My church has done VBS for as long as I can remember. And each year, it's been pretty darn elaborate. When we started out, Benny Chang's mom was the head, and every year was fantastic. Things aren't as cool now, but Makayla Miller's mom is doing pretty well. We've set up something with this other church (which is freaking huge) so we can borrow all of their sets for our themes. So far, we've done "Avalanche Ranch", "Crocodile Dock", and, now this year, "High Seas Expedition".
This year I'm old enough to be a group leader. No, not a helper - a leader. At first, I thought my group was going to be me and Makayla (who I've also known since I was little and is the peanut butter to my jelly) and then the kids, but it got switched. The girl who I thought was going to be my sister's helper, Ilysa, who I don't really like at all, ended up taking Mak's place due to lack of staff. I was pretty bummed. Then came the kids in my group.
Team "Salty":
There's Mattie (6), who is the youngest of the Johnson family's adopted African kids; Casey (6? 7?) and his friend Kurtis; sisters Hadley (8) and Taylor (7?) who are both adopted from China; Jocelyn (9?), who is Ilysa's little sister; Logan (3), who is allergic to everything; and Matthew Quarter (11). I hate Matthew Quarter.
The first day was kind of crazy. Ilysa was not helping me at all. She, instead, was talking and making fun of everything with Matthew and Jocelyn while I chased small children around from station to station. It's a good thing I had to leave early for an interview for Bird Watched High School* (which I got accepted, by the way!), or I would have lost my mind.
I complained to Dana (head VBS person?), and she was able to get me another helper named Simon Hayden (12) to assist me. Things have been noticeably better since then.
The Schedule? Praise, Crafts/God-Sightings, Games, Story Time, Snack, Praise, End. It takes two and a half hours.
I feel like the lessons have been great. The kids are following Paul and Peter's journeys after Jesus ascended into heaven as they evangelize to the Gentiles. Hence High Seas Expedition. So far we've learned through them that God's Word is True, God's Word is Comforting, God's Word is Surprising, and God's Word is Life-Changing.
Today was the most intense day we've had so far. We played all our activities on how Christ laid is life down for us because we deserved to die and he didn't want us to. I've been realizing exactly the extent of what Jesus did for me on the cross these past two months since Kyle started being our youth pastor. Like, every single one of my sins would take an eternity in hell to pay for just one. Jesus not only took all of my sins, though. He took the entire worlds'! Past, present, and future. Every single person's. And he bore all of that in three hours.
Dude.
That is intense.
Wanna know my God Sighting today? I got into Bird Watched High* a few days ago, and I barely even met the qualifications. It costs three thousand dollars a year, which is more than my family can pay for. My grandparents called this morning and told my mom that they wanted to pay one thousand dollars of my tuition each semester I was in school, and my mom got accepted for a job at the pastry shop. I didn't think I could pass the math placement test to get into Algebra II, and the board decided I didn't have to take it because I had evidence of having a B in Geometry last year.
God is truth! God is comforting! God is surprising! And most of all, God is Life Changing. VBS lessons aren't just for kids, folks, they're for highschoolers, too!
*You are aware I change the names of everything, right?
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Friends and Family
So, Kendra, I totally am stealing your idea of telling everyone who's who in your life in a post so that people don't get confused and I don't have to keep explaining how I know people.
Anyway, here we go.
Family:
Pets:
Friends Close Enough to Be Family:
Bloggers:
That's me and the people in my life. How about yours?
Anyway, here we go.
Family:
- My adoptive dad (also answers to "God") is the creator of the universe. He's adopted many other kids all over the world, and helps every one of them who need it. He also knows every single one of them like they were his only child, which is really cool, because he takes all that time out of his day to talk to a couple billion of them. He resides in a really big house, you know, way up there.
- My earthly Daddy (Lee) is a civil engineer. He's a very calm guy, very strong, very smart. I couldn't think of a better guy to have in my life and raise me the way God would want me to live. Even in the most dire situations, you can always count on my dad to remain calm.
- Mom (Karen) is a freelance artist. She's sparky and silly and one of the strangest people I have ever met. And I wouldn't have her any other way. She and I are very close, and very much alike.
- Kristen (17) is a senior in high school. She's also spunky and silly, but also has a very stern side to her like my dad does. She's also pretty dang strict. But, she and I are like two peas in a pod, giggling and teasing each other to no end.
- Daniel (12) is a seventh grader. He has the most beautiful strawberry-blonde hair. He's beginning to become one of those stupid teenage boys who don't know how to do anything and don't want to do anything other than skate, text, and hang out with his little girlfriends. He also doesn't want to do anything my mom asks him to.
Pets:
- Maggie (9). A black miniature, neurotic, schnauzer-poodle. That stupid dog won't die.
- Sabine (8). Our black miniature daschound with a long, bald scar down her back and a bite out of her ear. We adopted her from a shelter a year ago and have no idea what happened to her. But, she's very sweet.
- Boaz (2). Big, white, fluffy maremma sheepdog. Kind of a dope, really nice, but a great guard-dog.
- Summer (6). My cat. Grey, cute, and mellow. Never comes downstairs.
- Cocoa (6). My difficult buckskin horse.
- Keena and Allie (6 and 7). Identical creamy Indian paint horses. We've had them a year and a half and I still can't tell them apart.
- Bonnie (3). The baby, brown, black, and white paint horse. She's the little sister of Keena and Allie who injured her leg and almost had to be put down. But, now since she's been man-handled so much, she likes human company a lot.
Friends Close Enough to Be Family:
- My godparents (Kent and Sheila) and godsisters (Sydney, 17; and Cecily, 15). My mom and Sheila used to be roommates, and are now best of friends. Strangely enough, she ended up having her two daughters around the time that my mom did, and so now Kristen and I have best friends who live in Washington State that we never, ever see. But, we love them :)
- Chris and Cathy, our youth leaders. Two of the tallest people I know, and both loads of fun. Chris and Kristen are like brother and sister, even though he's almost in his thirties. He makes fun of everything Kristen does because she's so darn tiny and he's so darn giant. Cathy used to be my mentor.
- Rachel (15). One of my two best friends, Rachel and I are so alike that it's scary. She absolutely loves dinosaurs and skinny jeans, also has 4S, and just understands me. I love her to death :)
- Kyle, my youth pastor, and his wife, Mandee. They have a two year old daughter named Karis and a one-month-old son named Owen.
- Ashley "Fang" (15). She's one of my two best friends that I met at youth group. She's Asian and "scene", not emo, she says. She understands me more in personality, which balences Rachel as the one who understands me situationally. I don't know what I'd do without either of them!
- Ruby (15). How cool is it that she has red hair? She and I have been best friends since the fourth grade. I had to leave our old elementary school because it was private and expensive, but we've communicated long-distance ever since.
- Alex (16). He's short. He's awesome. He's Alex. A kid wise beyond his years.
- Rink (20). She's was a senior when I was a seventh grader, but now she's our summer youth intern.
- Hannah (15). From my school. Short, awesome, and loves Skillet almost as much as I do! She also always has awesome shoes :)
- Jake (15). From my school and one of my closer friends there. He's very tall and skinny, but hilarious, quirky, and twitchy. He also has a way of slithering away and just appearing next to you suddenly. Best friends with Rachel.
- Rebekah (15). From school. I don't really know a lot about her except she's funny and tiny and has red hair. She also enjoys hugs, is best friends with Alyssa and Nathan (I think?).
- Alyssa (15). From school. I also don't know a ton about her. But, I love her, she's very nice, laughs a lot, and is best friends with Rebekah.
- Nathan (15). From school, not a lot known about him. He's nice and carried my bin to the car one day, which I appreciated greatly thanks to my bad back :)
- Ben (16?). He talks to me in my first study hall period. He's Jake's older brother by thirteen months.
- Sara Moore (15). She used to be my best friend the first half of freshman year, and then betrayed me to remain friends with Michael Newman.
- Michael Newman (15). Used to be my best friend in eighth grade, but then turned and bullied me all of freshman year.
- Ryan (15). Enthusiastic atheist. Also an enthusiastic persecutor of Christians after he stopped being friends with me at the middle of last year.
- Christina (15). I actually don't know why she hates me. I think it was because she was in love with Michael, and I hated him. I was always ever looking out for her (because she was depressed, suicidal, and cutting herself), and was trying to help. But she just hated me.
Bloggers:
- Kendra Logan! I've actually never met her in person, but Internet-wise, we're pretty good friends. Kendra, I would like to tell you right now that I'm not a creepy, forty-year-old man trying to find out information about you so I can come to kill you with a chain-saw!
That's me and the people in my life. How about yours?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Things I Hate:
- Boys.
- Friends who make my life awkward.
- Having to switch schools. The process is long and complicated.
- When things don't go according to plan. My stupid, thought-out-by-a-fifteen-year-old plans.
- Cats who pee on your new comforter, sheets, and mattress and make your room smell like a nursing home.
- Not being able to drive.
- Hormones.
- Writer's block.
- My fatefully creative brain. How come I can't be good at being book smart? How come I can't remember anything anyone teaches me?
- Being a pessimist.
- Being fifteen.
- Having a catrillion medical problems my family can't afford to fix.
- Not being filthy rich like 90% of my old school.
- Having 4S.
- When my computer freaks out and acts like the world is going to end if I "don't find a power source soon" because I have 7% power left on my laptop.
- Mothers who hate sappy things. I happen to like sappy things; what's wrong with that?
- Having to list these things out on my blog because I have no friends to complain to.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
It's Wednesday, People.
So, Ashley spent the night at my house last night and we talked a while about future careers. I'd like to be an artist. I really would. It's always been my dream to attend Columbus Art Institute just like my mom did and become some sort of famous artist. But, I know that that's not probable, and the only artists who become famous are, like, prodigies. I'll probably be dirt poor and single with only a German shepherd named Forte to keep me company.
