It is the end of election week, and I never expected to feel this worn out from a week that was generally light compared to other weeks of my fall semester. Like many others, my heart is heavy, I am in disbelief, and there are some instances I just want to cry - and it's not simply because the candidate I voted for will not be sworn in at the beginning of next year.
I was not thrilled about the ballot I selected from this year. I had plenty of reservations about Donald Trump and while it was great seeing a female presidential candidate this year, I had my personal reservations about Hilary Clinton as well. However, this post isn't to express why I voted the way I did, evaluate their positions, or try to persuade people with different views to change their mind, because I am one of the least qualified people to attempt that.
This post is to serve as the basin for every emotion I have felt in the past three days.
First, I am sad that family and friends have let two people divide them. I have had my instances of momentary outbursts towards friends and gut reactions to things people are saying, but I care about those individuals too much and value their different perspectives to let my relationship with them come to an end. I also do not wish to be known as a person who responds by the jerk of her knee. I am sad that some individuals out there have such overwhelming fears due to the actions of others or what has been sensationalized in the media. I have my personal concerns and fears about how others will treat me as a woman, but I understand those only pale in comparison to the trials of others. I am sad that this election frequently came down to the "lesser of two evils" for both sides, because there are good people in this country who would make excellent presidential candidates.
Second, I am mad that individuals from both sides are committing, condoning, or rationalizing hateful and violent behavior. The peaceful protests that are taking place reiterate how people can join together; the rioting and vandal behaviors are not justified and only serve to deafen ears. I am mad that people are being stripped of their individuality and being lumped together because of what they marked on a ballot when they have not necessarily expressed similar views of the candidate. "Love trumps hate" has served as one of the cries of protesters, but how can we claim that love wins when we are unable to show love to those we disagree with? I am mad that some individuals in this country have used Donald Trump's election as an excuse for hateful behavior that robs individuals of their sense of safety and comfort in self-expression. I am mad that fact-checking has become such an essential part of being involved in politics because we cannot trust news sources to present the facts.
Finally, I am happy that people care so much. It would be very concerning if people did not take interest in the issues at the center of this election season. I may not agree with all opinions presented but from personal experience, apathy is much worse than anger. I am happy that my conversations with others who voted differently from me have been fired up yet remained respectful. While views I don't agree with make me uncomfortable, I refuse to only surround myself with people who espouse my beliefs. I think there is a lot to be learned from new perspectives and opposing view points. It can make us stop and question our opinions, seek to further understand what we stand for, and facilitate our participation in discussions.
There has been consistent conversations about the level of bipartisanship in the government recently, and I think that mindset has spilled over beyond D.C. I've seen countless Facebook and Twitter posts from both sides explaining why they're right or the other side is wrong. But like trying to convince my brothers they're butt-faces, it's difficult to persuade others to abandon views they've developed and are so strongly attached to. My goal for the rest of 2016 is not to protest or sign petitions or post articles from Odyssey (a separate post is reserved for that website), but instead show love to as many people as I can. There is enough anger and hate in the world coming from all directions for a multitude of reasons. I may not always walk this talk, but I will try.
We all need a little more love in our lives, so I will share what I can from my mere 5'3" being.
11.11.2016
3.18.2016
Depression and Anxiety
This is a post I have wanted to write for some time now. The problem is that I'm not sure why exactly I want to write or what I want to say. But I'm tired.
I'm tired of stigma that surrounds mental illness.
I'm tired of being embarrassed to tell people that I take an anti-depressant.
I'm tired of feeling shame for having anxiety and depression.
It has been over three years since I had my first appointment with a psychiatrist. Over three years since I was first prescribed ten milligrams of Celexa daily. Over three years since I felt like I lost a battle with myself.
The catalyst was a new level of depression that I had no experienced before: apathy. I thought feeling hopeless was terrible, but there's something inexplicably worse about feeling nothing and not caring anymore. Instead of wanting to lay in bed because it feels like the day will suck, I wanted to lay there because there didn't seem to be a point. I became a shell; I wasn't myself anymore. I could see how concerned my friends were for me, so I decided it was time to do something. Thankfully, that was the one thing I still cared about - my friends. The day I was officially diagnosed was the first time I felt something in months. Thus, began an internal struggle.
