Hey! I hope everyone is doing well! Lately I've been working towards my dreams like a maniac! I've recently started my art business KaziDelicious Creations. You can check out the new website for that at www.kazideliciouscreations.com
I've also began working with a band! It has been so exciting working on new and old songs but with a new flair! I am loving it! We are called The Tasty Treats! I want to tell you more, but I'm super busy. 
Talk to you soon,
​KaziDelicious

        I think with my last post I left things a bit unexplained. What do you do if someone isn't trying to "control" you in the way that my ex was. What if they are just jealous and confused because they really were hurt in the past? How do I help them without putting my own mental health at risk? Well I will start by saying I'm not a dr. I have no training in this, but in my life experience I have learned some things. After dating someone who dictated my every situation and then come to find out he was the one doing the dirt. I was a bit of a mess. It took me a few years of sorting through all that before I met my current boyfriend. Even after that time, and thinking I had worked through a lot, I didn't realize how much opening up to someone new would reopen so many old wounds.
              In the beginning I truly had these type of issues. I was insecure. I wanted to know who he was texting, where he was going, I wanted to text him or call him and get an instant response all throughout the day. Ugh, it was exhausting. My previous relationship had left me scarred and now I was repeating the same things that had been done to me.
                 In the start of my current relationship all he wanted to do was make me happy. So he kept me informed in these things, he sent these texts, he did whatever he thought would help. Thing is, as time progressed we realized that wasn't strengthening my trust. It wasn't helping me grow. I was stuck in my insecurities. To truly trust him, I had to believe in his morality. I had to believe that he would make the right choices, just as I would.
                    This was a journey that I had to meet with full honesty. I had to be open with my boyfriend, letting him in to my past hurt, explaining what I was going through. Once and a while I had to talk about something if it triggered me. What I needed to stop trying to do was control the situation, and instead control how to handle the way it made me feel. For example if I was insecure about what my boyfriend was doing when I was at work, I would text him with no reason at all. I had to do some self realizing and decided only to text him if I was truly thinking of him (not in an insecure way), or had something to tell him. Instead I would text one of my friends about my insecurity, and we would talk it out. If one of my friends weren't available I would watch motivational video's on youtube. 
                    For the spouse of someone that is dealing with these insecurities, the best way to help is to be an honest partner. Trust is hard to build in someone who has it wiped out in a previous relationship, so continue to keep the trust by being completely truthful. Open up when something bothers you and talk it out, be open when they talk to you. Remember that many times it isn't that they don't trust you, it's that they don't trust their ability to judge trustworthiness anymore.
                       One of the main things I do that helps me when I am triggered is to remember, when someone hurts you,  it is not your burden to carry. If someone decides to break your trust, that is on them. Do not carry someone else's burdens, set yourself free. Do not put yourself through the same pain over and over again, especially if it hasn't happened. Ex: thinking your significant other could be cheating without any cause for that thought other than worry. You are putting yourself through the pain over and over and it hasn't happened. Only put yourself through pain once. If it happens go through the pain then, don't set your life story around it. I'm not judging, I'm telling you from a place of experience. You deserve to have a real love story, full of hope, trust, and happiness. First start by loving yourself a little more each day. <3
                               These things are difficult to share, and a little embarrassing. I do have lots of funny stories from when I didn't deal with my insecurities so well. I was thinking of telling those in video format. Depends where motivation leads me.
​Love ya!

​I just want to say if you're in a toxic relationship, if your spouse is controlling everything you do, don't walk, run! I remember every excuse for the behavior. I remember thinking he was that way because of someone hurting him in the past. Don't allow that to be an excuse. Years later I still deal with triggers and issues. Long after the relationship, after being single, even after being in a much healthier relationship, I've carried the burden.
Last night was a simple reminder. Sometimes you don't see how toxic your past was until you see how much better it can be.
I'm sitting in the dark with two of my best guy friends. We are checking out my art in the glow in the dark method. I hear my boyfriend come up the stairs and he comes in to tell me happy birthday. My brain instantly switched into the past. My mind imagined my ex saying rude things to me, after they left of course. I waited for the resting bitch face he would've given until then. Then reality kicked back in and I took a deep breathe. That isn't my life anymore.