On the other hand, I could become a vet, have said dog with a successful husband who loves me and 2.4 children to keep me busy outside of work. Would I be as happy? I'm not sure.
Ashley says her family is urging her to become a musical therapist, pleasing small crowds of six old, dying patients in nursing homes by dinging triangles and shaking tambourines to simple tunes. That's not really what she wants to do, she says. She's always loved performing arts like drama and symphonies, not therapy.
The whole money thing really puts a damper on your dreams. Never tell someone who's good at drawing to say you wish you could draw like them, because let me tell you this: NOBODY NEEDS ARTISTS. Artists make no money! If you're good at math and can't draw, consider yourself lucky. You're good at something useful.
I'm like, "Thanks, God, for gifting me with useless talents."
Writing, drawing, and music.
I understand writing is useful, like James Patterson is a fantastic storyteller. But I'm not fantastic. I'm good.
"Good" doesn't make the cut.
That's all I have to say about that.
Today my brother fell off a horse. Ashley, him, and I were all riding around our property today, and our maremma sheepdog, Bo, decided it would be a good idea to try and play with Allie. The horse Daniel just happened to be riding. Now, let me tell you something: Daniel is not a good rider. On top of all his flaws in this area, he doesn't ever hold his reins tight enough.
If your reigns aren't tight, you can't stop your horse if they suddenly flip out and start booking it in a random direction.
So, Bo freaks Allie out, and Daniel is now being carried at top speed in said direction with no control. He never really screams unless he's really, truly scared for his life (like the time he was hallucinating when he was sick one time and thought a cruise ship was going to fall on his room...), so when I heard him really screaming, I knew something was up.
It was practically in slow motion. One second he's on the horse, and the other, he's being flung into the air onto the hard, Colorado plains' soil rear-first. Thankfully, Mom had talked him into wearing a helmet, so no major damage was done to his head, but he has a nasty bruise now on his upper thigh where he fell. He's also milking his injury to get out of, say, helping me watch a spastic two-year-old or doing the dishes by himself.
Well? Boys will be boys. And those who are prepubescent and lack masculinity...
On the other hand, I could become a vet, have said dog with a successful husband who loves me and 2.4 children to keep me busy outside of work. Would I be as happy? I'm not sure.
Ashley says her family is urging her to become a musical therapist, pleasing small crowds of six old, dying patients in nursing homes by dinging triangles and shaking tambourines to simple tunes. That's not really what she wants to do, she says. She's always loved performing arts like drama and symphonies, not therapy.
The whole money thing really puts a damper on your dreams. Never tell someone who's good at drawing to say you wish you could draw like them, because let me tell you this: NOBODY NEEDS ARTISTS. Artists make no money! If you're good at math and can't draw, consider yourself lucky. You're good at something useful.
I'm like, "Thanks, God, for gifting me with useless talents."
Writing, drawing, and music.
I understand writing is useful, like James Patterson is a fantastic storyteller. But I'm not fantastic. I'm good.
"Good" doesn't make the cut.
That's all I have to say about that.
Today my brother fell off a horse. Ashley, him, and I were all riding around our property today, and our maremma sheepdog, Bo, decided it would be a good idea to try and play with Allie. The horse Daniel just happened to be riding. Now, let me tell you something: Daniel is not a good rider. On top of all his flaws in this area, he doesn't ever hold his reins tight enough.
If your reigns aren't tight, you can't stop your horse if they suddenly flip out and start booking it in a random direction.
So, Bo freaks Allie out, and Daniel is now being carried at top speed in said direction with no control. He never really screams unless he's really, truly scared for his life (like the time he was hallucinating when he was sick one time and thought a cruise ship was going to fall on his room...), so when I heard him really screaming, I knew something was up.
It was practically in slow motion. One second he's on the horse, and the other, he's being flung into the air onto the hard, Colorado plains' soil rear-first. Thankfully, Mom had talked him into wearing a helmet, so no major damage was done to his head, but he has a nasty bruise now on his upper thigh where he fell. He's also milking his injury to get out of, say, helping me watch a spastic two-year-old or doing the dishes by himself.
Well? Boys will be boys. And those who are prepubescent and lack masculinity...
Monday, July 12, 2010
Rafting Trip
Over the weekend, my youth group embarked on a rafting and camping trip. There was three pairs of sisters: Me and Kristen, Sarah and Macy, and Ashley and Becca; and then there was Alex, Michael Anderson, my little brother Daniel, and this awkward kid named Jim (whom I think was thirteen, or something) that Chris brought along that belonged to his boss. Rink, Kyle, Neb, and Tracy (Neb's wife) came along to supervise.
The ride up sucked just a bit. It was like my own personal hell confined into one car. You see, the Smith sisters, Sarah and Macy, love gum. Not only do they love gum, but they also enjoy popping it. So, us three pairs of sisters, Rink (she is a girl, by the way. And in college, but is our summer intern), and Kyle were all crammed into one SUV.
It was all fun until Macy asked everyone if they would like a piece of gum. Everything went downhill from there. Macy has gotten better about not popping her gum since she graduated, but Sarah, who was sitting between me and Kristen, has not. Long story short, I was condemned to listen to my iPod very loud. So, I busied myself with creating a playlist made out of my loudest, screaming music and blocked the sound with that. Then Rink broke the chips out for everyone to eat. I was then forced to turn my iPod up as loud as it went in order to stay sane. See, despite what others think, I actually don't like listening to my music really loud. It hurts my head.
The boys had gone up earlier with Chris (is it funny that every time I type his name, I accidentally type "Christ"?), and so all of the tents were set up and ready to go for us. The girls all shared my dad's eight person tent, while the boys were placed a good ten feet away from us and the fire pit.
Immediately, Kristen and I pulled our cots out and set them out while ignoring the jabs Chris (not Christ) threw about us being "wimpy campers". Usually, our family would be sleeping in a cosy, cooshy, ugly RV at a KOA somewhere. Cots, to Kristen and I, were a step up from that.
Dinner of quarter pound hamburger patties roasted over the camp fire and bags of chips filled our hungry stomachs as we talked about life around as a group. Kristen, despite being 5"3 and barely a hundred pounds somehow managed to consume an entire pound of beef, which we all thought was pretty funny. Then the boys decided to attack Rink's beautiful, curly brown hair with shaving cream, and so in the middle of the night, a few of us girls got up and popped their tent rods out of the ground and made it fall down on top of them.
In the morning, we had to scurry and put on our clothing and pack everything back up and stick it in one of the cars. An hour later, we were all in our swim suits and non-cotton clothing, ready to raft in the rapids. (Did you catch that alliteration there? I'm awesome.) Because the Smiths, shocker, were already munching on gum, I decided to join the special boat with Daniel, Kristen, Ashley, and Kyle's sister-in-law. You had to be sixteen to be in the boats without a guide sitting and doing all the work for you, or at least fourteen if you'd rafted before. Daniel was twelve, and Ashley was fifteen with no rafting experience, so I joined their boat without question; Kristen following right behind me.
So, the day went pretty smoothly without anyone except Jim falling out of the boat. Because Jim would fall out. There was this one place called Twin Falls where all the water collected in a violent bowl/sink hole thing, and the nose of our raft just happened to get wedged under the water pouring in. Our boat began to fill up with water, and I watched, clinging to the steel frame while my little brother barely managed being sucked out into the pool. We finally broke free, thanks to our fantastic guide, and emerged unharmed.
"I'm surprised you all stayed in!" Bella, our guide, exclaimed afterward. "Props to you guys!"
Other than that and getting splashed continuously by Chris, nothing horrible happened.
Right after we'd finished our seventeen mile course, we changed into dry clothing and headed to the cars we'd be driving home in.
"We have some room in our car if anyone's interested," Neb offered our entire group, but nobody took it.
I turned and opened the door of Kyle's car to see Sarah chomping on an apple, then made a snap decision.
"Neb!" I called, and he turned around. "I think I'll take you up on that offer, if that's alright."
So, I moved all of my things into their car. Daniel also decided the come with us, because he is great friends with Neb and Tracy, and so the car ride was vastly more entertaining than it would have been.
Kristen drove Daniel and I home as soon as we got home from the church where we all met to say goodbye. What did I see? A horse trailer full of office furniture. Was I thoroughly confused? Yes.
"Um," I asked my dad, "What's going on here?"
"Remember that our office moved?" he asked me.
I nodded.
"Well, all the furniture from the old place was up for grabs, so I took the opportunity to take as much as I could and bring it home for all of you."
"Oh," I said, frowning. "I see."
So, now I have an awesome spinny-rolly office chair for my desk and a massive CD case holder on top of my headboard/table thing. I wasn't aware I had so much music until I filled it up!
In the basement, we have a full set of leather waiting room chairs with nowhere to go along with six cork boards with no home. It's like Office Max exploded.
The ride up sucked just a bit. It was like my own personal hell confined into one car. You see, the Smith sisters, Sarah and Macy, love gum. Not only do they love gum, but they also enjoy popping it. So, us three pairs of sisters, Rink (she is a girl, by the way. And in college, but is our summer intern), and Kyle were all crammed into one SUV.
It was all fun until Macy asked everyone if they would like a piece of gum. Everything went downhill from there. Macy has gotten better about not popping her gum since she graduated, but Sarah, who was sitting between me and Kristen, has not. Long story short, I was condemned to listen to my iPod very loud. So, I busied myself with creating a playlist made out of my loudest, screaming music and blocked the sound with that. Then Rink broke the chips out for everyone to eat. I was then forced to turn my iPod up as loud as it went in order to stay sane. See, despite what others think, I actually don't like listening to my music really loud. It hurts my head.
