year In Rememberance.

So much happens in a year, especially for us Davis’.

In the view of the “teenage guinea pig”, the year has brought to us a lot of growth. Both in communication and in relationships. As first time parents of a 17 (almost 18!) year old, sometimes the waters they dip their feet in are, at first, cold and bring a shiver. As I get closer to college and being on my own, and they get closer to letting their first daughter out into the “big, bad world”, things become more important and words become crucial. As I become more decisive on what I believe personally and I take more independent steps a minute, I can feel the loving trust they daily bestow upon me. Do I always make good use of it? No. As I’ve struggled with boys, religion, and trusting God the unhindering love of my parents has made them stead fast as they watch me hurt and struggle. The year didn’t come without arguments and it doesn’t continue without them either. As parent(s) and daughter, we’re learning on a daily basis how to communicate better and more clearly. We’re also learning-assumptions are evil. Lol

As they’ve allowed me to go to a school 30-45 minutes away I’ve had to take on a more serious responsibility whether I wanted it or not. There is always that subconscious need to care for the siblings….when I wanted to. Never before had Marianna and I ever had the same group of friends. Well, we haven’t even been in the same school for a couple years. I never know what to expect from my truly opposite, 2 years younger, sibling. I sometimes forget that I’m not the only one growing and one day I catch a glimpse of my two beautiful sisters as Kathryn shoots up past me in height (and feet) and Marianna’s quiet, gentle spirit becomes more sensitive and outspoken. Marianna at 15 and Kathryn at 13. I often remember myself at such ages and thank God that I am the eldest and was the one to break the cold, hard ice for my two best friends.

I feel older than 17 most days as my body aches and reminds me I’m no longer the flexible, anti-tired 5 year old I once was. Of course, my life doesn’t come without feeling younger in maturity, but I can’t help looking at myself in the mirror and thinking, “I am not the same.” I am softer some days and bolder in others, but I stay me.

Yes, the pressure of only one more year of high school gives me the jitters. One minute I feel ready to go and feel like a grown woman, an adult. However, the next I still feel somewhat frail and I’m not sure I want to leave my four best friends in the world. I get asked where I want to go in life and the honest answer is: I really don’t know. Lol The answer is nowhere near satisfying to my spirit or heart (I can only imagine how that answer must unsettle my parents), but that’s why they have 12 whole years of school before hand for us.

Continuing my adventure as Taylyr Davis, I find that life doesn’t get any easier, but it’s as hard as you choose to perceive it. You won’t always get answers you want or answers at all. The cold, hard truth of being in your late teens is that people are trying to decide how to deal with you now that you’re no longer a child, yet you’re not quite an adult. You’re going to have days that you’re tired and restless, and then days that you want someone’s arms around you while you cry. However, there will also be days where you feel yourself morphing into that adult you’ll very soon be and you’ll feel radiant and special.

I re-read old journals and I know I’m not a little girl anymore. It’s scary. But it’s exciting.

Be praying and Merry Christmas!

Love, Taylyr Jane Davis

I Am.....

I don't know what to do.
These are some of the scariest words ever to a person that once thought she knew where her life was going, whom she was going to marry, and who she was. I'm Taylyr Davis and I have found myself trapped. I set myself right with God and then the next day I'm back where I started. I linger on hurt and let depression tell me who hates me, how my life is going, and how I do and can mess up. I've let a guy touch me. I've let language enter my life. I've let a perverted way of thinking enter my mind. I've slipped and fallen. And now the hurt seems to have scarred into me. The sad part? I haven't learned. I'm not very guarded. I tell people about my life without thinking about how they could use the info.

We moved. I wasn't too disappointed about leaving California. However, Idaho was a very new one. He was the start. Was he the cause? I can't say for sure. We never talked. He ever seemed vain; proud. Blonde hair and blue-green eyes. How could that be a start to a dark trap? Guys- my weakness. It did not take long for his looks to catch me and his charm and humor to follow. Friends. We were just friends. We hung out and enjoyed the only company we had. The swingset was ours. Our place. The place everything progressed. At night.

He was my first kiss and I his. We knew each other like the back of our hands. We laughed at each other and listened to each other explode. We knew each other's pasts and secrets. The one kiss lead to making out, which led to hiding. Every chance we had. Yeah, we tried to stop several times. We made promises. It was like a drug. The more it happened the more we wanted. I was blind and dependant on his "sight". Secrets are evil. Our secret started breaking us wether we chose to believe it or not. It broke us from our families and everyone else around us. We basically built walls around each other. All free time was reserved for the other. We tried to incorporate God. We read the Bible to each other and talked about Him, but only because we wanted to prove that we were serious and meant to be together.

