Dear Pancakes,

You are magical. And lovely. I have noticed a recent craving for you much akin to my previous random cravings for bananas, I suppose. 

Those of you who come from Denny's I have to say may just be the best. Now, normally I'm pretty purist about my food, but there's just something about a good Denny's pancake that is full of crap and not real food that just hits the spot. I even made my own crap pancakes the other day and I must say that they rivaled Denny's. You guys are just so great. 

My mom found this recipe for you that was made with more real food, and it's a good recipe, but it really just doesn't cut it most of the time. When I'm craving you guys it's usually because I want to drown my sorrows in some good buttermilky loveliness. With butter soaked into it. I'm not much of a syrup person. That's pushing the food boundaries for me. As I've said before, I'm weird about food. Pretty much I only actually like blueberries, strawberries, and sushi. Which, by the way, blueberry pancakes: heck yes. 

When it comes to you, though, Pancakes, the best of your kind is definitely vegan. Clearly due to the content of this post previous to the previous sentence, I myself am not a vegan. But there used to be this vegan restaurant where I lived. Most of the food tasted pretty much the same. BUT the waffles were absolutely amazing. And waffles and pancakes are really the same thing. You guys aren't even cousins, you're brothers. Maybe even fraternal twins. Although it is true that sometimes one can be in more of a waffle mood than a pancake mood and vice versa and the other just won't do. But anyways, vegan pancakes are heavenly. I don't know what it is. They just...sing with the loveliness of crap pancakes but with none of the crap but still so, so lovely. 

Pretty much, I've come to the conclusion recently that pancakes are the best food for sadness. Much better than chocolate or ice cream or cake because you always just feel worse after eating a whole cake and wallowing in your misery. Now, eating a whole stack of warm, fluffy pancakes? Less regret. Still comforting.  I love you guys. 

Sincerely, 

Kaylyn

Dear Choir Director,

I am sorry that I am more eloquent in writing than I am in person. I am quite awkward in person, to be honest. This is why I feel this letter needs to be written. Also, the fear of the conversation we were having today leading to noticeable tears because of my impending period was growing by syllable.   

So, yes, I have been tardy for class, both concert and swing choirs, every day this week. And yes, class does start at 11 which my excuse of sleeping in seem like a weak one. But let's not get ahead of ourselves here, my teacher. 

Remember that email from my mother a few weeks ago? About why I was missing so many classes? Because I had to schedule so many appointments and sessions of many psychological varieties? Because of my major depression and anxiety? Remember that email? Okay, now we are on the same page. 

And do not take me the wrong way at this point, Choir Director, I do not intend to be rude, but simply want to make sure that we are all filled in on the same information before I proceed to the key issue here. 

Well, major depression, you see, seeps into every aspect of your life. And my saying that I have not been sleeping well lately or ever was a little of an understatement. I have never slept well. And I can sleep for days if I ever feel so inclined. In fact, I missed a day of your class last week for that very reason. To just stay in bed all day long and relish it and maybe even ketchup and mustard it. 

I know that you cannot make many special accommodations in my honor, but understanding would be nice, which is something I feel I was not granted. The fact that you could understand sleep issues if class started at 7:30, but that it starts at 11 is a bit excessive. But here's the thing, Choir Director, when one is a depressive one can sleep for ever. The main reason I even get out of bed at all since switching all my classes besides choir to an online school is to simply go to choir. If it weren't for your classes there would be many more a PJ day in my life. And I would probably only get out of a lying down position to eat, pee, and maybe shower ever few days when it started getting annoying because, let's be honest, a truly homeschooled child is not going to shower every day. That's just a ridiculous expectation. 

I understand, Choir Director, that your concern and our conversation came from a good and caring place, but also a misguided one in my opinion. I have just as much a physical ailment as someone who would be late because they had to limp to class. Mine is just in my brain. And I do apologize for the behavior it gives me and the things it causes to do and how it causes me to act and most importantly to me, but I suppose not to you, feel. 

