November 9, 2016: Heartbroken.

WARNING: Usage of racial slurs as example of how I’ve heard them in my life. 

When I was 16, I was a walking beauty standard. I wore a size 3 and had a tiny little waist with a pretty substantial chest. I looked like a literal hourglass. I always did my makeup and wore my clothes a little too tight– I looked older than 16. Though I didn’t realize it then, I hated how I looked. I always thought I was too big as my mind tricked my body into never being hungry. And that self-loathing blinded me to a scary fact– I was walking bait. My friends told me once that they didn’t like to go to the mall with me because I received so much attention. 

When I was 15, I had my first kiss. That first kiss was part of a first relationship that was tumultuous and not very healthy, but taught me a lot about what a relationship should be. I was in two significant relationships in high school, but if you were to ask my family, they’d tell you my current, college boyfriend is my first relationship ever. Because when gay marriage passed in New York State and my uncle told me that “the humans had lost,” how could I possibly tell my family I was in love with a girl if that meant to them I’d be less than human? And if they read this, and this is me coming out to them, then so be it. I’m not ashamed of who I am and my boyfriend has always loved me, regardless of what gender I’d dated before him. 

When I told my cousin not to use the word “retarded,” I was told to not be so sensitive. But I had volunteered at a school designed for children with autism. I wasn’t being sensitive, I was trying to stop hate speech. It’s hard being on the left when your family bleeds GOP. Every time I heard the words “retard,” “nigger,” “faggot,” “chink,” “spic,” “rag-head”…the list unfortunately goes on and all I could think was that my young family will grow up to think these terrible slurs about wonderful people.

When my family voted for Trump, it solidified to me that they can’t see past their privilege. I know I’m privileged. I may be on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum, but you don’t know that by looking at me. I’m a young white girl who went to private school and though my family isn’t rich, I never wanted for anything. But I know what it’s like to be spit on and called a dyke. I know what it is to be looked at by a man as if I’m wearing no clothing. I also know what it’s like to sit in an interview room with two men and feel inferior– out of place. I’ve seen my black friends get stopped over nothing. I’ve heard people I know talk about the neighboring Seneca Nation as if they were savages and tell me if I’m caught driving through the reservation too late, I might be kidnapped. I witnessed classmates in outrage over wearing a scarf on their hair when we entered a mosque for a field trip. They literally felt as though we shouldn’t respect a Muslim sacred space. I’ve watched coworkers judge an “uncontrolled” child, when in reality the child was exceptionally overwhelmed by all the things happening around it. I’ve seen so much hate in these (almost) 22 years, and the culmination of that is this Trump presidency. And though I’m truly heartbroken that people I love and care about care so little of others that they could support this train wreck, I will never stop loving every person in this nation who feels victimized or oppressed. 

Today, we may be scared, but tomorrow we will pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, support one another, and we will overcome the hate our country has just shown. 

If you need anything, I’m here for you, and so are so many other Americans. Stay strong.

It was lose-lose.

Tonight, I stood in the kitchen of my new apartment, packaging meat to be frozen. My boyfriend and I were singing along to songs that we like, and for some reason, a certain song popped into my head. So, I put that song on. That got me thinking about you. How I first heard it on a mix-tape you gave me. Years ago. You are over three-and-a-half years gone and yet somehow, I still find myself thinking about you from time to time.

You know, we never would have made it.

I never would have admitted that four years ago, but it’s true. We never had a chance.

No matter how much I loved you, or how much you loved me, darker forces were at work.

Depression is a terrible thing. Especially when mixed with sad, repressed, outcast kids. Whether it be a broken home and severe mommy issues, or an overbearing parent that restricted our access, we each had our own demons. When I was preparing to leave, you told me not to drink. You didn’t trust me. But didn’t care that it killed me every time you lit a cigarette. I had seen firsthand what those can do.

You weren’t the only one who was selfish, though. There was plenty I didn’t notice. Signs I missed. Sometimes I put my feelings first because I didn’t realize how serious the whole thing was.

But the problem is, depression has no reasoning. It’s hard enough to keep a relationship when one person has depression. It’s hard to balance each other’s needs while one person is struggling to survive every day. But when both of you are suffering independently, it’s impossible. It’s impossible to try and help one another when you can barely help yourself.