Just because I'd been hurt in the past, that doesn't allow me to be that to my current relationship either. I've had issues, but I don't allow myself to attempt to control him. Hurt doesn't equal allowance to treat others the way you were treated. It does mean it's been an uphill battle.Now as I stand at the top thinking about how far I've come, I feel lighter. I feel like I'm coming to a point where I might begin to share my stories. Not so you can see my pain, but so that you can see my victories. What could've been my ending, became the beginning.

​Living with bi-polar disorder is difficult. After I wrote that I immediately knew that was an understatement, but it was still true. You could use descriptive happy words, or hopeless ones, and both would apply. Bi-polar leads to my manic moments, and my mania is both the best and worst sides of me. 
I'd been on a manic high, soaring, egomaniacle, purposeful. Each day I was sending out multiple messages and emails, making plans, working on goals. I thought hours in a day didn't matter if you were running around like a person on speed. My creativity was in a wonderful place, as I painted while envisioning business plans, events, other ideas all at once. I could do everything I needed, and help everyone. I don't even think I was delusional. I really could accomplish whatever I wanted when my mind was in that place. 
These moments have no timer. I can be triggered by the slightest thing and like a door slamming into your face, I'm abruptly changed. I don't see my accomplishments positively. I spit in the face of my positive self. I'm not good at anything, except being a bitch! I cry and then because I don't know why I'm crying or why I can't stop, I cry more. These are the moments I have to fight. These are the moments everything that's irrational is fighting to take the lead. My head is throbbing, and all I can think is how dying is the only answer. I fantasize about being gone about leaving all my pain. The rational side of me weighs in, reminding me of my relationship, friends, family, my pet. The depressed side says they'd have a better chance without someone as crazy as me around. I believe that side and I cry heavier. I sink into my sadness and I don't know how to leave it.
I have dealt with my mania for a long time, so I have coping mechanisms. I seclude myself, or go for a walk, I listen to music, or cuddle the dog. Sometimes one of those things work. Sometimes none of them do. I will hear my favorite playlist, but instantly hate every song. Music can give me a headache when I'm in a manic low. The drums seeming to be working on the side of the darkness, pulling me in with every beat. I wait it out in my dungeoun. I try my coping mechanisms over and over, and I hope. 
I cry, God why can't I be normal!?! 
It's bad enough I've led a difficult life, but now I have to be irrational as well!?! 
I'm in a low right now, but it's moderate. It could last a few minutes, to a few days.  A few minutes of mania either low or high can be extremely exhausting. If I'm in the high I will not notice all my efforts, but once I come down I will be incredibly tired. The lows come with excessive crying which wears me down. I don't let myself go to sleep when I'm upset, for fear of waking up the same. 

I'm not sharing this so  you will be worried about me. Please don't be concerned, I am not going to hurt myself. I just needed to write this, while I was feeling it. 

​It started with a fifty nine cent hamburger.

I know that sounds strange, and in actuality it started way before then. I suppose it ended with a fifty nine cent hamburger, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
When I was ten years old my mother and my step father had been married for nine years. They had a happy marriage for a while but slowly we watched it deteriorate. They stayed together trying to make it work. Meanwhile the resentment in the rooms they occupied together left the air feeling humid, like there was no way to breathe. 
One day a fight escalated from the original stand by of yelling and sceaming, to  throwing dishes and breaking things. That was the first fight that made us ask our mother to get divorced. While we were still so young, and not quite understanding of how the world worked, we knew this wasn't it. They worked it out again though. I guess as parents they thought they could do it for us. Deep down we wished they wouldn't. We loved them both, just not around eachother anymore. 
Things were going great in my life. I was thriving at YMCA day camp. I had an outlet for my art there, plus I got to swim all the time, and there were awesome snacks! I was dating the cute new guy. I had discovered I was good at acting and had just been in a play. I had great friends, power rangers, and a free spirit, life was good.  
My mom always tried to make doing our chores fun. She kept a coffee can with random dollar gifts, those eggs from the quarter machines, and the prizes from the cereal box. When we did something good we would get to pick out of the can. If we were really good, we might even get McDonalds. Coming from a poor family, going out to eat was something that wasn't done for convenience it was done for celebration. 
On this day mom offered us fifty nine cent hamburgers if we all got our room cleaned up! We were stoked of course, so we worked double time to get it done. Dad was sleeping in at the time, and when he woke up he decided he was coming with us to McDonalds. You could tell this wasn't exactly the day mom had planned by her facial expressions, but she went along with it. 