I often get asked why I don't like being on medication. It's because of this unfair amount of pride that I hold on to. Being put on medicine made me feel like I let myself down. I had gone so many years without it, so why now? I wish I could say I've moved past this internal battle, but that would be a big, fat lie.
But I still try to take my medicine. It is my responsibility to the world to make sure I am doing what is within my power to manage my health. I've tried to use it as an excuse for broken friendships and angry outbursts, but at the end of the day, it's my fault for not doing what I need to. I can't let my mental health interfere with my life when I have prime opportunity to manage it.
As much as I hate that tiny, orange pill, I appreciate what it does for me. It allows me to feel sad without getting trapped in a pit of despair. It allows me to live in my moments of happiness without anticipation of sudden anxiety. It allows me to experience all emotions at a manageable level. At the end of the day, it's better to swallow a pill every day than to get stuck feeling like everything sucks or to suddenly feel like everything is going wrong and there's no way to fix it. Having depression and anxiety can leave me feeling stuck, even though I have multiple ways to move forward.
The question still remains - why do I want to share all of this? I think it's because I want people to understand that mental health can be hard to put into words. That sometimes there's nothing to say, but it's important to remind people that you still care. That even though I am a person with depression and anxiety, I am still a person, and it doesn't define who I am. That there's no reason to be ashamed of struggling with mental health. That someone like me doesn't need pity but reminders that there are people who have my back.
Bottom line is, thank you to everyone who has stood behind me and helped pull me out of my cloud.
I couldn't be here without you.
I'm tired of stigma that surrounds mental illness.
I'm tired of being embarrassed to tell people that I take an anti-depressant.
I'm tired of feeling shame for having anxiety and depression.
It has been over three years since I had my first appointment with a psychiatrist. Over three years since I was first prescribed ten milligrams of Celexa daily. Over three years since I felt like I lost a battle with myself.
The catalyst was a new level of depression that I had no experienced before: apathy. I thought feeling hopeless was terrible, but there's something inexplicably worse about feeling nothing and not caring anymore. Instead of wanting to lay in bed because it feels like the day will suck, I wanted to lay there because there didn't seem to be a point. I became a shell; I wasn't myself anymore. I could see how concerned my friends were for me, so I decided it was time to do something. Thankfully, that was the one thing I still cared about - my friends. The day I was officially diagnosed was the first time I felt something in months. Thus, began an internal struggle.
I often get asked why I don't like being on medication. It's because of this unfair amount of pride that I hold on to. Being put on medicine made me feel like I let myself down. I had gone so many years without it, so why now? I wish I could say I've moved past this internal battle, but that would be a big, fat lie.
But I still try to take my medicine. It is my responsibility to the world to make sure I am doing what is within my power to manage my health. I've tried to use it as an excuse for broken friendships and angry outbursts, but at the end of the day, it's my fault for not doing what I need to. I can't let my mental health interfere with my life when I have prime opportunity to manage it.
As much as I hate that tiny, orange pill, I appreciate what it does for me. It allows me to feel sad without getting trapped in a pit of despair. It allows me to live in my moments of happiness without anticipation of sudden anxiety. It allows me to experience all emotions at a manageable level. At the end of the day, it's better to swallow a pill every day than to get stuck feeling like everything sucks or to suddenly feel like everything is going wrong and there's no way to fix it. Having depression and anxiety can leave me feeling stuck, even though I have multiple ways to move forward.
The question still remains - why do I want to share all of this? I think it's because I want people to understand that mental health can be hard to put into words. That sometimes there's nothing to say, but it's important to remind people that you still care. That even though I am a person with depression and anxiety, I am still a person, and it doesn't define who I am. That there's no reason to be ashamed of struggling with mental health. That someone like me doesn't need pity but reminders that there are people who have my back.
