Cracked Hands and Purple Gloves

Who am I?
I'm not even sure I can answer that question. My insides are being pulled in all directions. There is too much I want, need. I feel voids, holes of emptiness. It's getting hard to breathe. My heart is always pumping, beating, so fast. I'm sure it will soon jump out of my chest and leave me behind in the dust reaching out to grab it, always an inch from my fingertips. My palms are itching with excess sweat(maybe it's the purple gloves protecting my cracked hands smothered in lotion). My mind is racing with thoughts I can't even hold onto. A single tear would like to escape the ducts that are watering, however no other tears will come if that tear breaks out of the prison that is holding it back.

Who will fill my best friend hole?
Best Friend, I'm here calling for you. Pleading for you to come take your place in my very empty heart. Who am I supposed to call when I have the urge to do something crazy, or when I just want to work out, or I need to vent about girl stuff (Ty you are my eternal best friend, but you just don't cut it when it comes to needing a girl best friend). 
Emptiness and despair, two loyal companions to a very discouraged Jess.
      2007 - "'Mom I don't feel so good. Can I please stay home from school?' The words slipped out of my mouth before my mind could even register what I was saying. This was the eighth day of school I had missed in the first four weeks of the semester. I had my mom convinced it was mono, when really deep down inside I felt it was much worse. As I laid there wanting to die, I thought to myself, 'Isn't my senior year supposed to be fun?"
         2008 -  "Happy New Year, 2009! Yeah right. I'm a lowly, starving, student attending USU and I'm playing Wii with my rowdy siblings waiting for the glorious arrival  of a seemingly pointless year. I'm the picture perfect daughter. My parents say they couldn't ask for a better oldest child. I do everything I'm supposed to. At least I did in high school, not so much anymore. I pay for my own school therefore my own attendance policy is in place. Not only is my school attendance suffering, but my church attendancehas crashed and burned from feelings of loneliness and anxiety. Whenever I look in the mirror I see a fat girl staring back. Food is no longer important. People surround me on all sides and still, feelings of despair reside in my soul."
There are thousands of examples I could give, those just happened to be the easiest.

And when that is misunderstood, or not understood to the fullest I think that maybe describing how my life sounds might do it.
My life sounds like:
A thunder and lightning storm.
A heart beat on steroids.
An environment begging for inhabitants.
A singer with a hoarse throat.
A guitar with a broken string.
Footsteps on pavement, hardened snow, dry leaves, tiled floor.
The stock room on Wall Street.
A fan in an empty class room.
An awkward silence after an argument.
A jigsaw puzzle being put together slowly and the murmuring when it's done and there is just one piece missing.
A panting athelete.
A Musician with no Music.

And even now, I am unsure you would fully understand my need for my empty holes to be filled.

Tyler, Thank you for filling probably the most important hole that could be filled.

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