I should really get more sleep, because tired me is way too fucking emotional.

Identity is something I struggle with. Every person has so many labels and it is hard to figure out which one I want to be, which one fits both who I want to be and who I really am.

I am my father's daughter.

I am my mother's daughter.

I am a girlfriend.

I am a culinary student.

I am a niece.

I am a friend.

I am a granddaughter.

I am an animal rights enthusiast. (Activist made it seem like more than what I am.)

I am an omnivore.

I am a cousin.

I am a line cook.

I am a mother to two dogs and a cat.

I am a sister.

I am an aunt.

So many of the labels that I choose are related to my family. Family is important to me. They are the beginning of everyone, right? It all starts with family.

Family isn't always blood relatives. It isn't always people who share your last name. To me, Krackle and Big Jed are family. They are, for all intents and purposes, my sisters. They both have sisters of their own, who they are close to. I too have sisters, who are not a part of my life. Not actively anyway. I have, finally, come to terms with this. I am jealous of Big Jed and Krackle's relationships, I admit it. I get a little pang in my heart every time they describe a sisterly moment to me. I mean, not jealous like someone is going to end up dead and I will assume their identity. Jealous that someone loves them that much.

This week has been a rough week for me. I have been through more with a job than I ever expected. It has made me face a lot about myself that I don't like. My instinct to just run when it gets hard. Yet, my instinct to fight. It's like war up in this bitch and a lot of times my instinct to run wins out. Feelings of failure and inadequacy because I didn't walk in and immediately be the golden child. The feeling that I couldn't talk to anyone about this, because they would somehow love me less if I wasn't some superstar line cook. As if my ability to crank out a fucking cranberry pecan chicken pita was a direct reflection of who I am.

And this is where I struggle. The boy listens, he does. And he is sympathetic and empathetic and he hugs me and loves me and does everything he can. And Krackle and Big Jed say all the right things. They are there for me, they are. And I know I can count on them for anything, anytime.

But, I don't have anyone in my life who has truly known me all my life. I just don't have that sibling relationship. And my parents fall in the category of pre and post eighteen parents, neither has been both.

So, I struggle.

I am not really a sister.

Or an aunt.

I am not my father or my mother's daughter...but some puzzled mixture of both.

I find relying on people emotionally to be hard. That's what a sister is for. I find it hard to get through this week because I just want this image of my sister that isn't real. This person, that calls me everyday and who I can cry to and tell all my insecurities to because she is my sister.

So, I come home and tell it all to my dogs and my cat and they lick my face and they cuddle with me and make me feel better. But, it isn't the same.

There is just something about being a sister that I will never experience. That I will never feel. It makes me sad, but not for me. It makes me sad for her. I have the closest thing to that relationship any person can have. I don't know that she ever will.