The boys had gone up earlier with Chris (is it funny that every time I type his name, I accidentally type "Christ"?), and so all of the tents were set up and ready to go for us. The girls all shared my dad's eight person tent, while the boys were placed a good ten feet away from us and the fire pit.
Immediately, Kristen and I pulled our cots out and set them out while ignoring the jabs Chris (not Christ) threw about us being "wimpy campers". Usually, our family would be sleeping in a cosy, cooshy, ugly RV at a KOA somewhere. Cots, to Kristen and I, were a step up from that.
Dinner of quarter pound hamburger patties roasted over the camp fire and bags of chips filled our hungry stomachs as we talked about life around as a group. Kristen, despite being 5"3 and barely a hundred pounds somehow managed to consume an entire pound of beef, which we all thought was pretty funny. Then the boys decided to attack Rink's beautiful, curly brown hair with shaving cream, and so in the middle of the night, a few of us girls got up and popped their tent rods out of the ground and made it fall down on top of them.
In the morning, we had to scurry and put on our clothing and pack everything back up and stick it in one of the cars. An hour later, we were all in our swim suits and non-cotton clothing, ready to raft in the rapids. (Did you catch that alliteration there? I'm awesome.) Because the Smiths, shocker, were already munching on gum, I decided to join the special boat with Daniel, Kristen, Ashley, and Kyle's sister-in-law. You had to be sixteen to be in the boats without a guide sitting and doing all the work for you, or at least fourteen if you'd rafted before. Daniel was twelve, and Ashley was fifteen with no rafting experience, so I joined their boat without question; Kristen following right behind me.
So, the day went pretty smoothly without anyone except Jim falling out of the boat. Because Jim would fall out. There was this one place called Twin Falls where all the water collected in a violent bowl/sink hole thing, and the nose of our raft just happened to get wedged under the water pouring in. Our boat began to fill up with water, and I watched, clinging to the steel frame while my little brother barely managed being sucked out into the pool. We finally broke free, thanks to our fantastic guide, and emerged unharmed.
"I'm surprised you all stayed in!" Bella, our guide, exclaimed afterward. "Props to you guys!"
Other than that and getting splashed continuously by Chris, nothing horrible happened.
Right after we'd finished our seventeen mile course, we changed into dry clothing and headed to the cars we'd be driving home in.
"We have some room in our car if anyone's interested," Neb offered our entire group, but nobody took it.
I turned and opened the door of Kyle's car to see Sarah chomping on an apple, then made a snap decision.
"Neb!" I called, and he turned around. "I think I'll take you up on that offer, if that's alright."
So, I moved all of my things into their car. Daniel also decided the come with us, because he is great friends with Neb and Tracy, and so the car ride was vastly more entertaining than it would have been.
Kristen drove Daniel and I home as soon as we got home from the church where we all met to say goodbye. What did I see? A horse trailer full of office furniture. Was I thoroughly confused? Yes.
"Um," I asked my dad, "What's going on here?"
"Remember that our office moved?" he asked me.
I nodded.
"Well, all the furniture from the old place was up for grabs, so I took the opportunity to take as much as I could and bring it home for all of you."
"Oh," I said, frowning. "I see."
So, now I have an awesome spinny-rolly office chair for my desk and a massive CD case holder on top of my headboard/table thing. I wasn't aware I had so much music until I filled it up!
In the basement, we have a full set of leather waiting room chairs with nowhere to go along with six cork boards with no home. It's like Office Max exploded.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Me and Music + The Monster Living in Me
It's a funny thing, music. To me, it's something different to what others see it as. Some people think they like music, but they don't know the half of what it means to truely enjoy it. I live and breathe melodies. Lyrics are my oxygen, and blaring guitars fuel my fire.
Go down to the very bottom of my blog where my music box is. Do you see it? Good. Press the "pause" button.
Alright. This is a song by Skillet that didn't have meaning to me until this weekend until I listened to the lyrics and realized it totally discribed me living with 4S and how I try to hide it from every one.
Press play and read along with the lyrics.
The secret side of me
I never let you see
I keep it caged
But I can't control it
So stay away from me
The beast is ugly
I feel the rage
And I just can't hold it
It's scratching on the walls
In the closet, in the halls
It comes awake
And I can't control it
Hiding under the bed
In my body, in my head
Why won't somebody come and save me from this?
Make it end!
I feel it deep within,
It's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I hate what I've become
The nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I feel like a monster
My secret side I keep
Hid under lock and key
I keep it caged
But I can't control it
Cause if I let him out
He'll tear me up
And break me down
Why won't somebody come and save me from this?
Make it end!
I feel it deep within,
It's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I hate what I've become
The nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I feel like a monster
It's hiding in the dark
It's teeth are razor sharp
There's no escape for me
It wants my soul,
It wants my heart
No one can hear me scream
Maybe it's just a dream
Or maybe it's inside of me
Stop this monster!
I feel it deep within,
It's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I hate what I've become
The nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I feel like a monster
I'd thought about how I really feel like I am some sort of monster all of the time. Like, I can't really help anything I do anymore. I keep it caged and hidden from everyone else, but I can't control it. I want everyone to leave me alone because I'm afraid they'll find out about this beast living inside of me and not want to accept it. I want someone to save me from it and make it end, but I know that nothing will make that happen. I'm stuck with this for the rest of my life.
Go down to the very bottom of my blog where my music box is. Do you see it? Good. Press the "pause" button.
Alright. This is a song by Skillet that didn't have meaning to me until this weekend until I listened to the lyrics and realized it totally discribed me living with 4S and how I try to hide it from every one.
Press play and read along with the lyrics.
The secret side of me
I never let you see
I keep it caged
But I can't control it
So stay away from me
The beast is ugly
I feel the rage
And I just can't hold it
It's scratching on the walls
In the closet, in the halls
It comes awake
And I can't control it
Hiding under the bed
In my body, in my head
Why won't somebody come and save me from this?
Make it end!
I feel it deep within,
It's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I hate what I've become
The nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I feel like a monster
My secret side I keep
Hid under lock and key
I keep it caged
But I can't control it
Cause if I let him out
He'll tear me up
And break me down
Why won't somebody come and save me from this?
Make it end!
I feel it deep within,
It's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I hate what I've become
The nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I feel like a monster
It's hiding in the dark
It's teeth are razor sharp
There's no escape for me
It wants my soul,
It wants my heart
No one can hear me scream
Maybe it's just a dream
Or maybe it's inside of me
Stop this monster!
I feel it deep within,
It's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I hate what I've become
The nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I
Feel like a monster
I feel like a monster
I'd thought about how I really feel like I am some sort of monster all of the time. Like, I can't really help anything I do anymore. I keep it caged and hidden from everyone else, but I can't control it. I want everyone to leave me alone because I'm afraid they'll find out about this beast living inside of me and not want to accept it. I want someone to save me from it and make it end, but I know that nothing will make that happen. I'm stuck with this for the rest of my life.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
Fourth of July + Life Update
These last couple days have been interesting. Let's see, when did I last post? Wow, last Saturday. It's been a while. Alright, I can work with that.
(This paragraph is a little graphic, so males, if you don't feel comfortable reading this, I suggest you skip to the next one.) Last Monday, I went to an OB-GYN for a pelvic exam (which is EXACLTY what you think it is), and the doctor confirmed I don't have ovarian cysts. It was a little awkward for a while because they all acted like I came in to find out if I was pregnant, but after that question was answered beyond a shadow of a doubt, we were all good. The doctor put me on medroxyprogesterone to trigger a menstrual because I haven't had one since April, and she thinks that perhaps after I've had one, I'll begin to even out. She said that if I don't feel better after I've had one, she'll send me to the back doctor to see if maybe my scoliosis is creating pain in my groin area. And that's the scoop on my medical issues for this week.
On Tuesday, I did nothing until we had TNL (Tuesday Night Live, or youth group) at a friend's house.
For the Fourth, my family and I went up to our condo in Frisco, which is a very small town in the mountains between Breckenridge and Lake Dillon. Mostly, we chillaxed and watched TV, because there's cable up there, and not here at my house. We also rode our bikes around to Abbey's Coffee and got ice cream, watched the parade, and looked at art galleries. The last day, my sister, my mom, and I went shopping in Breckenridge.
A few hours after that when we were all packing to get ready to leave, my dad was attempting to fix the glass shower door which had come off it's track and called me in to help him.
"Just hold that right there, Stephany," he instructed, holding the metal top rod (I really don't know what to call it) carefully until I could take over.
Not a few seconds after that, I managed to let the rod slip and shatter one of the glass doors. There was glass everywhere. Like, little pieces of glass the size of pennies, not shattering into easy-to-pick up sheets.
I did one of those moments where you stand there and don't move because of the shock of what you just did. "Oh..." shit. I began to say the first part, but finished in my head. "Sorry!"
My dad ever so calmly put his head in his hands and sat down on the toilet. He didn't yell at me or say a word.
My mother appeared behind me and was like, "What happened?!"
I then noticed a few cuts dripping blood on each of my father's legs. "I, well, Dad needed someone to help him, and I came in and..."
"It wasn't your fault," my dad said, rubbing his eyes. "It was...the top rod twisted and banged the glass, right?"
"I think so," I said.
He exhaled, obviously pissed at the situation, seeing that we're trying to sell the condo. "Go over to WalMart and buy a shower curtain and a rack."
I accompanied my mom and brother on that shopping escapade, and we were able to fix the situation for the most part. The new curtain actually gave the bathroom a little bit of color, which was kind of an improvement.