Bottom line is, thank you to everyone who has stood behind me and helped pull me out of my cloud.
I couldn't be here without you.
3.09.2014
Meet Sarah
This is Sarah (on the right):
Sarah is my best friend. For a while now, I have been wanting to write her a letter. While I am normally one to write and deliver letters of gratitude in private, I think she deserves a more public thank you.
We have been friends for about three years now. When I initially encountered her on my floor in the dorms, my thought was always, "Oh my god, why does this tall girl walk so slow?" It really wasn't much of a concern for me, and I didn't avoid her for slowing my return to my room. It wasn't until second semester of my freshman year that I actually got to know her though. At the time, though, I was completely unaware of how important this girl would become to me.
Our minimal conversations that were confined to the company of mutual friends began to branch out. I don't remember when exactly I realized I considered Sarah a friend, but I think that's the beauty of it. Our friendship doesn't have a defining moment. It was something that grew naturally and still does to this day. Now I am lucky enough to call her my best friend.
Sarah is one of those people who has always visibly had my back. While I am usually aware of the support that I have among my friends, Sarah is one of those people who is always front and center, ready to give me a hug or just sit with me. She's been there for me through family trouble, boy drama, stress about school, and all the trivial things I get upset about. She always acknowledges the way I feel and never questions it. She knocks me down a peg or two when I need it.
Sarah is someone I can completely be open and honest with. I would say she's one of the few people who have fully seen just how strange I can actually be. I still know, though, that she loves me for who I am, even when she rolls her eyes or asks out loud, "Why am I friends with you?" She always puts up with my snarky attitude and overconfidence of my knowledge. She knows all of the stupid things I've done and all of the things I get unnecessarily happy about.
Beyond that - and maybe even most importantly - I have the honor of her being open and honest with me in return. I've always known that she is a private person, so the fact that she trusts me enough to talk to me about almost everything means more to me than anything else. I'm not sure what I did to deserve her trust, but I know I would kick myself hard if I ever did anything to lose it.
This past year, both of us have been through a lot of changes. The common thread, however, is that we are right next to each other through everything. Even when we're apart from each other, she's one of the first people I call to tell exciting news or to vent to. She has taught me so much about myself in the time that I have known her. She reminds me to take care of myself, to distance myself from people who make me unhappy, and that it's okay to treat myself to that greasy Five Guys burger every week if I want to. She's not afraid to tag along on my crazy adventures (even though sometimes I have to bug her relentlessly).
At this point, the six paragraphs I have written still do not do her justice. No amount of words would be able to capture the kind of friend I have found in Sarah. She's a beautiful person, inside and out, and you can only truly see that once you get to know her.
So Sarah, thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for putty up with me in my really crappy moods. Thank you for sharing your $2 pizzas with me. Thank you for making me feel less guilty about buying a pint of ice cream by splitting it with me. Thank you for making fun of me while I dance maniacally to "Baby Got Back." Thank you for telling me that necklace does not go with my outfit. Thank you for being willing to put up with me as a roommate for another entire year. Thank you for those late-night moments we have driving back from Jordan's on 435 at 12:00 in the morning.
Thank you for being my best friend. I love you.
Sarah is my best friend. For a while now, I have been wanting to write her a letter. While I am normally one to write and deliver letters of gratitude in private, I think she deserves a more public thank you.
We have been friends for about three years now. When I initially encountered her on my floor in the dorms, my thought was always, "Oh my god, why does this tall girl walk so slow?" It really wasn't much of a concern for me, and I didn't avoid her for slowing my return to my room. It wasn't until second semester of my freshman year that I actually got to know her though. At the time, though, I was completely unaware of how important this girl would become to me.
Our minimal conversations that were confined to the company of mutual friends began to branch out. I don't remember when exactly I realized I considered Sarah a friend, but I think that's the beauty of it. Our friendship doesn't have a defining moment. It was something that grew naturally and still does to this day. Now I am lucky enough to call her my best friend.
