Explanation

My whole life, I dealt with weird feelings, unexplained exhaustion and stomach aches. Restless nights filled with nightmares, cold sweats, and my heart racing. Stress and paranoia in the simplest of social situations. Barely passing classes and constantly failing tests. I couldn't bring myself to do normal everyday things. I grew up thinking I was lazy, weird, and stupid.

I didn't know I had anxiety.

I knew that Mikelle being taken affected me. I knew that it changed things. But I did not know that it had a name, that there was a reason I felt so off for so long. Slowly as I got older I learned to listen to my body and recognize things. I trusted my intuition more and more, rather it be in less than desirable situations, or untrustworthy people. Certain things happened through out my life, pivotal moments that molded me into who I am. Obviously my older sister being kidnapped when I was only 9 years old is the first and most tragic one. Being followed home from the bus stop when I was 14. Being in a couple toxic relationships in my very early adulthood. But then something happened. I was given an amazing gift. My son. Becoming a mother was almost like an apology for all the horrible shit I had gone through. I realized during my pregnancy, which was not easy, that there was essentially something wrong with me. It wasn't normal hormones. It wasn't normal stress. I came to the conclusion that I was having anxiety attacks. At this point I didn't say I "dealt with" or "had" anxiety. Just that I was experiencing anxiety attacks. For whatever reason I just decided to go with it and took that as "good enough". But it's really only been in the last couple years that I truly learned, and accepted the fact that I have anxiety. Probably PTSD as well. The more I learn about it, and read through ways to cope, the more it's like a weight is lifted off of me. I used to just torture myself about how pathetic I was. That was the only thing I could conclude. Nobody else around me seemed to have such trouble cleaning their room, getting sleep, or taking tests. It was me. I was weird, and wrong. Now I know. It's not easy of course, I have rough days. I still beat myself up sometimes when I order take out instead of cooking, or struggle to just be awake all day. I have also recently opened up more to Zac about the details of my anxiety. I never really used to tell him when I was having an issue or if I had one. I didn't tell him why the house was a mess and why I was still in my pajamas. But I realized communicating with him, and reaching out to him when I am actively having an attack, helps me. It helps me tremendously. Even if he is at work, and all he can do is text me, he will take the time and talk me through it the best he can. It boggles my mind that it took me 20 years to learn to do that. Because of all those pivotal moments in my life, I am now able to be confident in who I am. I am passionate about advocacy, child safety, self defense, writing, art, and expressing myself. Among other things. I like myself, flaws, anxiety and all. No matter the battles I have with my appearance, my house keeping skills, or anything else, over all I actually like myself. I now know that it is actually okay to like who you are even if you suffer from any kind of mental health problems.

 I also know that just realizing it isn't a solution. I decided a while back that I needed to see a therapist of some sort. I have put it off  (due to my anxiety, shocking irony I'm sure), but I finally feel as though I can actually go through with it. It's weird to think about, honestly, you'd think I'd jump at the chance to see a professional. I'm surprised at how hard it is for me. But I know I need it. I have never really seen one. I know my parents took me to one when I was 9 and I think I basically told the poor lady to leave me alone because all that mattered was finding Mikelle. I apparently hid my issues very well, the therapist and my parents mostly concluded that I was handling it well. And that is something I have heard my whole life when it comes to Mikelle. How well I handle it. How "normal" I am. How I could have turned out so differently. While people mean well, and I truly understand and partly agree, I can't help but feel frustrated. I have issues. I don't handle it well sometimes. I don't feel normal having anxiety. I'm not perfect. It's not easy for me to do interviews, and run a page for Mikelle, write a book about it, and write a blog (obviously since my last post was months ago). It takes all my energy when I decide to write and open up. But I know it's good for me, and more than that I do want to do those things. So I push through, and when I need to take a step back, I allow myself, and I try not to feel guilty for that.

I want to thank those who constantly support, and reassure me. I know so many amazing people, and even those that I don't know that follow Mikelle's page and take the time to send me kind messages or supportive comments. That means more to me than any of you can ever know.