So, although I am hurt that you were not understanding of my ailment today I understand why. Because most people don't remember that one has depression after the first time one informs another. And it's not always on their mind as what the problem of the day may be. For depressives it is. It is always there. It is every part of me. It's like a cancer growing in every cell of my body. It's not going away, and I can't stop thinking about it, and I can't stop it from affecting me and therefore others. 

So I am sorry that I missed the first five minutes of your class every day this week because I have a constant urge to free myself from this life but am imprisoned in it by obvious reasons such as family duties and a life to live up to and whatnot. Also the fact that I'm not too good with blood is another contributing factor. And yes, those last few sentences were a bit bitter. But don't misinterpret any of the other sentences in this letter as being so. 

Sincerely, 

Kaylyn 

Dear Books,

Do not get me wrong, I love our relationship. I love it as dearly as one can love an inanimate object or an idea since I feel you, Books, are both at the same time. 

Here's the thing, though. I definitely get much, much too emotionally attached whilst in the midst of one of you. I am left heart broken at the end of every. single. on. of. you. I. read. Yet I keep coming back for more, and more. I find our relationship a tad bit unhealthy in this way. 

I feel that every one I read leaves an undeniable part in me. Also how I view acting (I'm an actress in case you were not privy to this information). Taking on a role is simply taking a part of your personality that may not necessarily be often used, but making it your most prominent trait. Every character that you take on has to have some hole of a home in you that you must use all of you resources to bring to live to the best of your ability. I feel like you, Books, add to that stock hold of multiple personalities that I can pull out if the Cast of Characters requires. 

Yet. Something in me dies with every one I finish. I just convince myself that something else is growing since reading is good for you so it balances out. So when I check out a boatload of books from the library I'm like, "Yeah! I'm gaining so much wisdom and knowledge that will seep into all other aspects of my life that I could in no other way gain and am therefore going to awesome beyond awesome!" And then I scoff at some illiterates as I pile my mountain into my car. 

But really, I just think that with the more of you I read the more I die inside. 

But I suppose that if the more of you I read the more characters I can portray that is certainly an even 1 up mushroom. 

This of course excluding the fact that I will probably read more books than I will portray characters in my life. 

So I guess I'm back to my resolution that reading books is killing me. 

Sincerely, 

Kaylyn

Dear Food,

We've had a bit of a strange relationship. I believe it shocks many people, especially boys, when I mention that I am not very fond of you. I just find you a little bit annoying. And I feel like I've never fairly explained to you why, so I am now taking the time to. 

First of all, I don't particularly love many of you. I love sushi. I love strawberries. And I love blueberries. That's about the only foods I really eat for pure joy rather than boredom, energy, or obligation. I find it annoying that I cannot go through my day without being stalled when I have to eat. There's also the hypoglycemia that is a bit of a factor in my poor opinion of food. But whatever. Basically it means I have to eat crazy healthy, and eat about every two hours. Which is mega annoying. And also how everyone in the world should technically eat anyways. 

So pretty much once it gets to the point that I have to plan my day around you, Food. And I don't like it. I do not like it at all. Especially since I've become something of a food purist, so finding something that is up to my standards and will get the job done is completely annoying. My life would be so much more fun if eating wasn't necessary. 

Also, another thing that comes from Hypoglycemia, who I may write their own letter, but usually I get sick from not eating before I get hungry. And then I just feel sick. And don't want to eat. Stupid Pancreas. Maybe my letter would be better addressed to him next than Hypoglycemia. Basically unless I'm on my period I don't ever get really hungry, I just know I should eat and have learned to call that hunger. Now, on my period, though, no Food is safe. So long as I don't exercise self control. And also depending on what has been occurring lately. But I must admit that there have been some periods (and yes, I do mean lady periods, not periods of time) where I just devour. But I don't know if that's so much to hunger either. 