I couldn't help but think that it's a good thing my dad's a Christian and a good father, because I could have seen another man in his situation yelling at me or calling me names. My dad's just so...calm. It's nice. He's a great guy.
In other news, I'm heading off to the mountains again this Friday for a camping and rafting trip with a bunch of youth group buddies. Kyle, Chris (red-head Chris), Neb (the other Chris), Me, Kristen, Daniel, Ashley, her sister Becca and maybe their brother Jared, Alex, Caleb, and Michael Anderson are all going. It's going to be really, really fun. Let's just all try and stay in our boats and not die, and it'll all work out for all of us!
I really hope we don't have to hike, because I'm about the most out-of-shape kid on the trip. Not to mention back pains and having a period all at the same time! And we had a finger-blaster war at youth group yesterday and I'm really sore from it. (Finger Blasters being those little foam rockets you can shoot by a rubber loop at the front.)
That's been my week. How was yours?
(This paragraph is a little graphic, so males, if you don't feel comfortable reading this, I suggest you skip to the next one.) Last Monday, I went to an OB-GYN for a pelvic exam (which is EXACLTY what you think it is), and the doctor confirmed I don't have ovarian cysts. It was a little awkward for a while because they all acted like I came in to find out if I was pregnant, but after that question was answered beyond a shadow of a doubt, we were all good. The doctor put me on medroxyprogesterone to trigger a menstrual because I haven't had one since April, and she thinks that perhaps after I've had one, I'll begin to even out. She said that if I don't feel better after I've had one, she'll send me to the back doctor to see if maybe my scoliosis is creating pain in my groin area. And that's the scoop on my medical issues for this week.
On Tuesday, I did nothing until we had TNL (Tuesday Night Live, or youth group) at a friend's house.
For the Fourth, my family and I went up to our condo in Frisco, which is a very small town in the mountains between Breckenridge and Lake Dillon. Mostly, we chillaxed and watched TV, because there's cable up there, and not here at my house. We also rode our bikes around to Abbey's Coffee and got ice cream, watched the parade, and looked at art galleries. The last day, my sister, my mom, and I went shopping in Breckenridge.
A few hours after that when we were all packing to get ready to leave, my dad was attempting to fix the glass shower door which had come off it's track and called me in to help him.
"Just hold that right there, Stephany," he instructed, holding the metal top rod (I really don't know what to call it) carefully until I could take over.
Not a few seconds after that, I managed to let the rod slip and shatter one of the glass doors. There was glass everywhere. Like, little pieces of glass the size of pennies, not shattering into easy-to-pick up sheets.
I did one of those moments where you stand there and don't move because of the shock of what you just did. "Oh..." shit. I began to say the first part, but finished in my head. "Sorry!"
My dad ever so calmly put his head in his hands and sat down on the toilet. He didn't yell at me or say a word.
My mother appeared behind me and was like, "What happened?!"
I then noticed a few cuts dripping blood on each of my father's legs. "I, well, Dad needed someone to help him, and I came in and..."
"It wasn't your fault," my dad said, rubbing his eyes. "It was...the top rod twisted and banged the glass, right?"
"I think so," I said.
He exhaled, obviously pissed at the situation, seeing that we're trying to sell the condo. "Go over to WalMart and buy a shower curtain and a rack."
I accompanied my mom and brother on that shopping escapade, and we were able to fix the situation for the most part. The new curtain actually gave the bathroom a little bit of color, which was kind of an improvement.
I couldn't help but think that it's a good thing my dad's a Christian and a good father, because I could have seen another man in his situation yelling at me or calling me names. My dad's just so...calm. It's nice. He's a great guy.
In other news, I'm heading off to the mountains again this Friday for a camping and rafting trip with a bunch of youth group buddies. Kyle, Chris (red-head Chris), Neb (the other Chris), Me, Kristen, Daniel, Ashley, her sister Becca and maybe their brother Jared, Alex, Caleb, and Michael Anderson are all going. It's going to be really, really fun. Let's just all try and stay in our boats and not die, and it'll all work out for all of us!
I really hope we don't have to hike, because I'm about the most out-of-shape kid on the trip. Not to mention back pains and having a period all at the same time! And we had a finger-blaster war at youth group yesterday and I'm really sore from it. (Finger Blasters being those little foam rockets you can shoot by a rubber loop at the front.)
That's been my week. How was yours?
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Another Wonderful Day Feeling Woozy
Today, I woke up and headed downstairs, where James (the two year old who looks like Leonardo di Caprio with Wolverine's hair) thought it was a good idea to collide with me and punch me in the groin. Gotta love boys, right?
I spent the morning to doing absolutely nothing, and at 12:30, had to begin drinking my thirty-two ounces of water. Let me tell you, it is not easy to drink that much straight water, let alone hold it for two hours. Mom and I were late for my ultrasound by fifteen minutes, but were able to fill out the forms and get to the waiting room just in time.
"Code blue," the intercom said, "Code blue."
I leaned over my seat to my mother and said, "Code periwinkle."
Five minutes later, a cheerful brunette woman appeared in front of me and motioned for me to come along. "Are you Stephany?" she asked me.
"Yes, I am," I replied.
"Good. I'm Sherry, and I'll be giving you your ultrasound today! Did we tell you to fill your bladder before you got here?" the nurse asked after securing the ultra-fashionable hospital bracelet around my wrist.
"Oh, yeah," I said. I had to piss like a racewhale.
She walked us down to a room in the radiology ward where a big computer was positioned next to a gurney with a hospital gown and a sheet folded neatly on it. "Okay, Stephany, I need you to strip from the waist down and put this on, then sit down on the bed and get under the sheet. I'll be right back."
She drew the curtain and disappeared through the door.
I looked at my mom, who stepped behind the curtain to give me some privacy, and then I did just as the nurse instructed. My mom sat back down in her seat and asked me, "How do you feel?"
With all seriousness I said, "I. Have. To pee."
I honestly didn't think that I was going to make it. Was it even possible to have to go that bad? Was it possible to not wet myself?
"Code yellow," she said.
I laughed, jostling my way-too-full bladder and grimaced. "I hate you," I said between laughs.
The nurse reappeared and turned off the light, squeezing jelly on my abdomen. "This is going to be a little warm."
My muscles down there keeping my urine in my body relaxed some, and I panicked a little. What would happen if I peed on the bed? Had that even ever happened before?
Then she said, "Hold still," and dug the little probe into my belly, right where my bladder was. I closed my eyes and bit my lip. If I wet myself, Mom will never let me live it down.
After ten minutes of her poking and prodding, she wiped the jelly off and stood up. "Well, the good news is there's nothing there. The bad news is...she's going to die."
Just kidding.
She said I have follicles. And they're only a centimeter across each. I guess they go away within a few cycles.
Wait, what? I've been dying in agony for two months and there's nothing big? Are you kidding me?
So, in short, I don't have cysts. I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess my urine tests last week came back with something out of the ordinary. And I still have those blood tests Colin took. So, there's still other things that could be wrong.
Anyway, so I did nothing today. I felt to light-headed and dizzy to play with James, so he walked around muttering 'shuperdidder' and 'monner' to himself all day. We still haven't figured out why he walks up to me and says, "Monner, come on!" and then points to his cheese and crackers and says, "It's a monner!"
Either the cheese is 'monner', or I am, James. Decide.
Also, I must share a few drawings I found on DeviantArt.com today. This person has some serious skills with drawing. I am jealous.
I spent the morning to doing absolutely nothing, and at 12:30, had to begin drinking my thirty-two ounces of water. Let me tell you, it is not easy to drink that much straight water, let alone hold it for two hours. Mom and I were late for my ultrasound by fifteen minutes, but were able to fill out the forms and get to the waiting room just in time.
"Code blue," the intercom said, "Code blue."
I leaned over my seat to my mother and said, "Code periwinkle."
Five minutes later, a cheerful brunette woman appeared in front of me and motioned for me to come along. "Are you Stephany?" she asked me.
"Yes, I am," I replied.
"Good. I'm Sherry, and I'll be giving you your ultrasound today! Did we tell you to fill your bladder before you got here?" the nurse asked after securing the ultra-fashionable hospital bracelet around my wrist.
"Oh, yeah," I said. I had to piss like a racewhale.
She walked us down to a room in the radiology ward where a big computer was positioned next to a gurney with a hospital gown and a sheet folded neatly on it. "Okay, Stephany, I need you to strip from the waist down and put this on, then sit down on the bed and get under the sheet. I'll be right back."
She drew the curtain and disappeared through the door.
I looked at my mom, who stepped behind the curtain to give me some privacy, and then I did just as the nurse instructed. My mom sat back down in her seat and asked me, "How do you feel?"
With all seriousness I said, "I. Have. To pee."
I honestly didn't think that I was going to make it. Was it even possible to have to go that bad? Was it possible to not wet myself?
"Code yellow," she said.
I laughed, jostling my way-too-full bladder and grimaced. "I hate you," I said between laughs.
The nurse reappeared and turned off the light, squeezing jelly on my abdomen. "This is going to be a little warm."
My muscles down there keeping my urine in my body relaxed some, and I panicked a little. What would happen if I peed on the bed? Had that even ever happened before?
Then she said, "Hold still," and dug the little probe into my belly, right where my bladder was. I closed my eyes and bit my lip. If I wet myself, Mom will never let me live it down.
After ten minutes of her poking and prodding, she wiped the jelly off and stood up. "Well, the good news is there's nothing there. The bad news is...she's going to die."
Just kidding.
She said I have follicles. And they're only a centimeter across each. I guess they go away within a few cycles.
Wait, what? I've been dying in agony for two months and there's nothing big? Are you kidding me?
So, in short, I don't have cysts. I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess my urine tests last week came back with something out of the ordinary. And I still have those blood tests Colin took. So, there's still other things that could be wrong.