At this point Dad's back had been hurt for  a while and he was out of work. I'm not sure what was happening with workmans comp, but it seemed mom was the bread winner. We were stretched pretty thin. So when mom said fifty nine cent hamburgers, that was what we were getting. I'm almost positive she knew what she needed, down to the penny, taxes included. She could not deviate from this plan in order to keep everything else running smoothly. 
Dad was driving and we pulled up to the machine to order. He begins by asking for hamburgers, Mom corrects him. 
"You have to ask for fifty nine cent hamburgers" she says, because she knows exactly how everything must be done to execute this without error. 
"What difference does it make, they know what it costs" He says matter of factly. This was not the correct approach with my mother, no, no. We all sat in the back quiet as ever, eyes wide. 
"You have to ask for the deal, they don't just give it to you!" uhoh she used her voice she reserves for when she's including first and last names. We are not getting McDonalds today, I think to myself.
Instead of just asking for the damn fifty nine cent hamburgers and moving on, they begin fighting in the drive thru. When the person inside asks how they can help, he tells them to hold on and they proceed to fight. Then, they pull over into the side parking, and fight some more. He says 
"Let's go home and handle this!" Were all in the back crying at this point.
"No, I promised the girls I'd get them McDonalds!" at this point we do not care about McDonalds, but we also know not to say a thing. So they fight more and he decides to walk home. Mom stays and gets us our fifty nine cent hamburgers. We eat them as we cry, these are the worst burgers ever now. Nothing tastes good when you have snot running down your face. 
We take our time sitting at McDonalds. I know mom is not in a hurry to get back. She says Dad needs to cool off. He could be scary when he was angry, and when his face was red and looking like he might explode. We understood, and we took our time. We stayed quiet and trying to be as good as possible. 
When we got home he was already there, and he was fuming. Mom had calmed down a bit and was trying to talk nicely at first. Then he said something that changed that and boom, they were yelling again. 
We all begin to go to our rooms, we are too exhausted at this point. Dad says
"No, sit down on the couch! I want you to see how much of a bitch your mother is!"
"Don't say that about her!" We cry out, trying to protect our mother. Our tiny voices in comparison to his large, scary voice. He tells my  mom that they need to talk everything out and they sit at the table yelling. She asks him to let us go to bed but he says no, and keeps saying he wants us to see her being a bitch. Really it's him we are sitting  there afraid of. We are crying, hugging each other, and watching them fight for a long time. Then we start to drift to sleep. 
I wake up to such insanity. It's such a strange feeling to be asleep and to wake up to chaos. My sister is next to me screaming
"Don't kill my mommy!"
My dad then let's go of my mothers neck. She is discolored, and weak. He almost killed her in his fit of rage. She wants him to leave, he says "No!" She want's to take us, again he tells her "No!" We want our mom, we are all crying and saying over and over that we want our mom. Then he tells her to go, but that she can't take us, her keys, or her shoes. 
My mom leaves and now we are hysterical. We want our mom, it's the middle of the night, it's the middle of winter, and we almost just watched our mom die! He says she will be back soon, and he might go away for a while. He tells us to all go to bed. We all cry ourselves to sleep in my parents bed together. 
Once again we get woke up in a crazy moment. Sirens outside, police lights shining on the walls and windows. An officer is at my side, making sure I'm ok. Our dad is being cuffed by an officer, reading him his rights. We are all crying again, I'm not sure how we have so many tears. Then our mom walks in the room, and we all get out of bed. Nothing else matters, Mom is safe!
We think everything is going to be okay now, but if I'd have known then what I know now. 
That is for anther story.

              So, I've been opening up to you guys. At first it felt dumb, a little crazy even. I'm not sure I want everyone to know these details about my life. I've spent so many years trying to push them away so I could progress, when it seems that to truly move forward I would need to sort through them, talk about them more, and then I could learn what ever message the world was sending me. I think the first thing I've learned is I'm resilient, and I should be more proud of myself for that. 
          There are so many times in life that a person you have never met, can altar everything.  Off the top of my head I can think of more than a few times strangers  have changed my life for the positive, but since I'm focusing on writing about past trauma I'm going to be talking about the more hurtful situations. Of course allowing yourself to see the light in anything can also eventually lead those moments to positive change, but that's not how they felt for a very long time. 
