Three years ago- about 4 months after I had turned 18 and 3 months after my life changed drastically and I moved away from everybody I knew to start a life in Miami- I had a small breakdown. I was sitting in the cobbled open-air hallway on the first floor of my dorm building fulfilling my noble workstudy duties when I got a call from someone I didn't know.

The call was to tell me that one of my close friends had just been in a savage car wreck and might not live through the night.

I became hysterical. I'm not the type to cry so the sobbing that came from my lips grew louder the more uncomfortable I felt about what I was doing. I was feeling a hurt that was alien to my world, something that had sprouted in the last 3 months from a mix of loneliness, fear, dread, and sorrow. I wept openly, not caring who saw me and not turning away.

And I met some of my best friends that night.

Gus and Tra- two of the most eclectic people in history- who sat and sang to me until I cried hiccups instead of tears.
David S- who waited patiently by my side and convinced the wicked dorm mother that I was too ill to work.
Walker- my dear southern punk belle- who carried me upstairs with her everlasting cigarette in her hand and tucked me into the folds of her blanket.
Michelle- who I had never known to be girly- who brought over a bag of nailpolish and did my nails and fussed over my appearance.
and last but never least:
Peter Bean- my favorite director- who came over (having only met me once before), even though he was supposed to be bowling, and let me do his nails until I was laughing again.

I had forgotten about that. Can you imagine? I was sitting in front of Peter tonight discussing SAG and insurance and shooting schedules thinking "god he's so difficult to work with" when the memory hit me. This man in front of me had seen me at my worst (a position not even my closests friends had ever seen me in) and had given me love, I was complaining. I should feel HONORED to be his friend.

Long work nights and sleepless days may be a strain on my mind but from now on I'll try my damndest to not let it be a strain on my heart.

To all of my friends and loved ones who I haven't spoken to in days, months, or even years- I still think about you (more often than you know)- and I thank God that I have been blessed enough to call you mine.