Anyway, so I did nothing today. I felt to light-headed and dizzy to play with James, so he walked around muttering 'shuperdidder' and 'monner' to himself all day. We still haven't figured out why he walks up to me and says, "Monner, come on!" and then points to his cheese and crackers and says, "It's a monner!"
Either the cheese is 'monner', or I am, James. Decide.
Also, I must share a few drawings I found on DeviantArt.com today. This person has some serious skills with drawing. I am jealous.
(Max [the girl] and Fang from the Maximum Ride series by James Patterson)
Anyhow. Hope you all had a great few days! I still haven't been able to write anything, but hopefully inspiration will hit me. Oof!
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
It's Always Hard to Begin Writing a Story.
I always have had trouble with this. I never have any trouble coming up with a story that I should write, but I can never put it onto paper.
Wanna hear the idea?
Sunny is the fifth of six children in her family. Meaning, she's usually the one forgotten. The youngest always gets special attention, but nobody remembers the quiet and introverted fifth. Her father is a smart, successful businessman who expects all of his children to get great grades, but Sunny always falls behind; thus her father pays no attention to her. Her mother is in the hospital for leukemia and is the only other person she can connect with. But when she begins to be bullied by her ex-friends at school on top of her mother suddenly getting worse, her world is turned upside down.
Then she met Seth. She'd never met someone who's life was so much harder than hers, and yet was so happy. Slowly, Sunny begins to fall in love with him and begins to see hardships his way. She starts so see how she's not the only one hurting; there are people all over the world with problems worse than hers. She learns how she can do just little things and make a difference, just like Seth has. And she finds the reason Seth has such unfailing hope in his life.
What do you think? Any ideas how to get started? I've been mulling over the first chapter all summer and haven't gotten anywhere.
Wanna hear the idea?
Sunny is the fifth of six children in her family. Meaning, she's usually the one forgotten. The youngest always gets special attention, but nobody remembers the quiet and introverted fifth. Her father is a smart, successful businessman who expects all of his children to get great grades, but Sunny always falls behind; thus her father pays no attention to her. Her mother is in the hospital for leukemia and is the only other person she can connect with. But when she begins to be bullied by her ex-friends at school on top of her mother suddenly getting worse, her world is turned upside down.
Then she met Seth. She'd never met someone who's life was so much harder than hers, and yet was so happy. Slowly, Sunny begins to fall in love with him and begins to see hardships his way. She starts so see how she's not the only one hurting; there are people all over the world with problems worse than hers. She learns how she can do just little things and make a difference, just like Seth has. And she finds the reason Seth has such unfailing hope in his life.
What do you think? Any ideas how to get started? I've been mulling over the first chapter all summer and haven't gotten anywhere.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Ovarian Cysts. Hm. Okay.
So, today, after I had coffee with Maddie at noon, I went to the doctor because I've been having abdominal pain for the last two months or so. My pediatrician, Dr. B, is a splendid old woman, very smart, knows everything there is to know about anything. She'll prescribe you any drugs you need like she's giving away candy; which is why it's good I'm not a druggie, because I could get my hands on anything. But that's not the point.
Not only had I been having abdominal pain, but my upper thighs and my lower back hurt, as well. And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I wasn't pregnant, because that's out of the question, so I went in to see if I had, like, a urinary infection. (I research anything and everything on the Internet before going to a doctor because I'm Ms. Medical Problems. Call me Legion.)
She asked me all kinds of questions, because that's what doctors do, took a urine sample (you really didn't need to know that, I'm sorry) and she came to the conclusion I wasn't suffering from what I thought I was. She poked and prodded me until she was almost certain: ovarian cysts.
What is thaaat?? Well, they're fluid-filled sacs or pockets within or on the surface of a woman's ovaries. Sometimes they're only on one side, sometimes they're on both. Mine are probably on both sides, I think, because I'm having pain both places. (But I won't know until Thursday when I get an ultrasound. Exciting, I know. I have to drink 32 oz. of water before I get one and hold it until they're done! Why? I have no idea.)
Treatment usually consists of waiting for it to go away (if it's less than four centimeters), birth control pills (to calm down my hormones), or removal by surgery. Hopefully, I won't have to do surgery because I've read that trigger-happy surgeons sometimes will remove the whole ovary because they can, and that can lead to infertility because you don't have a freaking ovary anymore. I mean, not that my genetics are something I really want to pass off to a kid (4S, flat feet, scoliosis, chronic migraine headaches, bad eyesight, acne, depression, thyroid problems, need I go on?), but I kind of want to have a baby of my own eventually.
Anyhow, I really, really hope they can do something for me because I'm in a lot of pain and am walking around feeling like I need to fall over and/or puke because ovarian cysts cause nausea for whatever reason. Plus, I'm a hostess, and when my back hurts and my thighs hurt, I don't really feel like standing up. I'm not a horse, dangit.
Oh, and before I go, I want to explain to you why I hate getting my blood drawn at the place I have to go to. So, I never have a regular period, and thyroid problems run in my family (for example, my sister was born without one...), and so Dr. B was like, "Hey, let's send you down to the lab and test you for hormone imbalances," a couple months ago.
So, we go down there and there's this really awkward guy named "Colin" who has one of those faces that his mouth never closes all the way, and his big ugly teeth stick out like a rabbit. Not only is he awkward, but he's not very good at taking blood. Like, hello? I am a person, here! I have nerves, dangit! Last time he stuck me in the left arm, but something went wrong, so he stuck my right arm, and it worked. But this huge, ugly amount of blood pooled in my left arm and left this HUGE bruise that stayed for weeks.
Yeah. He took my blood today, too. Only, this time he did it right, and I don't have hideous, painful blemish covering my elbow. I walked in, saw him, and thought, [cue old western showdown theme music] "Ah...so we meet again."
I'm yearning for a companion. Not necessarily a romantic relationship, but just a friend. Have you ever really just needed a hug? I real hug. One that goes on and on, but neither of you say anything.
Who will love me for me?
Not for what I have done
Or what I will become
Who will love me for me?
'Cause nobody will show me what love
Love really means
- JJ Heller
Who will love me for me?
Not for what I have done
Or what I will become
Who will love me for me?
'Cause nobody will show me what love
Love really means
- JJ Heller
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Maybe I'm Not Depressed, Just Bi-Polar
I had kind of an emotionally crazy day. I got up to get ready for church and was fine until I went downstairs and my dad told me that, because it was Father's Day, we weren't allowed to use computers or iPods. I kind of flipped out once I got upstairs because I kind of need my iPod for basic human functioning that the rest of you people can do normally. I'm just so freaking special I can't walk downstairs in the morning while someone's eating cereal without my music turned up REALLY high.
Anyhow, I ended up getting trapped in my room for that exact reason; my little brother was eating cereal and banging his spoon against the sides of the bowl like he does all the time without noticing it. So, I listened to my CD I burned consisting of all the Skillet music that would fit on it in my stereo, sitting on my bed and hungrily waiting for fifteen minutes (because it would take Daniel fifteen minutes to finish a bowl of cereal). Usually when something 4S related inhibits me from doing a normal action that a normal person could do, my mood suddenly flips from, "Well, this sucks," to, "I want to commit suicide. Right now."
And, because Satan likes to mess with my mind, my thoughts quickly become very, very frighteningly depressed. As I listened to "Never Surrender" by Skillet and had to blink back my tears over and over again.
When we got into the car, my family quickly picked up on the fact I was in a really bad mood and promptly stopped talking to me (because whenever I'm angry, it's best not to). But, they thought I was mad because of my dad telling me I couldn't use my electronics today, so I could feel a constant Steph-is-being-difficult wring-her-neck vibe being sent from each one of my family members.
My pastor, Harlan, talked about how fathers who are followers of Christ, among other various suggestions, should spend time with their kids. "Kids spell 'love': T-I-M-E". Harlan said also that fathers should check up on their kids, comfort them, and love them. The whole time, I couldn't help but think, "My dad doesn't do any of these things!" Like, I know he loves me, but I always feel like he forgets me. My siblings are so happy-go-lucky, and I'm all gloom-and-doom all the time, so he tends to stay away from engaging in conversation with me. Plus, compared to my siblings, who am I? My sister is a history buff who wants to be a lawyer and my brother is great at math and wants to be an engineer. I'm Stupid Steph who can't decide between vet or artist. I'm also the introverted kid who spends a lot of time in my room, so why should he be compelled to come up every once in a while to see how I am?
After church, in fact, I hung out in my room for an hour contemplating suicide (because Satan likes to throw that into the list of possibilities of how to get rid of 4S) wishing somebody would come and talk to me. But nobody did. So, I migrated to the hammock on the front porch, passing by my dad while he read on the couch on my way to the front door. Nobody thought of coming out because "they hadn't seen me all afternoon". Then I tried a little harder and moved to one of the couches in the music room, in plain view of the whole house. Nada. Nothin'.
Defeated, I decided to just go to the Bat Cave (or the sparcely furnished crawl-space in my room) because nothing was working and I doodled and wrote on the walls.
And then it was time to go to Outback Steakhouse because my dad wanted to go there and everyone wondered why I wasn't talking. (Just an observation: Whenever I'm not speaking during social outings, the conversations held by the remaining members of my family are just...awkward and lifeless. My mom asked, "Are you okay?"
I rolled my eyes and said, "I'm fine," stressing the second word almost sarchastically.
I hate it when my family thinks it's a good idea to try and make me laugh when I'm pissed. It just makes me more pissed.