              When I was fourteen we lived in a little apartment building right by the tracks on the corner of Chicago and Kentucky st. We had just moved there from our old apartment two blocks away. As young girls we were all tomboys and pretty tough, we did most of our moving on foot, carrying furniture the two blocks to the new place. My mother worked nights as a custodian and we were latch key kids. This was no big deal though because I had been babysitting for a while, and we were pretty mature for our age. We got to know everyone that lived in our building, and everyone was a tight knit community. Don't get me wrong there was drama, but at the end of the day we all cared about each other and never hesitated to lend a hand to one another. 
              Not long after we first moved in I was hanging out with a friend of mine, and my two younger sisters, my mom was at work. We were all in the living room playing with Barbies. Yes I was fourteen years old creating Barbie deluxe homes with household items. I have no shame. All of a sudden we hear a strange rattling at our door. We all stop and get quiet, it get's louder. I get up and look out of the peep hole and  see two young guys messing with my door. At first I thought it was one of the neighbors because it was hard to see their faces, then I realize, they are trying to break in our apartment. I look at my friend and we formulate a plan. She grabs the baseball bat, I grab a broom, and my sisters grab a mop and some other nearby cleaning supply item. We stand inside the door two on each side, ready. 
             It's hard to imagine after me telling you I was playing Barbie's but this was my way too much eye liner, I'm so goth I'm dead stage. I looked quite intimidating when I was angry. When the door was finally opened and these guys thought they scored, there we were. I went into psycho eye, demon voice mode and they turned around to run. I shoved the broom stick up the guys butt and thrust him down the stairs. He ran, I chased him. I ran over the tracks yelling, "Don't ever come back!" In the deepest voice I could muster.
        When I got back we were all shook up, but everyone was laughing. It was satirical. I guess I expected life was going to be easier after my mom finally got us away from Phillip. At that moment I realized I had to be the man of the house. I had to pretend I was stronger than I was. 
              I imagine most fourteen year old girls would be afraid to be alone after getting broken into, but instead I think it made me feel like I could handle anything. I started walking the streets at all hours of the night doing whatever I wanted. Girls hit me, even jumped me once (if you want to call it that) but I never hit them back. I was afraid I'd hurt them badly and end up in jail. I did fight for necessity with men and teenage guys though. It's as if nothing but walking down the street with a vagina made you an instant target. I felt safe in the chaos though, because the longer I lived in my neighborhood the more people I knew. We protected each other, we had a community on the west side. 
        That's how we ended up going to the birthday party of one of our other neighbors. My sister was best friends with her, and I had babysat her and her siblings many times. This day we went to the Holiday Inn and had a pool party! I remember how excited she was, how much work her mom put into making it an awesome party. I remember having so much fun. I helped a lot, and because I was older I was teaching the younger kids how to swim. I was swimming around with this little boy and he was very friendly. He wanted to be doing whatever I and the older kids were doing. He saw me swimming from the inside to the  outside of the pool, and I think he wanted to do it too.
        After swimming a while I got out of the pool to see what was going on in the room. I had to use the bathroom, and more importantly see if there were any snacks and listen in on adult conversation. I was a teenager, considered a kid, but still wanted to be where the adults were.
              Next thing you know everything is happening so fast, people are screaming and running, and the little boy I was just playing with not so long ago was now being pulled out of the swimming pool. My sister is crying, she was swimming when she found him. He was trying to mimic the older kids and he must've hit his head really hard when trying to go from the inside pool to the outside one. He was knocked unconscious and no one knew how long he was like that.  They pulled him to the side and did CPR as we all stood around him and cried and hoped for a miracle. Water came out of his mouth in a large amount and we thought that meant he was going to wake up, like in the movies. He didn't though, they tried and tried. Minutes stretched out like hours while simultaneously moving quickly. He swallowed too much water, we lost him that day. 
             I beat myself for a long time about it, because if I'd have stayed out there maybe I could've kept him occupied and it wouldn't have happened. Maybe I would've noticed sooner and he'd have had a better chance. I did that to myself for a long time, but we can't predict life. Maybe me being there would've had no effect and I would beat myself up for that. It was very hard on my sister as well. She would not allow anyone to swim at Holiday Inn. She was very serious about it. I could understand that and we all complied. It was difficult. I felt so bad for the birthday girl, I really hope every birthday is not a sad reminder of the day she lost her cousin. We all attended the funeral together the following week. I barely knew the boy but I will never forget him. My heart hurts all these years later thinking about it.