Sarah is one of those people who has always visibly had my back. While I am usually aware of the support that I have among my friends, Sarah is one of those people who is always front and center, ready to give me a hug or just sit with me. She's been there for me through family trouble, boy drama, stress about school, and all the trivial things I get upset about. She always acknowledges the way I feel and never questions it. She knocks me down a peg or two when I need it.
Sarah is someone I can completely be open and honest with. I would say she's one of the few people who have fully seen just how strange I can actually be. I still know, though, that she loves me for who I am, even when she rolls her eyes or asks out loud, "Why am I friends with you?" She always puts up with my snarky attitude and overconfidence of my knowledge. She knows all of the stupid things I've done and all of the things I get unnecessarily happy about.
Beyond that - and maybe even most importantly - I have the honor of her being open and honest with me in return. I've always known that she is a private person, so the fact that she trusts me enough to talk to me about almost everything means more to me than anything else. I'm not sure what I did to deserve her trust, but I know I would kick myself hard if I ever did anything to lose it.
This past year, both of us have been through a lot of changes. The common thread, however, is that we are right next to each other through everything. Even when we're apart from each other, she's one of the first people I call to tell exciting news or to vent to. She has taught me so much about myself in the time that I have known her. She reminds me to take care of myself, to distance myself from people who make me unhappy, and that it's okay to treat myself to that greasy Five Guys burger every week if I want to. She's not afraid to tag along on my crazy adventures (even though sometimes I have to bug her relentlessly).
At this point, the six paragraphs I have written still do not do her justice. No amount of words would be able to capture the kind of friend I have found in Sarah. She's a beautiful person, inside and out, and you can only truly see that once you get to know her.
So Sarah, thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for putty up with me in my really crappy moods. Thank you for sharing your $2 pizzas with me. Thank you for making me feel less guilty about buying a pint of ice cream by splitting it with me. Thank you for making fun of me while I dance maniacally to "Baby Got Back." Thank you for telling me that necklace does not go with my outfit. Thank you for being willing to put up with me as a roommate for another entire year. Thank you for those late-night moments we have driving back from Jordan's on 435 at 12:00 in the morning.
Thank you for being my best friend. I love you.
2.23.2014
21
I recently turned 21 last month. It was a long-awaited birthday for me, more so because I have friends who have been of age for several years at this point. For me, it was finally being able to have full access to Kansas City nightlife. I've never been concerned with drinking - I could always get alcohol from friends, but I rarely drink the way it is. Turn 21 meant I could now go out dancing in the mediocre clubs the metro has to offer and get a beer with a friend who is in town visiting who isn't one for coffee.
Naturally, the day was filled with text messages, phone calls, Facebook posts, and face-to-face wishes. A common theme seemed to peek its head out every once in a while.
"Are you going to get drunk tonight?"
"What's your first drink going to be?"
"What kind of shots are you going to do?"
"Who's going to be your designated driver?"
It was beginning to seem like everyone began expecting me to ensure for myself that I would not remember this birthday. For some reason, it was expected that after 20 years of minimal to no drinking, I was suddenly going to binge and spend my birthday as a drunken mess. Now, not everyone I spoke with suggested this, but it was something that consistently came up. As I began protesting these expectations, the responses to my protests also shared a common thought.
"You have to. It's practically the rules of turning 21."
"You're supposed to take shots on your 21st birthday."
"You should at least get a little drunk."
"Just have fun. It's your birthday. You're supposed to."
All of a sudden, there were these so-called "rules" of a 21st birthday that were being imposed upon me. Apparently I would not be celebrating my birthday "right" if I didn't almost end up over the toilet at the end of the night with my best friend holding my hair back.
Why was it that more people were telling me what to do rather than asking me what I was going to do? Why is there this inherent assumption that everyone gets drunk on their 21st? No matter what reasoning I used, I still was wrong. I say shots are a waste of money, I'm still told I have to take at least one. I say I want to remember my birthday, I'm told I only turn 21 once.