So really I suppose what it comes down to, Food, is that Hunger is ruining our relationship. To an extent. I still don't think I'd be much fond of you even if I got hungry every now and then. Basically the whole process just sucks to me and it baffles people so I like to complain about it. 

Sincerely, 

Kaylyn 

Dear author of "Prozac Nation", Elizabeth Wurtzel,

Your book was very enlightening. Although I admit to be one of the the 15 or 16 year olds who you cannot believe are on Prozac (even though it is not Prozac that I am on, I feel all antidepressants apply) I appreciate your book. 

What I couldn't understand was how in the world it could take so long for doctors to realize that you're chemical and not situational. 

I actually don't know how to feel after reading your book. I don't know if I should feel like I'm not alone, or that I'm justified, or that I'm okay. Or if I should feel like I'm going to be some sort of crazy for the rest of my life. Because I know that that is true. Depression doesn't just go away. But I do think that your book was helpful to me even if I'm not really sure exactly how. Maybe that when I am feeling and acting crazy that it's okay because it's not actually me. It's my stupid brain. That's a little reassuring. But people without depression will still need to be reminded that my mental disorder is not my fault and that it causes me to act certain ways. 

There is one thing I would like to say to you that really stood out to me while reading "Prozac Nation". I am so jealous that it is in study that you found solace and could lose yourself from depression. I am the opposite and it is often an added overwhelming factor that I am getting so far behind in school from missing days and not feeling smart enough or whatever the case that day may be. Even though I know I am smart. I'm just creative smart. Not class smart. When I hit a brick wall in school I shut down. Then that causes and episode usually. I admire and am jealous of your motivation to do schoolwork even when it was irrationally so. But I suppose we all have things to be jealous of other people for. 

Also, I remembered that there was one more thing I was thinking to myself while reading your book. If I had not been raised LDS I know our stories would be more a like. I know I would have turned to drugs to make me happy. And surrounding myself with anything that would make me feel good in the moment. I know we would have been similar there if I hadn't been raised with a better conscience. And I'll admit that sometimes I am jealous that I cannot turn to fake happiness to cure my current sadness. And I know that will sound ridiculous to non depressives. But so will this whole letter and probably your whole book. 

Sincerely,

Kaylyn

Dear Cats,

Your kind is so splendid I do not even know where to begin. 

It's like we are destined to be together, Cats. I have not now, nor have I ever been any sort of a dog person. Except small dogs. Which I figured out a few years ago is because small dogs act and look more like cats than big dogs do. And thus forth I have been a cat person. 

Let's start with how compatible we are. Many people complain that you are too finicky and often utter the old phrase, "Dogs think you are God, but cats think they are God." I personally don't want someone to think of me as God, but that is honestly just me. I'm much too moody to want to deal with a dog in my face when I really just want to stay in bed for three days and not interact with the real world in any way shape or form. BUT with you, Cats, you do whatever the heck you want and don't give a care in the world to what anyone else thinks about it. And I can do the very same! So long as I remember to feed you and clean the litter box. 

You see, we are very similar personality wise, Cats. When someone wants to pet you, if you don't want to be petted you will have none of it and they may even get a butt to the face. But when you want affection you are not afraid to rub all up on someone's face while they sleep, read a newspaper, or type and important document that could possibly be deleted by those nimble paws.

Also, what in the world is funnier than a cat pun? Nothing, I tell mew! Nothing! And the paraphernalia! Darling! And the internet. It is owned by you guys. You are the literal mother memes. You have made Bill Gate's pretty little science fair project into a phenomenon! The internet was basically useless until you intervened!

And sure, I may come across some poorly tempered felines that may hiss, and swat, but does this diminish my love for you, Cats, as a whole! I say, "Certainly not!" With gusto! And flourish!

And what, may I ask, is better than a baby kitty? Nothing. Period. End of sentence. End of book. End of world. Apocalypse. Black hole. 

