This Too Shall Pass

Okay...soo...I started this in my English class at the beginning of the year...when things were really bad. And...I wanted to finish it. So...here it goes.

Please stop yelling.
Please stop screaming.
Go ahead and kick me out.
Keep telling me how much you hate me.
One day I'll be gone away,
And you'll wish you had be nicer.

Please don't raise your voice,
It hurts me when you yell.
I don't want to be around you anymore,
You beat me down a little farther every day.
Some days I want to run away,
But I remember the reason why I have stayed.
One day I hope you'll see the way you treat me.

Don't raise your voice,
It's unnecessary.
I can't leave unfortunately,
So I have to stay for now.
Until I can fly away,
I will not let you tear me down.
I am weak beyond compare,
But God is all the strength I need.
I stay because of her,
The other one you brought into this world.
I will make her life easier,
And be the hope she needs.
To show her that not everyone,
Is horrible and mean.

I cannot control your voice.
I can't control myself.
The situation is not in my hands,
But in God's and His alone.
I was given this trial,
For a reason that is unknown.
I have to place my trust in God,
And let Him take care of you.
I know you do not understand,
And that's okay, too.
One day you'll see the light,
And I will know the truth.

Until that day in Heaven,
My life is here on Earth.
My soul is held by God.
Jesus brought me an invitation,
And now I understand.
Things won't always be good,
Nor will they be great.
But this life I hold,
Is not my own.

Trials come,
And trials go.
You will see,
And so shall I.
Until it's time,
I sit and wait.
And remember the phrase:
"This too, shall pass."

Me...Talking To Myself...About My Own Problems....0.o

Sometimes I wonder why things work/don't work out the way they do!

So...when you care for someone...you would think that they would WANT to talk to you about something that happened so the two of you could work it out? Wouldn't they want to talk to you? You tell them you NEED to talk to them...and they tell you they "just don't want to".

ugh. I am so frustrated. I need to calm down. Going to an anxiety attack. Oh gosh. I need to talk to him. This is so dumb. Ridiculous. I just....Y U SO COMPLICATED?!?!?!?!?!?!

I NEED TO TALK TO YOU. Y U AVOID ME?!

Y U SO ANGRY?!

Y U SO MAD!? U DID DA WRONG TING!? Y I DA BAD GUY?!?!?!?!

So stupid. I need to breathe. Sorry about the short post. By HOLY CRAP. I NEED TO GO FOR A WALK. Things just aren't the same with out you. I need to go do something. But my heart is racing. Holy crap. Oh my gosh. BREAAAATTTTTHHHHHH C BREATTTHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Oh my gosh. What the heck. CALM DOWN. ugh. I really need to stop talking to myself.

-C

Sometimes We Just Need To Start Over

So....let's call him J. Okay? J. So...J and I have been super close best friends for several years. And...this past Valentines Day, he gave me a BEAUTIFUL necklace. And we started sort-of/kind-of courting and then, a few months after that, we started dating. And it was wonderful. He is one of the nicest people I have ever met in my life. And we've been through a lot of crap together. We have such similar backgrounds and come from almost identical home lives. It's just...it's weird but it's amazingly wonderful. And then..I was stupid and got scared. If you know me well, you know I have horrible communication skills (if any).

We broke up (because of me, obviously), and we stopped talking. I stopped wearing the necklace he gave me. But I always took it with me wherever I went. Then, I decided one day, that I wanted to be close to him again. I missed him. So I started wearing it again. And I tried to talk to him a million times. And he avoided me. So, I became aggressively assertive and told him that we were going to talk whether he liked it or not. And we did. We talked out pretty much everything.

And we were best friends again. Playing board games, hanging out every possible day we could. It was good. And then..we started dating again. We dated for almost two months. And it was perfect. We were communicating (I thought), and we were doing what we were supposed to in the youth group as leaders. No PDA (public displays of affection); we were going strong. And then...my ex boy friend; we'll call him Pt. Pt came to youth group one night after J and I had just abruptly ended a heated discussion on our responsibilities versus our relationship and which came first. And Pt and I were talking with me and some of my other friends. We were just hanging out. Casual conversation, catching up. You know, talking like family. innocent conversation. So, J sees this, and gets upset. Not much I can do. I didn't invite Pt to youth group, and I'm not going to ignore him just because J is insecure. Not going to happen.