We never had a chance. But I learned a lot from us. I learned how to be a more attentive partner. I learned how to care for myself so that I can then care for someone else. I learned how to be a better person towards those in need.

It was tough, and we tried our hardest, but it was a lose-lose situation.

Depression makes no sense, but I thank it, and you, for the lessons I’ve learned from it.

A late-night thought.

I’m on my way to Myrtle Beach right now. It’s midnight and the CD playing is a bunch of love songs. They make me remember high school. They reminded me of a moment.

Have you ever had a moment so pure and so raw that it cemented itself in your mind? This moment was the moment in my life when I think I felt most beautiful.

We were kissing in the stairwell. I was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, and you were leaned up against me. You looked at me and kissed me. I remember opening my eyes, meeting yours, and I remember the audible sound of your breath catching. I whispered “What?” at you. And you looked at me and said, “Your eyes are beautiful. The way the sun is hitting them shows a million different colors.”

As I look out the dark windows at the shadows passing me by, I remember the sun shining in that little window in that weird staircase and I remember that way you made my heart flutter.

A memory.

A Midterm Mess

I hear my alarm go off and hope it’s 6 a.m.

NOPE.

8:30 a.m. and I’ve missed my first class.

I’ve come to notice lately that I am perpetually exhausted. I feel overextended and can’t catch up.

I finish the assignment due today and think about how I still need to shower, eat, do another paper, plan what I need to do before tomorrow night, go to my one o’clock class, go to my 2:30 class, go to my five o’clock class, finish my assignments, pack my bags for midterm break, take my pets home, drive 14 hours to where my boyfriend and I are staying…

And I am not relaxed. It is 11 a.m. on a Thursday and by Saturday night I will be on my way to Myrtle Beach. But I don’t know how I’ll possibly make it to Saturday.

My dad hasn’t answered me in days about whether or not my car is done at the shop. Stressor.

I still have a lot of assignments to do by Friday night. Stressor.

I have to work my internship—and an event— on Friday afternoon. Stressor.

I have to take my pets home and (hopefully) get my car after my internship Friday night.  Stressor.

My boyfriend and I have to be back on campus by early Sunday morning so he can work check-out with ResLife. Stressor.

He has to work the game Saturday after check-out but neither of us are packed yet or have the time TO pack. Stressor.

We have to drop his car off at his house before we start the drive down south. Stressor.

I have no money. Stressor.

I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, but I’m reaching a meltdown point. Anxiety flutters through my organs as fear and nerves set in. It’s MIDTERM. Am I on track? I am slated to graduate in December…will I make it? Am I ready? Is this semester going better than the last three? Is my academic record salvageable? Will I ever sleep well through the night again? Will I be able to wake up to my alarm tomorrow? Will I wake up tomorrow?

And then, you see, I spiral out of control as my mind whips around, circle after circle, like an amusement park ride.

One. Two. Breathe. 

This is not permanent. Next week you can relax. But for now, it’s time to clean up this midterm mess.

The Storyteller’s Creed.

I’ve been having a rough go of it lately.

I don’t sleep well, I sleep through class, I miss too many, I’m sick of being a student, sick of school, sick of not being able to focus, sick of feeling so alone…I guess you can say I’m just a little sick.

So, looking for some solace, I thought of my dad. He always seems to make things better in my life. However, being in school, he’s not right there. Not readily accessible to me. So, I decided to try something else: his favorite author.

I have a copy of Robert Fulghum’s “All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten.” I think it’s my dad’s copy, but shhhh…don’t tell him.

My dad always talked about Fulghum as I started getting older and started developing a mature and rational mind. One of the things I remember from reading his works earlier in life is just…how full they made me feel. Full of life, full of emotion, full of thought and wonder and hope…

So I picked up the book. First thing I started with was the foreword, titled “To the reader from the author.” I like that. It seems so less menacing and condescending as forewords can sometimes be.

It isn’t a long chunk of text. But God, did it work. I didn’t even need to get into the meat of the text for the impact to be had. I want to quote for you here what made such a profound impact on me tonight.

“Finally, I should tell you that I have an official Storyteller’s License. A friend made it up and taped it to the wall over my desk. This license gives me permission to use my imagination in rearranging my experience to improve a story, so long as it serves some notion of Truth. It also contains a Storyteller’s Creed:

I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge.