I understand that there are cultures that have certain social rules for different parts of life. However, these rules are not, by any means, set in stone. They are only upheld because it is continuously drilled into people's minds that this is how it's done.
You're supposed to freak out on your wedding day.
You're supposed to be nervous about that exam.
You're supposed to incessantly drink in college.
You're supposed to go to prom.
I think we all could be happier if we would stop forcing these pointless rules on each other and trying to convince our peers they won't be happy if they do it this way. I decided for myself what my birthday was going to be. I did take a shot - only because my mother encouraged me to (apparently I can't resist peer pressure from my mom). However, I enjoyed what I wanted, when I wanted to. I made my birthday what I wanted it to be, not what everyone thought it was supposed to be. And it was one of the best birthdays I have. It is said that rules are made to be broken, and I think social rules are made specifically for that reason.
Be happy, and be a rule-breaker.
Naturally, the day was filled with text messages, phone calls, Facebook posts, and face-to-face wishes. A common theme seemed to peek its head out every once in a while.
"Are you going to get drunk tonight?"
"What's your first drink going to be?"
"What kind of shots are you going to do?"
"Who's going to be your designated driver?"
It was beginning to seem like everyone began expecting me to ensure for myself that I would not remember this birthday. For some reason, it was expected that after 20 years of minimal to no drinking, I was suddenly going to binge and spend my birthday as a drunken mess. Now, not everyone I spoke with suggested this, but it was something that consistently came up. As I began protesting these expectations, the responses to my protests also shared a common thought.
"You have to. It's practically the rules of turning 21."
"You're supposed to take shots on your 21st birthday."
"You should at least get a little drunk."
"Just have fun. It's your birthday. You're supposed to."
All of a sudden, there were these so-called "rules" of a 21st birthday that were being imposed upon me. Apparently I would not be celebrating my birthday "right" if I didn't almost end up over the toilet at the end of the night with my best friend holding my hair back.
Why was it that more people were telling me what to do rather than asking me what I was going to do? Why is there this inherent assumption that everyone gets drunk on their 21st? No matter what reasoning I used, I still was wrong. I say shots are a waste of money, I'm still told I have to take at least one. I say I want to remember my birthday, I'm told I only turn 21 once.
I understand that there are cultures that have certain social rules for different parts of life. However, these rules are not, by any means, set in stone. They are only upheld because it is continuously drilled into people's minds that this is how it's done.
You're supposed to freak out on your wedding day.
You're supposed to be nervous about that exam.
You're supposed to incessantly drink in college.
You're supposed to go to prom.
I think we all could be happier if we would stop forcing these pointless rules on each other and trying to convince our peers they won't be happy if they do it this way. I decided for myself what my birthday was going to be. I did take a shot - only because my mother encouraged me to (apparently I can't resist peer pressure from my mom). However, I enjoyed what I wanted, when I wanted to. I made my birthday what I wanted it to be, not what everyone thought it was supposed to be. And it was one of the best birthdays I have. It is said that rules are made to be broken, and I think social rules are made specifically for that reason.
Be happy, and be a rule-breaker.
1.13.2014
Photographs
About two weeks ago, I returned from another trip to Austria and Germany with my family. I had been looking forward to this trip since my parents had first mentioned it to me and my brothers. When the time came to pack, I made sure to pack fewer things this time so I wasn't nearly as encumbered as a I was the last time. I also wanted to ensure I had space to bring back things that I bought. I decided to bring my camera with me so I could snap some pictures of the beautiful Austrian/German scenery. It's a Nikon D40, so I knew it would take quality photographs like I wanted. I promised myself this time that I wouldn't take a whole bunch of pointless pictures. During our last trip, I collected photos of some rather boring things, including items inside of a museum, many facades of buildings, and an eclectic mix of moments in nature. This isn't to say that these things are completely boring and pointless, but the pictures lack meaning when I can't even remember the reason why I took them in the first place. Showing someone over one hundred pictures of I-can't-remember-what-this-is-or-why-I-took-this-picture gets old really fast. I also believe pictures aren't interesting to others unless you yourself are in it, something beautiful or awesome from nature or a culture is captured, or some strange event is the subject.