Sincerely,

Kaylyn

Dear Sleep,

You and I have had quite the rocky relationship. And I'm sure that you hear that a lot from many a teenager, but I feel like our story is unique.

I loved you as a child, but I was definitely a night person even then. I would avoid you like the plague when 9 o'clock rolled around. Even going so far as hiding still in my room where I played when my parents came to check on me. I became a master of evading you. But yet this did not diminish our relationship at all. Contrary to most children I was not at all an early riser. So I enjoyed your comforts long into the morning hours. And still do, but it much more socially acceptable for me to do so at my age.

For a while after we hit the normal rough years of our relationship I was pretty set into my ways of go to bed late, wake up for seminary early, be tired all the time. But I always greeted you with naps during the day. That's how much I missed you, Sleep. It was not for another while until I realized that our relationship was not quite a healthy one. There were days I can remember feeling noticeably stupider because I got too little sleep.

Then, all hell broke loose. I couldn't sleep at all at night. And if I managed to it was only for about twenty minutes at a time. I have learned, and please don't take offense to this, that you are slightly passive aggressive. You have so much control over me, Sleep, and our relationship had taken a turn for the worst. I knew it was serious when I found I had an inability to nap. That was a major anomaly for me. And I just want you to know that you're gesture did not go unnoticed.

Desperate measures followed. Such as Ambien. Which in itself is kind of a hard drug, although I must say that I used it as my prescription advised. But boy was I drugged out on that stuff. I did all kinds of kooky things and acted massively blazed and remembered next to nothing in the morning. Although some fun times did ensue such as trying all every item of clothing in my wardrobe, pretending I was Amy Winehouse, an impromptu creation of a Tumblr and many a hilarious Facebook status update. Ambien will most likely be my only encounter with powerful drugs. Although scary as heck to wake up and fear what you did last night I do remember that in the moment it was good times. Which is why I will never take it again.

So after Ambien I tried to reunite with you. I tried to mend our broken relationship hoping with all my heart that it was not a lost battle. I think that since we have made a lot of improvement although you don't really say much I can sense it. Also, I feel that you like the new sleeping medication I'm taking much better. I'm glad of your approval.

I must address this one factor, though, Sleep. The dreams. They are so vivid it's a bit disturbing. If you could back off a tad on those that would be lovely, but if not, you know, no real complaints hear. I know you're a sensitive guy and I don't want you to take my suggestion the wrong way. So do whatever you feel is right and know that I am doing all that I can to try and mend our relationship for good.

I appreciate you so much, Sleep, and I want you to never forget that. I need you. Now more than ever.

Sincerely,

Kaylyn

Dear Chocolate,

In opening I must admit that I have not been sensitive to your workings for all of my life. My utmost love and adoration for you is a bit of a recent thing.

As a child of course I delighted in holidays that brought you and me together, and usually some other components that compliment you quite well such as Peanut Butter, Caramel, and Nougat (by the way, what the heck is Nougat? I have never known, but yet it calls to me as if it were a chocolate or a caramel, but it is neither. I am baffled, but still a fan). I never really appreciated you on your own, though. Mostly because the only pure chocolate I had ever experienced was a Hershey's bar. Which is pretty much like the dimwitted backwoods cousin to Cocoa. No one really talks about him, but he's so loud and cheap that we all just accept him for what he is.

Only recently have I become aware of the wonders of a carefully crafted piece of chocolate. And pardon my Broadway, but the darker the chocolate the richer the taste. Dark simply cannot be more satisfying. I have even become so entranced that I am no longer enticed by more commercial versions of Cocoa. You, Chocolate, are the only one for me. Pure, melting delight.

I never really thought I would be one of those girls. And I guess I still kind of am not because I am a total chocolate snob. Set me in front of a selection of gourmet natural chocolate and I am just entranced by all the labels, all the marketing schemes, and all the different flavors that I cannot have all of. Recent experience, probably one of the hardest and longest choices of my life. I will be the first to admit that all the marketing hoopla works on me. At least the ones that are directed toward people like me. I can see through it, yes, but I know it works, they know it works, they do it, I buy. It's a pretty nice trade off, but since I can still see the product through the marketing it's really just like an extra treat to me to pick the prettiest AND the best of the bunch.