That myth is more potent than history.

That dreams are more powerful than facts.

That hope always triumphs over experience.

That laughter is the only cure for grief.

And I believe that love is stronger than death.

I have tried very hard to not write anything that would cause my license to be revoked. “

This was exactly what I needed. Even without knowing, my dad still made it better. Still was able to be my hero. And Fulghum also was able to be my hero.

My message in this post is to never doubt the power of precisely crafted words, and that thinking of your daddy can always make everything better.

With love, XOXO.

Drinking and Sinking

Bottle after bottle, can by can. 

I’ve been trying to drown out the problems in my head, but with each drop of liquid courage, each drop of incapacitating fluid, they just scream louder.

Anxiety. Insecurity. Depression. Anger. Hostility. 

As the night wears on, I go through all different emotions.

First, I have fun. Laughing, dancing, talking. I can be the life of the party.

Then, I get angry. Something sets me off. Something stupid. Something that shouldn’t because I know better than that. I’m not always irrational. But with those searing drinks swirling through my system, I can’t help myself.

We fight.

Then I get sad. I cry. I spiral downward. I go home and force myself to puke and try unsuccessfully to sort through what even happened. Why did we fight? Why did I get mad? What is wrong with me?

I’m too proud. I won’t admit I was wrong. Instead, I stay mad. Spread my anger to others. Start a juvenile campaign against you.

And for what? What do I gain? Where is the benefit?

In the end, both of us lose.

I panic. I was wrong, but I don’t know what to do. I crash. I lay in bed. I get angry at myself. I won’t talk to you. But I miss you. We all miss you. But I started something that I cannot easily stop.

To stop this tidal wave, I must foreclose on something I’m not willing to give up.

My pride.

So, I go out another night.

I sit at the bar. Bottle after bottle. Can by can.

And try to make sense again.

 

With love, XOXO.

Runaway.

What if I just ran away?

Packed my things, got in my car, and drove.

Drove away until I passed the sunset.

Ran out of gas.

Settled wherever I ended up.

Found a place, drained my savings, got a job.

Just lived somewhere new.

Someplace different.

Someplace no one knows me.

I’ve reached a point in my life where I feel like this is what I need. This is the solution. I need to go where no one knows me, where streets have no names and towns are unrecognizable. I need to leave my comfort and be lonely. Be excruciatingly, unbearably lonely.

It’s time to be a runaway. 

If I runaway and “lose” my phone and have no one else but me, maybe then I’ll learn. I’ll discover. I’ll unearth. I’ll achieve. I’ll become.

And then, maybe then, I can be what I want to be, and stop being what I am.

With love, XOXO.

With love, not hate.

Like most articles I read online, I saw a link to this video on Facebook. Two people meet for the first time. Then, after exchanging pleasantries, one of them shares a secret with the other.

Now, as a journalism and mass communication major, when I see something like this, it makes me hopeful and enraged and inspired. You see, the people in these video? They are just that. People. Beautiful people with beautiful stories and beautiful emotions. Which leads me to why this video sparks so many different emotions within me.

These people want a better life. These people might not know they are doing anything wrong. And on television and through politics, we portray these people as an evil type that needs to be eliminated. We demonize these people for wanting exactly what we wanted when our ancestors first came here: freedom; a new start; an opportunity.

I understand that there are some serious issues raised within our nation regarding illegal immigrants. From health care to education to voting and taxes…I will agree that we need to have some sort of consistent policy regarding the issues. But dehumanizing these people in order to make them look or seem evil and uncaring and just wanting to pull one over on the US of A? That’s just…wrong.

If you knew that you could have an opportunity for a better life for you or your family…wouldn’t you do it? Wouldn’t you do anything for the ones you love?

It’s time to take a step back and look at these people as individuals who we can help. We can change their lives. Hopefully make it better. We should stop looking at them as criminals or no-good slackers or as abusers of the system. It’s time to look at them for what they truly are: people.

With love, XOXO.

If chivalry is dead, you’re looking in the wrong place.

Something interesting just happened to me.