I hope anyone going through any kind of hard time, tragedy or struggle knows that it is okay to reach out and that it does help. 

Anxiety

Screaming. It's silent. It's growing louder. The silence screams. Fear. Consumed and confused. A need for peace. Peace comes from silence. The silence is screaming. Embrace or reject. Decisions. Teaching the silence not to scream. Silently screaming. Peace. Breath in all the sound. Nothing and everything. Everything at once. Full of emotion. Feeling empty. Pain. Numbness spreading. It's painful. Breath. Let out the numbness. Let in the pain. Embracing the agony. Feeling it all. Heartbeat. It's growing louder. Chest grows tight. Everything stops. Silence. Heart pounding. Breathing in the peace. The silence is screaming.

By Kimber Biggs 

Wind

Riding a bike
Wind through her hair
Smiling so carefree
Never knowing
She wouldn't be going
Home
Did she know what was happening?
Did she see it coming?
The darkness
The danger
Did she try to run?
Did she try to scream?
Drop the bike
Wind through her hair
Face frozen in terror
Never knowing
If someone would be there
Faster towards safety
Home
What did she think?
What did she feel?
It's hard to imagine
It doesn't feel real
Why was she alone?
Why did I leave?
I went
Home
She is my sister
I didn't have to leave
She was just a child
She shouldn't have to be scared
When riding a bike
Wind through her hair

By Kimber Biggs

Unclear Direction

I've been staring at this blank screen for about 3 minutes.. Not really sure what to write. My mind is all over the place right now. But I figure if I just start typing something will come out.
I have been wanting to write ever since her anniversary. I honestly just didn't know what exactly what I wanted to write about. Part of me wants to just ramble on about who she was.. But another part of me wants to scream and complain about how hard this is. How it's been 19 years and it's not easier to have a missing sister. Sure I have figured out ways to cope but it is still hard to accept the fact that it will never be easy to have her gone. Even when I find out exactly what happened. It won't make it easier to be with out her. It would just give me peace knowing I got the answers I wanted and I pursued justice. But easy? Never going to happen.
Something I often remind myself of is, my parents, siblings, and I are not the only ones going through this. I tend to feel like "nobody else feels the way I do". We all grieve and deal differently but.. there are so many people going through this. All my family. Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents, Cousins, family friends, her old classmates etc. They are all dealing with the loss of someone they love. It boggles my mind when I get that "slap of reality". I honestly feel selfish when I realize it. I know it I just forget it sometimes. It always comes back and hits me like a train. Even family members I don't see or talk to much think about her, miss her, grieve over her. Friends she went to school with that I don't even know. I've been lucky enough to connect with some and I always wonder what they go through. To all of you grieving along with me, just know I love you all. I am grateful for every person who ever met Mikelle because each of you has memories of her and all those memories are pieces of my heart. I hope enough people see this that it reaches more people who knew her that I have yet to connect with. Please, if you went to school with her, or knew her at all I would love to hear from you.
For the 19th anniversary I did a couple interviews, a story in the East Valley Tribune with Jim Walsh, and an interview with Karla Navarette on Channel 3 and 5. With each of them I discussed things like my anxiety from what happened, my son, who Mikelle was, how I deal. All the normal things we usually talk about when I do these interviews. They both turned out great! But I was left feeling "what else can I say or do? What can I do to get a lead in the case? What can I say to reach out to someone who may know something? How angry or sad or desperate do I need to be to make someone care enough to come forward? Is there a magic phrase I am missing?". I am left with so many questions and a feeling of mediocrity. I am of course always grateful to those who want to do stories with me but it is a weird mix of emotions that come afterwards.
Along with those emotions is a lot of frustrations in my attempt to write a book. I keep deleting everything I write. If anyone has any tips on helping the creative process along.. getting past writers block.. coping with emotions long enough to bust out a chapter.. a way to organize and focus my thoughts and ideas.. anything like that would be appreciated.
I think I am going to end this here because it is a bit all over the place but I will try to post more often.