He eventually "proposed" to me. I said yes. We took it seriously. Jealousy entered both our lives. I was constantly angry with him and at my parents. The walls had started to form.

They disapproved of him. If his name was said you could count on a war. A mean and messy one that would last. Both him and I were sure we were eventually going to get married. The first kiss brought on the first wall. Our parents separated us. Not for a day. Not for a week. A month. For two teens "in love" that hadn't spent much time apart since connecting this was as bad as a death sentence.

We got in trouble. Caught talking to each other more than once. The talks from my parents got old and I stopped listening. I made myself numb. They decided they were going to move. The month ended. The secrets resumed and increased. The move made us closer. We got more passionate with the kissing. It lead to touching. We were nose diving into another wall and we crashed right into it. The parents split us again- until they left.

By that time I was ready to run-away, kill myself, anything that would get me away from the two people who didn't understand and were the "bad guys". I started drawing. Thorns and blood were the favorites. My journal was "beat up" with words and worn. It was half full of hate. I didn't know if I even wanted to a Christian  anymore. I tried to go anorexic. I decided I was bi. I was almost never happy. I cried a lot. I felt ripped, broken, and alone. I watched shows I wasn't supposed to and craved loud music with the word "damn" in it. Black became my colour. Anything I knew my parents would'nt like attracted me and I became enthralled.

The final thread snapped and the last wall went up when my journal was read. Something I had written was thrown into my face in an arguement. I wanted nothing to do with the "evil monsters" that had raised me. I packed a backpack and was ready to just run. But I never did. Instead I cut myself off. I shut down.

His family left and another came. I felt myself break at the thought that I never got too see the house empty and just cry in it. I instantly despised the family. I avoided everyone. I went to two camps during the summer as a volunteer. They helped me escape, but once the time came to leave I found myself not wanting to return to the life back home.

When I got back I found a nightmare: the guy sided with my parents and defended them. The walls started growing towards him. I stripped my room. The one he helped organize, decorate, and set everything up with me in. I didn't want to be there.

We stayed in contact with letters and phone calls. I never tried to hide the lonelyness in my voice. I didn't dare go near the swingset for four weeks. We decided we were going to move. I knew I had to face them. I walked down slowly to them with earbuds playing music in my ears and sat down. I sat there with my eyes closed and remembered. Tears streamed down my face as a song he and I shared as ours came into my ears. I missed him. A lot.

I threw a "pity party" for myself daily. I let myself curl up and fall apart. I wanted people to understand, yet I resented the people who said they did.

We eventually moved and the distance seemed to make it all stronger. I smiled, I laughed, I played the part. Yet I felt torn in half. I was fine with the "back off" presence I gave out. I didn't want anyone asking how I was or "what God was doing in my life". I didn't want anything to do with Him at that point. I rolled my eyes in church when I was sure no one was looking. I made sure to stay numb during youth. I felt uncomfortable whenever anyone prayed. The walls were up and I wasn't about to let anyone tear them down, especially anyone who was "Jesus crazed". I was quiet and polite. I eventually allowed the "blonde jokes" get to me and I dyed my hair red. I had wished for a while that my real Grandma Davis was there. Now I wanted it more than ever. I thought maybe the red hair would make her feel closer.

I had two ropes around my neck pulling in two opposite directons: on one side, I wanted to do things out of anger to go against my parents and on the other hand, I still had an unamed fear of them. I despised that unamed fear.

I didn't know anything for sure. We kept in contact, the guy and I. But I felt my "love" for him slipping and I became frantic. That being the only thing I felt secure in I didn't want to lose it.

When I started school I wanted to be nothing more than invisible. I didn't want anyone to have a chance to come in only to leave or to make myself once again vulnerable by telling someone my story. My plan, however, was met by people who wanted to be my friends. If I had to have friends I mine as well have the outcasts and "different" kids.

As a sophmore I had gone to a school where I "picked up a mouth". My new friends didn't help keep this down. It wasn't continuous or in every sentence, but I made myself once again numb to it. I didn't care. They accepted me. I had found a way to be invisible, yet make it look like I had friends.