Not only am I a chocolate snob, but I am also something of a chocolate purist. I hesitate when being drawn to packages that promise that the subtle hint of orange and ginger compliment to the highest degree. Especially when the texture is messed up is when my purism comes out. Nuts in my chocolate?! That is no longer Chocolate, my friend, that is candy. And candy is something to only be enjoyed when feeling childish and nostalgic. My relationship with you, Chocolate, is far more sophisticated than nuts. I also have the same view on chocolate chip cookies, but that is a totally different epistle.

There's just something about you, Chocolate, that cannot be beaten. And I will settle for no less than perfection with the chocolate that enters my body. I thank you for the joy you have brought to me and will continue to bring to me in the future.

Sincerely,

Kaylyn

Dear Rugrats,

I don't believe you know how much power you had over me as a child. I have probably seen every episode in existence. The days of making waffle blocks into roller skates and skating around the family room as the theme song came on because I was so excited. You were my favorite. Absolutely. There is nothing better than entertainment that in the most part went straight over my head. From the fractured language that Tommy, Phil, Lil, and Chuckie spoke in to the occasional innuendo. You, my friends, were the tops.

Maybe one of the things that I subconsciously loved so much and accepted in my tender youth was the fierce political correctness. You guys celebrated every holiday. Without fail. My condolences. I can barely make it through Christmas without screaming, "Screw this! Jesus was born in April anyways!"

I can still remember the most impactful episodes, although I must admit they come in fragments. The one where Chuckie stopped being afraid of the potty and learned to use it in a Costcoesque super store. I'll tell you what, Chuckie, I too had an irrational fear of toilets. Those things are scary, man. But you helped me to see that it's okay. Potties aren't really that scary anyways. Chuckie, you always were the cautious one, yet you faced your fears with good friends by your side. You are my hero.

Tommy, my surprise to find you were voiced by a woman was unfathomable to my child brain, as well as most of the other characters. I think perhaps I was more surprised to find that Phil and Lil were voiced by the same person. Oh, how magical the 90s were in making it possible for one person to fight with themselves through two different cartoon characters.

Angelica. I don't know what to say. You have received your comeuppance on many an occasion. And each time I felt satisfied, but still a bit sad. Because being a girl I identified with you. Not that I plotted to get my younger cousins in trouble, but your fierce love for Cynthia. You would do anything for her. She was always there for you even when you didn't like any of your other friends. Cynthia understood. Your love for her always gave me hope.

Being quite a bit younger than all of my older siblings I'm sure they remember much more of the show that I do, but oh how I loved it with all of my little heart. And oh how I probably drove them crazy. When Tommy went back to make sure Chuckie was okay after he decided he was brave enough to play what the big kids were playing and scraped his knee I could feel the friendship solidifying for life.

Rugrats epitomizes everything a friend should be. Without each other you would never be able to make it out of the play pen on your own. Without each one of your diapers stashed with all sorts of helpful tools and even sometimes goodies you couldn't have done it all without each other. Oh how I wish I had a bond like that. Even through new characters like Kimi, Dil, and Susie. The acceptance and bond of the group never faltered for more than a half in hour by the end of which all would be well again.

All Grown Up, though. To be honest I was excited at first because as a child I wanted so desperately to be a teenager. Even though now that I'm a teenager I act like a child. But I was psyched for All Grown Up. Once I myself became all grown up, though, I began to see the flaws and learned to be disappointed in the show. So now instead of being bitter I have decided that it never happened. Tommy, Chuckie, Phil, Lil, Angelica, and even Dil, Kimi, and Susie, you will always be rugrats with screwdrivers in your diapers and adventure in your hearts to me.

Sincerely,

Kaylyn