              Strangers have the ability to change your life, and sometimes they can change it so completely for no reason at all.  It was a Friday night, I was twenty one years old and just getting off work from my serving  job at Bakers Square. I had worked the day shift at Chili's first, so I was exhausted, but it was Friday and I'd made decent tips.  My tip outs from the previous Chili's expo shift were in my purse, and my serving tips were in my pocket, I hadn't had a chance to really sort anything. The day was long, and I was out of smokes.
        I pulled into Lucky Stop and parked my Old trusty Buick. I chatted with the cashier a bit, got my cigarettes and some silly novelty items and headed outside. While walking to my car a guy was walking up in a hoodie. I smiled and he did the head nod, but I got a weird twinge in my gut that said remember his face. I got in my car, but it was old and had no interior lights, so I left my door open as I got situated. As I hear the click of my belt buckle, my neck is instantly squeezed tight by an arm and my head is pushed into the crick of a mans shoulder. I could smell his cologne.
            "Give me all your money!" My mind hesitates, where is all my badassness now!?! This is not real, this is Michigan City. People know me here, this does not happen in well lit places. All of these thoughts quickly run through my head as I stammer,
                   "Is this a joke?" Is this one of my coworkers playing a prank on me? He hits me in the face, pointedly not sideways pimp slapping like you see in the movies. He jabs the gun in my face pushing it just below my eye socket. My face is bleeding, I can't see it but I feel the stickiness trickling down my face. 
"No, this is not a joke, give me your fucking money!" 
"I, I, I don't have any money" I have worked too hard, my money is not even worth the cost of the bullet. 
"Give me your purse, Bitch!" and again he hit's my face. I just want it to stop so I grab my purse and throw it at him. My life is in that bag. My social security card, my birth certificate card, my ID with my current address. He takes the bag and runs to the corner house, where his two friends were waiting for him. They take off and at that moment I finally get guts, 
"You better fucking run!" Then I hysterically cry and throw up all in one instant. Again looking back this is somewhat hilarious in a very satirical way. Then I go into the gas station tell the attendant to call 911, and I throw up again. 
When the police show up I am in full panic attack mode. I'm having a hard time breathing, I'm throwing up, Crying, and I'm constantly looking all around me to make sure they aren't coming back. Rationally I realize that would be pretty dumb of them to do, but I was very irrational at this moment. My cell phone had been in my purse so I wasn't able to contact anyone else yet. After I filed the report I went home and cried myself to sleep. 
             That day changed me for a long time. Little things like sudden movements in the corner of my eye, going out at dark, taking out the garbage, started to bother me. I was worried that they'd kept my ID, knew my address and were going to come back. I who was once a night person, started changing and not going out at night except to come straight home from work. I joked a lot about how they only got $26 and a broken cell phone, but they took so much more than that. 
              It took me a long time to feel safe again, and still I'm more cautious of my surroundings. I never leave my car door open while I'm in my vehicle. I listen when my gut warns me about someone. 
Everyday you have the chance to change the course of your life, or anyone else that you come in contact with. Strangers have the chance to change the course of your life! This has left me with a few lessons.
1. Never treat someone bad who is down on their luck, you literally have no idea what has happened in their life. Learn to love and have compassion for people in every social class, religion, race, sexual preference, age, it doesn't matter love and learn from everyone you meet. 
2. Your life can change at any instant. The rug can be pulled out from under you, or you can have a great thing happen and your life will never be the same. There are many moments you will have no control over, but the moments you can control deserve as much strength and optimism as you can give them.
3. What may only affect you a little, can affect someone else a lot. Be the inspiration and the motivation when you can. 
         I hope you enjoyed learning more about me. As I open up about these things there are still such bigger, harder parts of life I'm still afraid to share. I'm glad to have this outlet to finally open these wounds wide and clean them out. It's time to heal.
love ya,
​KaziDelicious

​My Biological Father
I suppose if by finally telling all these stories will be a true testament to the healing process, I must do it. One by one I'm cleaning out the past that I've pushed so far down so I wouldn't have to deal with it. Talking about my biological father used to be one of those things that upset me, and I'm so glad to say that now it truly doesn't. 