I wanted my pictures to be purposeful this time. I decided to bring a plush Kermit the Frog with me that I had bought recently. I figured it would be fun to dedicate the focus of my pictures to Kermit this time. After all, how can something not be interesting with Kermit the Frog in it? Kermit did end up being the center of attention in all of the pictures I took. However, I only used my phone to take pictures of him since it was lightweight, convenient, and got the job done. I didn't take a single picture with my camera the entire week. I still only ended up taking under seventy pictures while I was there. That's roughly ten pictures per day. There are a couple reasons for my lack of photos.
First, since I had already been to most of the places we visited, it wasn't quite as new. This trip, I tended to sit back more, listen to the information being relayed to us, and appreciate in a different way what I was experiencing. It's like reading a book for a second time and picking up on things that were hidden in the story that you missed the first time through.
Secondly, and most importantly, my desire to take pictures of things I'm doing has diminished to almost nothing. Instead of focusing my energy on trying to capture my experiences, I actually enjoy the experience. While photos can be a valuable way to reminisce, I feel like they lose their nostalgia when more focus is devoted to the picture rather than the story behind it. The saying goes "A picture is worth a thousand words," but I think recently we've been deleting some of those words in an effort to document every second of our lives.
A great example of this is whenever I go to a concert. I prefer to be on the floor and at the front so I have a good view of the band and I have fewer distractions of people around me. I also enjoy being close to the amps and speakers so I can feel the vibrations of the music. It's an entrancing experience that transforms my mind for an hour. When the band comes out, I snap a picture or two, and then dive into my experience of the show. All around me, however, are people who spend the entire time recording videos that will most likely have poor audio or snapping a bunch of pictures that are dark and really only show off the stage lights; they watch the entire concert through their phone. If I wanted to watch a concert through a screen, I wouldn't pay $40 to stand in a crowded room and deal with the stench of sweat, weed, and cheap beer. Not only do I think these people are missing out on an experience, but they're distorting the experiences of the people around them trying to see past the phones held high in front of their views.
I understand taking pictures for posterity, but do we really need 50 pictures of the same scene? In this day and age, we are able to capture and publish every second we wish to share with the world. There are children who haven't spoken their first word whose entire lives so far are completely exposed. Nothing is a mystery anymore. We look at old photographs, and there's a story that needs to be told to solve the mystery. I value my memories more than a photograph. I can hold on to my memories longer and not worry as much about losing them if I spill Coke Zero on my laptop. Sure, my mind will eventually deteriorate. That's why humanity developed oral tradition and written tradition. I think telling a story rather than showing it allows the imagination to work more - it's why books are almost always better than movies. On top of that, my life isn't interesting enough that my story needs to live on forever. The lifespan of my story isn't determined by me anyway; that's up to the people who hear my story. They decide whether or not my story is carried on for a while longer. Cameras are beautiful inventions, but I think our overuse of them has depleted their significance and wonder.
Experience your life, don't try to capture it in a box.
I wanted my pictures to be purposeful this time. I decided to bring a plush Kermit the Frog with me that I had bought recently. I figured it would be fun to dedicate the focus of my pictures to Kermit this time. After all, how can something not be interesting with Kermit the Frog in it? Kermit did end up being the center of attention in all of the pictures I took. However, I only used my phone to take pictures of him since it was lightweight, convenient, and got the job done. I didn't take a single picture with my camera the entire week. I still only ended up taking under seventy pictures while I was there. That's roughly ten pictures per day. There are a couple reasons for my lack of photos.
First, since I had already been to most of the places we visited, it wasn't quite as new. This trip, I tended to sit back more, listen to the information being relayed to us, and appreciate in a different way what I was experiencing. It's like reading a book for a second time and picking up on things that were hidden in the story that you missed the first time through.