Now here's the twist about this whole thing: I got to work (as a hostess at a Mexican restaurant) an hour later and my mood suddenly changed from sad to moderately content. Talk about turning that frown upside down! I felt good enough to figure out how to fold the rag I use to wipe menus into a tight ball to keep my hands busy as I watched the FIFA World Cup on the bigscreen TV across from the hostess stand. Weird, right?
When I got home, I unloaded the dishwasher and sat by the firepit on the back porch with my family and cracked jokes lightheartedly like I normally do and as if nothing had happened all of today.
Bi-polar much? Scary. At least now I know to think to myelf, "No matter how depressed you feel, don't kill yourself yet, because once you go to work, you'll be just fine."
Maybe I should tell my boss I can come in more days.
Anyhow, I ended up getting trapped in my room for that exact reason; my little brother was eating cereal and banging his spoon against the sides of the bowl like he does all the time without noticing it. So, I listened to my CD I burned consisting of all the Skillet music that would fit on it in my stereo, sitting on my bed and hungrily waiting for fifteen minutes (because it would take Daniel fifteen minutes to finish a bowl of cereal). Usually when something 4S related inhibits me from doing a normal action that a normal person could do, my mood suddenly flips from, "Well, this sucks," to, "I want to commit suicide. Right now."
And, because Satan likes to mess with my mind, my thoughts quickly become very, very frighteningly depressed. As I listened to "Never Surrender" by Skillet and had to blink back my tears over and over again.
When we got into the car, my family quickly picked up on the fact I was in a really bad mood and promptly stopped talking to me (because whenever I'm angry, it's best not to). But, they thought I was mad because of my dad telling me I couldn't use my electronics today, so I could feel a constant Steph-is-being-difficult wring-her-neck vibe being sent from each one of my family members.
My pastor, Harlan, talked about how fathers who are followers of Christ, among other various suggestions, should spend time with their kids. "Kids spell 'love': T-I-M-E". Harlan said also that fathers should check up on their kids, comfort them, and love them. The whole time, I couldn't help but think, "My dad doesn't do any of these things!" Like, I know he loves me, but I always feel like he forgets me. My siblings are so happy-go-lucky, and I'm all gloom-and-doom all the time, so he tends to stay away from engaging in conversation with me. Plus, compared to my siblings, who am I? My sister is a history buff who wants to be a lawyer and my brother is great at math and wants to be an engineer. I'm Stupid Steph who can't decide between vet or artist. I'm also the introverted kid who spends a lot of time in my room, so why should he be compelled to come up every once in a while to see how I am?
After church, in fact, I hung out in my room for an hour contemplating suicide (because Satan likes to throw that into the list of possibilities of how to get rid of 4S) wishing somebody would come and talk to me. But nobody did. So, I migrated to the hammock on the front porch, passing by my dad while he read on the couch on my way to the front door. Nobody thought of coming out because "they hadn't seen me all afternoon". Then I tried a little harder and moved to one of the couches in the music room, in plain view of the whole house. Nada. Nothin'.
Defeated, I decided to just go to the Bat Cave (or the sparcely furnished crawl-space in my room) because nothing was working and I doodled and wrote on the walls.
And then it was time to go to Outback Steakhouse because my dad wanted to go there and everyone wondered why I wasn't talking. (Just an observation: Whenever I'm not speaking during social outings, the conversations held by the remaining members of my family are just...awkward and lifeless. My mom asked, "Are you okay?"
I rolled my eyes and said, "I'm fine," stressing the second word almost sarchastically.
I hate it when my family thinks it's a good idea to try and make me laugh when I'm pissed. It just makes me more pissed.
Now here's the twist about this whole thing: I got to work (as a hostess at a Mexican restaurant) an hour later and my mood suddenly changed from sad to moderately content. Talk about turning that frown upside down! I felt good enough to figure out how to fold the rag I use to wipe menus into a tight ball to keep my hands busy as I watched the FIFA World Cup on the bigscreen TV across from the hostess stand. Weird, right?
When I got home, I unloaded the dishwasher and sat by the firepit on the back porch with my family and cracked jokes lightheartedly like I normally do and as if nothing had happened all of today.
Bi-polar much? Scary. At least now I know to think to myelf, "No matter how depressed you feel, don't kill yourself yet, because once you go to work, you'll be just fine."
Maybe I should tell my boss I can come in more days.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
My Testimony
So, some of you might wonder why I'm a Christian, and why I believe what I believe. Some of you might think that there is no God, and all this religion stuff is a load of crap. I'm here to tell you it isn't.
Last year, I thought I was on fire for the Lord. I thought I was so on fire I'd try and bring all my friends from school to youth group so they could learn about Jesus and be Christians, too. And it worked for a while, except with my friend at the time, Ryan, but he still came. I'd gotten both Michael and Christina to listen to Skillet, Matthew West, Thousand Foot Krutch, and Relient K; all of my favorite Christian bands. They seemed to love it. I thought they thought God was cool, like I did.
Then, over the summer before my freshman year, I began to get fed up with all of Michael's drama. He was like a girl inside of a guy. He was bitchy, he was mean, he would blow up in your face about some tiny thing that didn't matter. I couldn't stand it anymore. The sad part was he was my best friend, and I wasn't feeling any best friendish vibes from him. He was changing for the worse.
So I told him that I didn't want him to text me about his fights with Ryan and his disagreements with Sara. He said that was okay and that he'd stop.
Then, randomly, in the middle of July, he sent me this long hate email accusing me of Christina's depression and that I was making her life worse and that she hated me. And that he hated me, too. I was confused about this, because I had always been the one suggesting she went to councilling and that she get some help. He was the one who wouldn't speak to me for a week when I suggested it earlier during the eighth grade school year. I can't remember much of the other stuff he said to me, but, long story short, he decided he hated me, and therefore hated God as well.
During the beginning of freshman year, he verbally attacked me constantly with Bible-bashing, faith-shattering insults which stung like salt water over my then raw mental wounds. Again and again he'd hurt me, anger me, and create an enviorment which made me want to be anywhere but at school. He spread rumors about me being some crazy Christian who'd try and convert anybody I'd come in contact with. He said I hated everyone who wasn't a Christian and that I thought I was better than everyone else.
He began to sit at my lunch table for short periods of time, where I sat with Sara and Christina (who I was still trying to keep from hurting herself, and still care about to this day). I would glower and look away from him, because I had nobody else to turn to. I asked Sara if she could ask him to stop sitting there over and over again. When I'd finally become utterly fed up with it, I told her she'd better get him to stop coming around, or I'd find another table to eat at. Guess what she chose? My best friend who I hoped would help me in my time of need, when I'd spent so much time helping her, betrayed me. The next day after I'd made my request, she refused to talk to me. And by the end of the day, she'd cleaned all of her and Christina's stuff out of my locker and left me alone by myself.
I went home and cried. I cried and I cried. I had nobody to turn to for help. Sure, I found a new table with kids who liked me who didn't have huge problems to dump on my lap, but there was this hole in my heart where my best friend should have gone.
For weeks, I prayed to God to give me a best friend, but he seemed deaf to my requests. I was lonely. I was depressed.
One day, I told my mom I didn't want to live any longer and I wanted to hurt Michael the way he had hurt me. I wanted to punch him and beat him until he begged for mercy in a pathetic ball on the floor and, even then, I said I didn't want to stop. I wanted him to really, really hurt.
She said, "Go read your Bible."
Dragging my feet, I went up the stairs to my room, and God spoke to me.
- "The wicked frustrate the plans of the oppressed, but the Lord will protect his people" (Psalm 14:6).
- "If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first. The world would love you as one of its own if you belonged to it, but you are no longer part of hte world. I chose you to come out of the world, so it hates you" (John 15:18-19).
Michael was not the only problem I faced this year. As some of you might have read, 4S has caused me to hate myself and hate living. If you go down to the bottom of the page to my music player, you'll see a song called "Imperfection" by Skillet. One one of those really, really bad days where I seriously thought of killing myself, this song came onto my iPod (which was on shuffle), and made me think.
You fall on your knees
You beg, you plead
Can I be somebody else
For all the times I hate myself?
Your failures devour
Your heart in every hour
You're drowning in your
Imperfection
You mean so much
That heaven would touch
The face of humankind for you
How special you are
Revel in your day
You're fearfully and wonderfully made
You're worth so much
So easily crushed
Wanna be like everyone else
No one escapes
Every breath we take
Dealing with our own skeletons
Won't you believe
All the things I see in you?
This song was like God was talking to me! Every single word made sense. And this wasn't the first of the songs God spoke to me through. Hold On, by Abandon; Hold On, by tobyMac; Yours to Hold, by Skillet; It's Not Me, It's You, by Skillet; all of these songs held meaning to me!
There was another day I came home and just cried in my room for an hour because I was fed up with hearing all of these noises I didn't want to hear, and my mom told me, again, to go read my Bible. Know what God said? "Look at the birds. I provide for them, and I love you much more than I love them. I'll take care of you."
I don't know, but I probably wouldn't have made it through last year if God had not been with me. I'd probably be dead. No joke.
I'll leave you with this: God exists. He loves you. He loved me through all of my troubles, and he'll love you, too. In fact, Jesus freaking died so that you could spend eternity with him in heaven. Like, have you seen The Passion? I cried during that movie. Like, it's amazing to think that he...he suffered because he loved me so much. Little, insignificant me.
You know something? I found a best friend last month.
Don't you try and tell me God doesn't exist. I wouldn't be standing here if he didn't.
"You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good; to accomplish what is now being done," (Genesis 50:20).
Last year, I thought I was on fire for the Lord. I thought I was so on fire I'd try and bring all my friends from school to youth group so they could learn about Jesus and be Christians, too. And it worked for a while, except with my friend at the time, Ryan, but he still came. I'd gotten both Michael and Christina to listen to Skillet, Matthew West, Thousand Foot Krutch, and Relient K; all of my favorite Christian bands. They seemed to love it. I thought they thought God was cool, like I did.