For my younger years I didn't actually realize my step father wasn't my biological father. He raised me as his own, and the bio dad wasn't in the picture. I'd met his parents on a few occasions but at that time I didn't realize the importance of these meetings. When I was in 1st grade we moved to Indiana, and our visit's to Florida were sparse. 
I was nine years old when I finally knew the truth about my biological father, but I still didn't know much. I spent a lot of years imagining him, based on very few details. He was a very handsome, tan, charismatic, alcoholic, that spent many years of his life in and out of jail. When I was twelve I visited family in Florida and my father wanted to meet me then, but I was too afraid. 
When I was eighteen my father was in prison again. This time he got my address from a relative and started sending me letters. For a while I started to get excited about receiving these letters, and about getting to know him. I imagined he had a hard life, and that he wished he could be there for me. I sometimes imagined him saving me from my mom's ex who abused us. Even though he'd never been there I still pictured him a hero. I planned a trip to Florida again and this time I was going to meet him for Christmas. I listened to the song Zoe Jane by Staind on repeat the entire 18 hour drive. When we arrived at the prison they informed me that I had not been put on the list in time. Since it was a Holiday they would not be able to rectify it until a visitation that would be after I got back to Indiana. I was heartbroken. 
My father kept writing letters sporadically for the next few years. It was strange sometimes because he would ask about my mother, or talk about the past. I wasn't interested in the past, but he was caught in it. I just wanted a chance to move forward and finally know my father.
When I was 21 he was out of jail again, and I went for a visit. The very first time I'm meeting my father, my heart beating out of my chest, and he walks up to me eyes completely blood shot, goes in for a hug, and smells like he bathed in beer. 
"Hey baby girl" he slurred. I try to stay relaxed and assume he needed to drink his nervousness away. Then he spots my mother and they begin to talk, and argue about the past. First time meeting my father in my entire life and all of a sudden I'm invisible and they are fighting. I cried and pleaded with them to stop the nonsense since I'd waited so long for this. It did no good and eventually I'd had enough and I went to my hotel room and went to bed. The next few days were planned that I get to know him. We got along okay but his excessive drinking and obnoxious behavior made it hard to be comfortable. He spent most of the time asking questions about my mother and it felt odd like he was using me to get to her. I was glad to get to meet him, but also glad when it was time to go home. 
Two weeks later my mother walks into my classroom at Ivy Tech. My mother never visits me at school so I'm instantly concerned, but she is grinning from ear to ear. She walks up to me and tells me that she is in love with my father. My heart drops into my stomach. How on earth did this happen!?! She seems confused that I'm not elated like she is. I'm confused that this is real life. 
She ended her 7 year relationship and began dating my biological father again. He moved to Indiana to be closer to her, but he made comments to me often that he wasn't sure if I was his. Everyday they were together I felt like someone was stabbing me. I felt like she was choosing him over me. I distanced myself from them and tried to live life without dwelling on it. After a few months they decided to get married, I did not attend the wedding. 
He wasn't a great guy, it didn't last with them and he has only tried to reach out a few times since then. I don't entertain his messages because I know he is an alcoholic and a manipulator, and I can no longer allow my life to be jostled by him. I'm careful about drinking, because I always fear being just like him. I never wanted to have biological kids because there are too many kids that already need parents. I'm grateful for my step father. I'm even grateful that my biological father wasn't there, because I think he'd have done more damage than good. Admitting all of this did make me cry a little, but maybe it's good to share it. Who knows how long it will take before I delete this one.

I started a new short series where I try to play all the characters in peoples short stories. My first episode, Dirty Text was submitted by Rolf. I hope you like it. 
My goal this year is to really work on some character development, so I thought this would be a great way to get that started.

      This week I have a completely different outlook on life. Sometimes discovering what is causing your pain is the best way to get past it. I have started facing myself more often, allowing myself to remember and accept my past. Everyday is a new day to create peace in my life. 
         I'm going to start working on being social a bit more, but enjoying my alone time without guilt. I tend to pressure myself to be accomplish things all the time. Sometimes I need to be comfortable just being. The less pressure I've put on myself, the more I've actually gotten done. What a different feeling. 
​