I was walking down the stairs, carrying my laundry basket. I’m kind of short, so the basket hits my hips in height. As I reached the first floor— I live on the 3rd— a group of 4 guys walked through the door. I waited patiently, apologizing for being in the way. As I went for the door, the 3rd guy in the line looked at his friend behind him and said “Hey, get the door for her.” I smiled and thanked them. I then continued to the laundry room.

As I was loading the washers, I started thinking of it. The fact that those boys wanted to make sure the door was held open so that I wouldn’t struggle opening it with my basket. One tiny act of kindness was enough to change my entire mood because, let’s be real, who ever wants to do laundry? However, I’m used to things like that.

Let’s talk about my boyfriend. We’ve been dating almost a year and a half now. Starting from our very first date, until dinner we went to tonight— it’s his birthday— he has almost always opened the car door for me. Every time we go somewhere. As soon as we head to the car, he walks to my side first, opens the door, and then shuts it when I’m settled. He opens the door for me every time we enter a building. He puts his arm around me when we’re walking and it’s cold. He sometimes takes me out or brings me flowers just because he wants to.

Every single day, he goes out of his way to let me know how much he cares about me.

I don’t think he’s a special case. There are people out there who want to show their love like that. I see it in many people around me. My dad will buy wine for his girlfriend, just because he knows she doesn’t have a lot of money to spend on leisure. They have a glass of wine by the bonfire and just enjoy each other’s company. My boyfriend’s parents do things for one another every day. From their first date, his dad said “I am going to marry you.” And that he did.

Chivalry works both ways though. It isn’t just “a guy thing.” It shouldn’t be an excuse girls use to make their boyfriends do everything for them. I am chivalrous towards my boyfriend. I do his laundry because he hates it. He’ll help me fold, but he really doesn’t like to. I’ll rub his feet for him when they hurt really bad after a round of golf. I try to pay attention to things he wants, and if I have a little extra money, to get those things for him. Chivalry isn’t just a competition to see which guy can get the lady faster. Chivalry is a word to encompass exactly how two people should act towards one another in a relationship.

Chivalry embodies passion, devotion, kindness, courteousness,  and love. It should be a word to describe how two people care about one another. As the times change, so do expectations.

And I expect to be just as chivalrous to my boyfriend as he is to me.

And he’s not alone. There are plenty of chivalrous individuals out there. All you have to do is to look for those qualities that matter. Chivalry isn’t dying; your expectations in a partner are.

With love, XOXO.

#PeopleNeedOtherPeople

TWLOHA is an organization very near and dear to my heart. Their message and what they do is very inspiring to me, especially since I have been in that place and struggle with my emotions every day. Recently on Twitter I have seen them posting, asking their followers what #PeopleNeedOtherPeople means to them. And I guess, this is what it means to me:

When I was a freshman (maybe early sophomore?) in high school, I was texting my best friend at the time. I was not having a good day. I had said, somewhere in there, that I wanted to kill myself.

Her response?

“Then go ahead and do it already.”

And my response? I sobbed.

And after I collected myself, I realized that was not how I wanted it to end.

Wanna know a secret? Fear is what kept me alive then. Fear of what happens after you die, fear of if it would hurt, fear of how my family would feel. Fear drove my life.

Now, as a sophomore in college, I still have terrible days. My moods can be crazy sometimes. I can be the world’s biggest bitch, know I’m being the world’s biggest bitch, hate myself for being the world’s biggest bitch, but be unable to stop being the world’s biggest bitch.

But love keeps me going.

I love my boyfriend.

I love my friends.

I love my school.

I love my family.

I love being alive. I love experiencing the world. I love excelling.

But those days I’m down? Those days when I’m being the worst? I talk now. I’ll talk to my friends and my boyfriend and my professors and my family and my counselor and through this, I’ll be okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully “okay.” I don’t know if one day I’ll wake up, and that occasional feeling of wanting to die or wanting to hurt myself will be completely gone. I don’t know if that’s something that ever goes away. But I do know that through positive human interaction I can feel better and I WILL BE OKAY. I will be okay. I will survive.

But more than that. I will LIVE.

I need people because they make me want to live when I can’t find any other reason. I need people because they help me find myself. I need people because being alone sucks.

People need other people, and that’s okay.

Oh, and P.S. If you have a person who tells you to “go ahead,” find a new person or new people. I found new people, and I’ve never been happier.

With love, XOXO.