Then, over the summer before my freshman year, I began to get fed up with all of Michael's drama. He was like a girl inside of a guy. He was bitchy, he was mean, he would blow up in your face about some tiny thing that didn't matter. I couldn't stand it anymore. The sad part was he was my best friend, and I wasn't feeling any best friendish vibes from him. He was changing for the worse.
So I told him that I didn't want him to text me about his fights with Ryan and his disagreements with Sara. He said that was okay and that he'd stop.
Then, randomly, in the middle of July, he sent me this long hate email accusing me of Christina's depression and that I was making her life worse and that she hated me. And that he hated me, too. I was confused about this, because I had always been the one suggesting she went to councilling and that she get some help. He was the one who wouldn't speak to me for a week when I suggested it earlier during the eighth grade school year. I can't remember much of the other stuff he said to me, but, long story short, he decided he hated me, and therefore hated God as well.
During the beginning of freshman year, he verbally attacked me constantly with Bible-bashing, faith-shattering insults which stung like salt water over my then raw mental wounds. Again and again he'd hurt me, anger me, and create an enviorment which made me want to be anywhere but at school. He spread rumors about me being some crazy Christian who'd try and convert anybody I'd come in contact with. He said I hated everyone who wasn't a Christian and that I thought I was better than everyone else.
He began to sit at my lunch table for short periods of time, where I sat with Sara and Christina (who I was still trying to keep from hurting herself, and still care about to this day). I would glower and look away from him, because I had nobody else to turn to. I asked Sara if she could ask him to stop sitting there over and over again. When I'd finally become utterly fed up with it, I told her she'd better get him to stop coming around, or I'd find another table to eat at. Guess what she chose? My best friend who I hoped would help me in my time of need, when I'd spent so much time helping her, betrayed me. The next day after I'd made my request, she refused to talk to me. And by the end of the day, she'd cleaned all of her and Christina's stuff out of my locker and left me alone by myself.
I went home and cried. I cried and I cried. I had nobody to turn to for help. Sure, I found a new table with kids who liked me who didn't have huge problems to dump on my lap, but there was this hole in my heart where my best friend should have gone.
For weeks, I prayed to God to give me a best friend, but he seemed deaf to my requests. I was lonely. I was depressed.
One day, I told my mom I didn't want to live any longer and I wanted to hurt Michael the way he had hurt me. I wanted to punch him and beat him until he begged for mercy in a pathetic ball on the floor and, even then, I said I didn't want to stop. I wanted him to really, really hurt.
She said, "Go read your Bible."
Dragging my feet, I went up the stairs to my room, and God spoke to me.
- "The wicked frustrate the plans of the oppressed, but the Lord will protect his people" (Psalm 14:6).
- "If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first. The world would love you as one of its own if you belonged to it, but you are no longer part of hte world. I chose you to come out of the world, so it hates you" (John 15:18-19).
Michael was not the only problem I faced this year. As some of you might have read, 4S has caused me to hate myself and hate living. If you go down to the bottom of the page to my music player, you'll see a song called "Imperfection" by Skillet. One one of those really, really bad days where I seriously thought of killing myself, this song came onto my iPod (which was on shuffle), and made me think.
You fall on your knees
You beg, you plead
Can I be somebody else
For all the times I hate myself?
Your failures devour
Your heart in every hour
You're drowning in your
Imperfection
You mean so much
That heaven would touch
The face of humankind for you
How special you are
Revel in your day
You're fearfully and wonderfully made
You're worth so much
So easily crushed
Wanna be like everyone else
No one escapes
Every breath we take
Dealing with our own skeletons
Won't you believe
All the things I see in you?
This song was like God was talking to me! Every single word made sense. And this wasn't the first of the songs God spoke to me through. Hold On, by Abandon; Hold On, by tobyMac; Yours to Hold, by Skillet; It's Not Me, It's You, by Skillet; all of these songs held meaning to me!
There was another day I came home and just cried in my room for an hour because I was fed up with hearing all of these noises I didn't want to hear, and my mom told me, again, to go read my Bible. Know what God said? "Look at the birds. I provide for them, and I love you much more than I love them. I'll take care of you."
I don't know, but I probably wouldn't have made it through last year if God had not been with me. I'd probably be dead. No joke.
I'll leave you with this: God exists. He loves you. He loved me through all of my troubles, and he'll love you, too. In fact, Jesus freaking died so that you could spend eternity with him in heaven. Like, have you seen The Passion? I cried during that movie. Like, it's amazing to think that he...he suffered because he loved me so much. Little, insignificant me.
You know something? I found a best friend last month.
Don't you try and tell me God doesn't exist. I wouldn't be standing here if he didn't.
"You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good; to accomplish what is now being done," (Genesis 50:20).
Cello Recital + Awkward Ex-Friend Sightings
I just returned from a cello recital. My sister and I played "Beloved" by Tenth Avanue North as a piano/cello duet and I played the Bach Cello Suite I in C. It's that one that Yo-Yo Ma plays all the time and the song that's on that commercial with all the faces found in everyday things. I also think it's in a car commercial, too. Anyway, I feel like I made all kinds of mistakes, and kind of freaked out right in the middle of my piece, but my teacher comes up to me after I'm done and was like, "That was fantastic! I'm so proud of you!"
I'm like, "No, that was horrible!"
"Oh, shut up, that was great! You're too hard on yourself!"
"It was not!"
"I teared up a little bit!"
"But - wait, really, you did? Sorry about that."
"No, it's fine, just go pack up your cello."
"Will do."
My sister's best friend, Kristi, lives down the street from my cello teacher's house, and her littlest sister, Missy, takes piano lessons from my teacher's husband. Her middle sister, Emily, and I are pretty close, so we sat on a towel in the yard while watching the backyard performance so uniquely named, "The Rock Concert". They do it every year.
But the awkward ex-friend sighting was becuase my old best friend who betrayed me for Michael Newman also takes from the same teacher because I urged her to do so in seventh grade. So, all I had to do today was not look at her, not talk to her, and sit on the opposite side of the yard as her. For the record, the irritating part about her ditching me was that I was always there for her when she was having a rough time, but when I was in need, she left me to deal with it by myself. And she chose his friendship over mine. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I'm out of that friend group because they were, like, scum of the earth at my school (not that they're bad people), and haven't grown up at all sincesixth grade. I just miss having people who want to hang out with me all the time and who buy me movie tickets because they're rich, that's all.
My new friends don't exactly call me going, "STEPHSTEPHSTEPHLET'SGOSEEAMOVIEBECAUSEI'MBORED!" or "STEPHSTEPHSTEPHLET'SGOTOTHEMALLANDGETSTARBUCKSANDGO-TOTHECHEESECAKEFACTORY!"
Nah, this summer is like, "Yay, I'm staying home all by myself and playing on the Sims 2 because I have no social life! I'm such a loser! Yaaay!"
I'm bored out of my gord.
My friend, Maddie, and I were going to hang out at Starbucks because she's moving to North Carolina from here (Denver) and I'll probably never see her again. But, she has to pack now and I have work. How pathetic is it that the very last day we'd ever have a chance of seeing each other, we're both busy? It's been like this all week. Hopefully she'll listen to the CD I made for her. I'm really going to miss her.
To top off this fantastic day, my mother thought it was a good idea to eat grahm cracker stix on the way home from my recital.
Life. Ruined.
~ Steph
I'm like, "No, that was horrible!"
"Oh, shut up, that was great! You're too hard on yourself!"
"It was not!"
"I teared up a little bit!"
"But - wait, really, you did? Sorry about that."
"No, it's fine, just go pack up your cello."
"Will do."
My sister's best friend, Kristi, lives down the street from my cello teacher's house, and her littlest sister, Missy, takes piano lessons from my teacher's husband. Her middle sister, Emily, and I are pretty close, so we sat on a towel in the yard while watching the backyard performance so uniquely named, "The Rock Concert". They do it every year.
But the awkward ex-friend sighting was becuase my old best friend who betrayed me for Michael Newman also takes from the same teacher because I urged her to do so in seventh grade. So, all I had to do today was not look at her, not talk to her, and sit on the opposite side of the yard as her. For the record, the irritating part about her ditching me was that I was always there for her when she was having a rough time, but when I was in need, she left me to deal with it by myself. And she chose his friendship over mine. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I'm out of that friend group because they were, like, scum of the earth at my school (not that they're bad people), and haven't grown up at all sincesixth grade. I just miss having people who want to hang out with me all the time and who buy me movie tickets because they're rich, that's all.
My new friends don't exactly call me going, "STEPHSTEPHSTEPHLET'SGOSEEAMOVIEBECAUSEI'MBORED!" or "STEPHSTEPHSTEPHLET'SGOTOTHEMALLANDGETSTARBUCKSANDGO-TOTHECHEESECAKEFACTORY!"
Nah, this summer is like, "Yay, I'm staying home all by myself and playing on the Sims 2 because I have no social life! I'm such a loser! Yaaay!"
I'm bored out of my gord.
My friend, Maddie, and I were going to hang out at Starbucks because she's moving to North Carolina from here (Denver) and I'll probably never see her again. But, she has to pack now and I have work. How pathetic is it that the very last day we'd ever have a chance of seeing each other, we're both busy? It's been like this all week. Hopefully she'll listen to the CD I made for her. I'm really going to miss her.
To top off this fantastic day, my mother thought it was a good idea to eat grahm cracker stix on the way home from my recital.
Life. Ruined.