People pretty much left me alone. My parents were a different story. They wanted to talk. I did not. They wanted to know what was wrong. I didn't see my "new lifestyle" as wrong. Everytime they threw God or the Bible in my face I wanted nothing more than to cover my ears.

Through all this I gained a huge interest in weapons. Especially explosives. I wanted to see things blow up. I wanted to watch people be in more pain than I felt.I felt like I was fighting with air. The air was thick and I couldn't see much. Sometimes I hit myself by mistake.

Then the images and dreams started. Ways I could die. Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to die and be able to look down and see people's reactions. I considered cutting, but still found the idea stupid and a waste of time. Plus it would be too obvious. I got into very dark, thick make-up and lower cut clothes.

I knew my parents were waiting for when I wanted to talk. I used that to my advantage. I did, but never talked. I'd never really pushed the limits so I was automatically careful. I found myself craving to go more and more over. I wanted my anger to show to them. I wanted them to regret.

My taste in music changed during this. I wanted way louder and sad music. I always felt like only the music understood. It didn't lecture and it didn't judge. I wanted the books with the dark covers. I wanted more magic and what my parents never let me read when I was younger. I would zone several times everyday into memories and would come out to find tears soaking me and my throat and stomach hurting. I was living in the past.

Who knew that one day I'd actually listen to God. But when He told me for the hundreth time I knew that He'd "bug" me until I did it. I had to let him go. After holding on by pure fear of hurting him and stubborness, I had to let go.

That same day I told him. I expected a fit of "what did I do's" and "please stay's". However, I was hurt and upset to find that he was calm and "okay" with it. This sent me into a whirlwind of confusion. And regret. I had worked so hard to not hurt him and he didn't seem to care. There was one more person that I felt had abandonded me.

I fell way further down into the "trap". My drawings got worse  with blood and depression. Everything reminded me of what I'd lost. I was surrounded by what I wanted, but didn't have. There was music I couldn't listen to. I was just really hurting. A lot. And I couldn't shake it.

The group at school drew me in more and more and eventually I let myself be seen with them. I found that the song "Sillouette" by Owl City was the best way to describe me. I was plain lost. I felt like a little child left behind after a tornado in a pile of rubble. I would look around and see a mess. Things broken and irreplaceable. My life didn't feel like much at this point.

One sunday night we went to Revolution. It started out like always. And like always I was annoyed. That night, however, was different. I felt exhausted of fighting. I just wanted to stop. I felt an urge to tell what's been going on. After much urging I did. I felt emptied and exposed. I couldn't look anyone in the face. I didn't tell everything, but It was more than I had been willing to share for a long time.

They sat me in a chair and somehow it changed from just me and to the whole family. They prayed and I bit down the usual annoyance and, for the first time in weeks, really listened to what they said. I had this anger burn in me, but it was toward the one who'd been playing me: the devil himself. I yelled through exhausted tears at him telling him how sick I was of him twisting me in my own past and mistakes. Honestly, it hurt. I don't know why. I got words, they prayed, and I learned a lot of secrets that just left me speechless, but explained a few things.

I felt different and didn't want to leave the church. The next day I awoke happy and it lasted all day. But the second day I fell back into my routine. I felt the same as before. Since then every sunday night I'd go, feel different, it would last a day and then go back to the way it was.

My friend, another young man, had been in contact with me through it all. We'd known each other for around two years and knew the generals about each other. My mom loved him from the beginning and had, in my view, been "pushing" me to like him more than I did. For a long time I refused to like him because of it. However, I found myself looking back at him and allowing a long time affection grow. He asked me out at a volleyball game and after gaining my parents' approval and permission he became my first official boyfriend.

I'd heard that a caring person could change your world, but the excitement and happiness he brought was ridiculous. It took a little bit to get used to not seeing him everyday, but I became accustomed  to it and was satisfied. The other guy, I had called to tell him about the new boyfriend to be nice. He seemed happy for me.

I had a new relatonship with this amazing guy and with God and I was getting along with my family again. Life was better and for the most part peaceful.

Things change in your life. It's a part of life. We can choose to rebel or take a walk with God and watch Him work. I'm Taylyr Davis and I have found myself free. I set myself right with God everyday. I have embraced a new life. I depend on God more than others. And I still fall and have bad days and make mistakes, but I want to live so I live with it. I am a child of God. I look to today and the future. I am me.

                          One of the girls.......
                                               Taylyr