Secondly, and most importantly, my desire to take pictures of things I'm doing has diminished to almost nothing. Instead of focusing my energy on trying to capture my experiences, I actually enjoy the experience. While photos can be a valuable way to reminisce, I feel like they lose their nostalgia when more focus is devoted to the picture rather than the story behind it. The saying goes "A picture is worth a thousand words," but I think recently we've been deleting some of those words in an effort to document every second of our lives.
A great example of this is whenever I go to a concert. I prefer to be on the floor and at the front so I have a good view of the band and I have fewer distractions of people around me. I also enjoy being close to the amps and speakers so I can feel the vibrations of the music. It's an entrancing experience that transforms my mind for an hour. When the band comes out, I snap a picture or two, and then dive into my experience of the show. All around me, however, are people who spend the entire time recording videos that will most likely have poor audio or snapping a bunch of pictures that are dark and really only show off the stage lights; they watch the entire concert through their phone. If I wanted to watch a concert through a screen, I wouldn't pay $40 to stand in a crowded room and deal with the stench of sweat, weed, and cheap beer. Not only do I think these people are missing out on an experience, but they're distorting the experiences of the people around them trying to see past the phones held high in front of their views.
I understand taking pictures for posterity, but do we really need 50 pictures of the same scene? In this day and age, we are able to capture and publish every second we wish to share with the world. There are children who haven't spoken their first word whose entire lives so far are completely exposed. Nothing is a mystery anymore. We look at old photographs, and there's a story that needs to be told to solve the mystery. I value my memories more than a photograph. I can hold on to my memories longer and not worry as much about losing them if I spill Coke Zero on my laptop. Sure, my mind will eventually deteriorate. That's why humanity developed oral tradition and written tradition. I think telling a story rather than showing it allows the imagination to work more - it's why books are almost always better than movies. On top of that, my life isn't interesting enough that my story needs to live on forever. The lifespan of my story isn't determined by me anyway; that's up to the people who hear my story. They decide whether or not my story is carried on for a while longer. Cameras are beautiful inventions, but I think our overuse of them has depleted their significance and wonder.
Experience your life, don't try to capture it in a box.
12.11.2012
21st Century Family
Recently I've been struggling with some heavy depression. It's been lingering for several months now, but only recently it has gotten worse. The recent transition I've taken is towards apathy - I simply don't care anymore. Along with this transitioning of moods, I've consistently struggled with thoughts of suicide. It was recommended by my counselor that I begin taking an antidepressant, something I've opposed doing for myself for quite some time. I've been down the depression road before, but this time it's different. Since it's different this time, I'm trying to react differently. I'm trying to make sure I don't isolate myself; I keep reaching out to friends.
Saturday night after my counseling appointment, I was hanging out with some friends and talking to my friend Katie about everything that had been going on. My friend Jordan sat down and asked what we were talking about. He was a little on the inebriated side, but he was still coherent. I summed it up by saying I didn't care about anything anymore and I wanted to kill myself. He got this frustrated look on his face and asked why I wanted to kill myself. I told him one reason was because I haven't spoken to my family since Thanksgiving, so I feel isolated and alone. He sat there for a second and started tearing up. I've seen him get emotional before, but I've never seen a look of pain like that on his face. He looked up at me and said:
"Why do you need your family? Friends are the family of the 21st century."
He didn't say it, but he was telling me how much he and all of our other friends love me. He didn't want me to hurt myself. It hurt him to see me in so much pain.
His words could not be any truer for me. Throughout most of my life, I have never felt like I can reach out to my family. It's a complicated situation, but it's a reality. I've always turned to my friends when I've needed someone.
Last night was an all-time low. I was on the brink of hurting myself. I reached out because I knew people would be upset if I hadn't. My friend, Erika, told me to come to her house. I talked to Stacy after I was there, and told her what was happening. She was so scared, and I felt so bad for putting her through that. She asked to talk to Erika, and I guess asked Erika to not let me leave last night. She later texted me saying how much she cared about me and couldn't think about losing me. She told me I mean more to her than I know. I also talked to a girl from my church who's in a similar situation. She told me she thinks even if we were to kill ourselves, we'd still have to deal with our crap, just in a different way. She encouraged me to get help.