~ Steph
Friday, June 18, 2010
A Small Collection of My Impressionistic iPod Drawings
Telephone Pole
Stephany I
Lee Jr. I
Lee Jr. II
Kristen I
I Feel Like Crying and I Don't Know Why
I think I'm depressed. Like, really, I think something's wrong with me. Why? Because I watched the Glee season finale and feel like crying. The weird part is that it was a really happy episode, which should have left me with, you know, a happy feeling, but I'm not. I can't...feel happy emotions anymore for some reason. It's so bizarre.
I really want to be home schooled next year so I don't end up killing myself. 'Cause I'm always beating myself up about how I'm so different from everyone and that I have this thing which makes me hate people simply because they pop their gum. Like, that's not normal. This summer, I've realized that I don't really do that so much, unless my dad walks into the room chewing ice cubes or because I can't go to the movies for fear of a popcorn eating person sitting next to me.
Today my sister, Kristen, found out that this girl she knew in elementary school committed suicide and she watched the entire funeral on a Facebook video. I don't want that to be me. Like, dude, I actually want to live! And it's scary for me to think that my condition would put me over the edge.
For people like me, school is torture. Sitting next to a gum-popper is the equivalent of someone pulling your teeth out with pliers or shoving bamboo shoots up your fingernails. For someone like me individually, who doesn't like to bother other people, I'll sit there and take it. For me, it's hard because every part of my mind begs me to ask a kid to stop eating their potatoe chips or spit out their gum, but because of the way I am, I don't want them to deny their small pleasures.
Another thing is as a child, I was always told to deal with it whenever I asked someone to stop chewing so loudly because it didn't bug anybody else. So, even though now my family is understanding, and it's more than okay with most people to put away their snack for another time, I feel like something's telling me to deal with it. And most of the time, I do, and people now get angry because I didn't tell them I was being bothered. Or, at least that's what it's like at home. I just hate feeling like I'm being self-centered. I know the world doesn't revolve around me, so I try not to act like it does.
Since my family and I have known I'm not crazy since December, they've gradually somewhat changed their ways. My brother, bless his heart, always takes his cereal downstairs to the computer int he basement in the morning. My mom stopped finally made a choice on her own not to buy tortilla chips anymore this week. My dad, when I remind him, always stops chewing his ice. Kristen, my sister, (while she totally doesn't seem to care), asks me if it's okay to eat anything at any time. She still doesn't understand that I can't control my reactions, and she doesn't get why I'm so depressed about it. She thinks I can get over it. But here's the thing: I CAN'T.
Hopefully, I could still attend my school part time or something, but I really don't want to be in a classroom at any time. School is a nightmare. Unfortunantly, it's also where there are great art classes, creative writing classes, and a fantastic drama department. But does highschool even really matter? I mean, who needs friends, right? They only keep you company, make you laugh, and hang out with you when you're bored.
It's going to be a long three years.
~ Steph
I really want to be home schooled next year so I don't end up killing myself. 'Cause I'm always beating myself up about how I'm so different from everyone and that I have this thing which makes me hate people simply because they pop their gum. Like, that's not normal. This summer, I've realized that I don't really do that so much, unless my dad walks into the room chewing ice cubes or because I can't go to the movies for fear of a popcorn eating person sitting next to me.
Today my sister, Kristen, found out that this girl she knew in elementary school committed suicide and she watched the entire funeral on a Facebook video. I don't want that to be me. Like, dude, I actually want to live! And it's scary for me to think that my condition would put me over the edge.
For people like me, school is torture. Sitting next to a gum-popper is the equivalent of someone pulling your teeth out with pliers or shoving bamboo shoots up your fingernails. For someone like me individually, who doesn't like to bother other people, I'll sit there and take it. For me, it's hard because every part of my mind begs me to ask a kid to stop eating their potatoe chips or spit out their gum, but because of the way I am, I don't want them to deny their small pleasures.
Another thing is as a child, I was always told to deal with it whenever I asked someone to stop chewing so loudly because it didn't bug anybody else. So, even though now my family is understanding, and it's more than okay with most people to put away their snack for another time, I feel like something's telling me to deal with it. And most of the time, I do, and people now get angry because I didn't tell them I was being bothered. Or, at least that's what it's like at home. I just hate feeling like I'm being self-centered. I know the world doesn't revolve around me, so I try not to act like it does.
Since my family and I have known I'm not crazy since December, they've gradually somewhat changed their ways. My brother, bless his heart, always takes his cereal downstairs to the computer int he basement in the morning. My mom stopped finally made a choice on her own not to buy tortilla chips anymore this week. My dad, when I remind him, always stops chewing his ice. Kristen, my sister, (while she totally doesn't seem to care), asks me if it's okay to eat anything at any time. She still doesn't understand that I can't control my reactions, and she doesn't get why I'm so depressed about it. She thinks I can get over it. But here's the thing: I CAN'T.
Hopefully, I could still attend my school part time or something, but I really don't want to be in a classroom at any time. School is a nightmare. Unfortunantly, it's also where there are great art classes, creative writing classes, and a fantastic drama department. But does highschool even really matter? I mean, who needs friends, right? They only keep you company, make you laugh, and hang out with you when you're bored.
It's going to be a long three years.
~ Steph
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Is It Wrong to Want to Die?
Today my sister and brother and I were running errands and my sister had bought some gum. She turned to me, because she knew I didn't like people chewing gum, and asked me if she could. So I told her that if she did, I would most likely ignore her or avoid her so I wouldn't have to hear her chomping, and she told me that I can help my reaction to the sound. But I argued that I couldn't, and that I was sorry I wasn't normal and not like her and am not able to handle noises like gum chewing.
This is especially hard for me, having to rob people of their right to, like, chew gum, because I'm a people-pleaser and don't want anyone to be unhappy. I feel like I don't mean anything. I mean, if I'm causing everyone around me to give up certain things for a few minutes and making them uncomfortable, wouldn't it just be easier if I didn't exist?
And I really don't want to have to live my life like this. I don't want to have 4S, but I do. It makes my life a living hell. This problem is so bad that I want to kill myself. Literally. The thing that sucks the most is that nobody understands, and nobody cares one bit.
I think my family would get it if they knew it was so bad that I wanted to die and seriously had suicidal thoughts to escape the situation. It might snap things into perspective.
But I don't want to tell my family that I really want to die. They'd put me on suicide watch or something.
Thank you, God, for making the mistake of making me. Really.
-Steph
This is especially hard for me, having to rob people of their right to, like, chew gum, because I'm a people-pleaser and don't want anyone to be unhappy. I feel like I don't mean anything. I mean, if I'm causing everyone around me to give up certain things for a few minutes and making them uncomfortable, wouldn't it just be easier if I didn't exist?
And I really don't want to have to live my life like this. I don't want to have 4S, but I do. It makes my life a living hell. This problem is so bad that I want to kill myself. Literally. The thing that sucks the most is that nobody understands, and nobody cares one bit.
I think my family would get it if they knew it was so bad that I wanted to die and seriously had suicidal thoughts to escape the situation. It might snap things into perspective.
But I don't want to tell my family that I really want to die. They'd put me on suicide watch or something.
Thank you, God, for making the mistake of making me. Really.
-Steph
So, Basically, Freshman Year Sucked.
I don't really want to go into too much detail about why my freshman year was so aggregious, but what I will say are these three things:
- I canned the book I was writing because my writing style improved dramatically.
- I was bullied out of a group of friends by a boy named Michael Newman. This kid launched me into a downward spiral of depression and loss of self-esteem simply by being a bitch and yelling at me in the hallways and making fun of the faith I have in my Heavenly Father. Then I was forced to find new friends to hang out with, or be eaten by sharks. (And, yes, I am sadly no longer friends with Sara. She betrayed me for the snake.)
- I have Selective Sound Sensitivity Syndrome. There's a very long explaination as to what it is, but in short, it's a condition where soft noises like chewing, crunching, smacking, snuffling, gum popping, and crinkling torture the mind of the victim until they blow their top. There is a strong desire to leave the room, also, and a strong sense of shame about their condition and do whatever they can to hide it; thus creating a reality of a living hell.
- My youth pastor, Blacklock, got fired. It's kind of turned our youth group upside down, and most of the kids who used to come have left.
So, long story short, I'm really, really glad it's summer. I don't have to see anyone, nobody's popping gum, nobody's poking fun of me, and I can have some quiet time alone and not have to worry about having any homework. Which is good.
This last month, my dad's parents came out to Colorado from Nebraska so my grandpa could have back surgery. The wacky thing was that apparently he was taking too much Adavan (a drug to calm the nerves), so now he flailing around trying to get out of his bed and hallucinating and thinking my dad's slipping him drugs because Adavan is reacting badly with the different medications he now needs to take for his back. This is kind of strange.
Yesterday we got home from going to Steamboat with my new best friend, Ashley, or "Fang" (as I so affectionately call her), 's family for the weekend. They had some sort of time share thing worked out they could stay in these really nice resorts for a couple days. The rooms were really nice, too, like Fang and I could share a room together and each have a queen-sized be to ourselves while her sister and parents both got king-sized beds and my brother and her brother could share the pullout couch in the living room. It was awesome!
The most fun thing Ashley and I did while we were there was take a walk to WalMart and pretend I was pregnant and looking for baby clothes. A guy actually walked up to us and said, "Hey, um, would you happen to know where I could find some swim shorts for my daughter? She's five, and you two seem to be finding everything just fine," while eyeing my puffed-out stomach shielded with my hand for a convincing "pregnant lady" look.
"You know, " I replied all-too-calmly, "We didn't see anything like that. I mean, we weren't looking for swimsuits, just onesies at the moment. I'm sorry."
"Oh, sure," he said, "That's fine. Thank you!"
Ashley and I then ducked quickly into the next asle and died laughing.
Welcome to my life.
- Steph
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