I decided last night that I'm going to see a psychiatrist and get on antidepressants. I'm doing this for Stacy, because I love her. I don't like worrying her this much, and I know she wants me to get better. I would rather be making this decision for myself, but I unfortunately don't care enough. So I'm holding on to the only motivation I can find at this point. I'm holding on as tight as I can.
The amount of love I have felt in the past 24 hours is overwhelming. I've reached out to the people I went on Kairos with, and they are showering me with love. Two years later, and that family still has my back. Erika has opened her home to me as a place for me to feel safe. My friends from church are always willing to listen and offer to spend time with me if I need a friend. My friends outside of school are also ready to help me have fun for a bit and forget about my problems for even a small moment.
Even if I feel like I don't have my immediate family backing me up, I have many more friends from all areas of my life who are ready to help if I call on them. Even though I've lost hope in myself, no one else has. Even though my life gets dark sometimes, they bring light into it.
I am thankful for my family.
9.29.2012
Beauty
I've written about two things in this blog before: my friend, Stacy, and experiencing moments of bliss.
Tonight, both of those things were multiplied by at least ten in how great they are.
It began with my nails. Stacy has always admired my nail-painting abilities, so I always love to share my newest creations with her. Our conversation transitioned through boys, to friendships, to the most epic metaphor about bread that I have ever spit out, to sharing our lives with others, and a multitude of other things before culminating in this comment about a song she found while at a short film festival:
"well, i have to start by saying that it's so frustrating
to try and put into words
how strongly and intensely you can feel something
like, it was just beauty
the film coupled with this song
i just remember sitting there, feeling totally immersed in something
and i was so at peace
and thinking 'this is perfect'"
This is the song she was talking about:
I knew exactly what kind of moment she was talking about. That moment where you are experiencing so much beauty all at once that you aren't sure how you're going to react. The kind of beauty that fills your heart with every emotion imaginable. The kind of beauty that exists completely outside of yourself. The kind of beauty that you can't put into words or capture in a picture. It's a beauty that you experience in a moment. It's a personal beauty.
The last time I had felt this was when I went to see Robert Bly at a poetry reading on campus. He was accompanied by a sitarist. I had never heard a sitar in person before, but I was always intrigued by it. That poetry reading struck me so much more than I could have ever anticipated. Here was this old, frail poet reading parts of himself that he has allowed to be shared with complete strangers, most of whom he'll never meet, all while he was breathing in the steady notes of the sitar. He would even wait a moment before reading one of his poems, close his eyes, and tap his hand and foot to the music. He was so immersed in that moment. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever witnessed - it almost brought me to tears myself. I was so overwhelmed by the beauty I saw in that moment.
I was overwhelmed again tonight. By the end of my conversation with Stacy, I found myself experiencing a personal beauty. As I listened to the link she had sent me, I suddenly realized how lucky I am to have her as my friend. It was as though all the worries I've been carrying this past week didn't seem so heavy anymore. Even though we now live 1,543 miles apart from each other, she still has my back. She still walks with me through the good and bad I experience. I couldn't ask for a better friend in my life. I was flooded with the gorgeous melody from the song and the contentment I felt knowing I'm not alone in this world.
As I sit here now, I'm blown away by how much a YouTube video and a Facebook chat can affect me. I don't think everything previously written in the post fully describes what I mean. It's a powerful force. I've felt it before watching movies, such as The Grey, or, as silly as it sounds, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
In these moments, there is usually something that gets left behind, typically words that stick with me. This summer while I was volunteering with the youth ministry at my church, we began sharing artifacts - things from our lives that prove something happened. I like to think of those things sticking with me as artifacts. My artifact from tonight is the song I posted above. Here are the others:
That morning I heard water being poured into a teapot.
The sound was an ordinary, daily, cluffy sound.
But all at once, I knew you loved me.
An unheard-of thing, love audible in water falling.
These moments are real. I hope people don't deny them.
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