Then, Pt wanted to come back to my house to talk with my mom and such, and catch up with the rest of the family. Nothing I could really do about that. So the three of us went back to my house. Pt ended up staying the night because he couldn't go home. And J decided he was going to lie to me, go through my phone, accuse me of cheating, and then try and guilt me into telling him we'd stay together beyond high school. Well, me being me, I over reacted. I was mad, and I had a right to be. He violated my privacy. I didn't and still have nothing to hide from him. It was just really disrespectful and uncalled for. And so...after thinking about it for a week and a half, I decided we needed a break. Because we had lost our identities as individuals. And I desperately needed to find mine.

So...it's been about a month since that whole thing ended.I obviously stopped wearing that necklace. I had buried it somewhere in my room and i forgot where it was. I didn't care that I had forgotten about it because it didn't matter. It holds too many memories that I could not handle.

As I was cleaning my room this evening, though, I found it. I found the necklace. I just....I picked it up. And now it is sitting in my hands, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to feel. I don't know what I want to do. Much less what I should do. I am at a loss. I have been swallowed by this whirl pool of emotions and memories all tied into one little heart shaped necklace. I don't know whether I should wear it, to show him that I want to be friends again. Or if I should just put it away and leave it to rest. Any ideas?

-Sincerely,
Me.

The Darkest Days Have the Darkest Shadows

Hello everyone. I decided to write in this font today, for whatever reason. I don't know. But, again. Disclaimer. No offense meant. No disrespect. Just me, venting to a computer that tells me a bunch of people have been looking at my page. So....yeah.

So, for those of who have been reading my previous posts, you will know that I cut (if you haven't read these previous posts, you might want to. They are informative of the situations I am talking about).

So, I take showers (obviously). And I cut on a regular basis; a pretty consistent cycle. Cut, let it bleed, come down off the high, freak out, cut again. A vicious cycle, really. And, this went on for a long time. Months and months and months. I told my friends that I had stopped, and they believed me. I hid the scars and the open cuts, and I still do hide the scars and the closing cuts.

Shame is an exclusively powerful emotion, yet extremely rare. Shame is also an emotion you don't ever really get rid of once you begin to feel it. It consumes you. Every look, every word, every tiny detail that would be otherwise meaningless, screams out to you. It screams about your flaws, your imperfections, your every mistake. And to you, it screams these things out to the world for everyone to hear. After it's out there, you can never take it back. That's when you either fall in deep (like me), or you run like the wind (like any sensible person).

When I started to see that this shame had begun to direct my life, and all of my actions, I found myself waiting for that next high. Waiting to see the blood, and feel the cold water rush over the broken skin and numb my whole body. I began to stash band-aids and gauze pads with medical tape in my night stand drawers. I knew in my head that I was sick. That I had become addicted to this cycle of constant highs and never ending anxiety. I became this adrenaline junkie. Just sitting around waiting to come down just so I could feel the rush of going back up. I knew in my mind that I was mentally sick, and that I wasn't going to get better.

I don't really want to go into much more detail, but the gist is, that once I had begun to settle into the "comfort" of this addiction, I started seeing how it effected the people around me. I lost my best friend. I lost my sister in God. I butchered a family relationship that is so gratefully willing to take me back out of love. And I became a miserable person to be around. And these people were leaving me to sit and be miserable by myself. Which they had every right to do.

And one night, this past Saturday night, I went up to talk to someone who I had never talked to more than just a "hey" or making fun of each other because we were all joking around. I had a serous conversation with this person. He is an amazing person, and I really like him. He's a great friend. And I think we are going to get really close this summer. Let's call this person C. So, me and C talked about how I had lost my best friend, and what I should do to go about mending this friendship. And we talked for a while...and as I was leaving, I felt this urge, this need to confess to him about my addiction and the high. And he saw them. He didn't freak out. He didn't ask why. He just told me that I needed to find a way to fix this friendship, and I needed to get help. From God. And do some serious praying. And...I just kind of sat there. Staring at him. He was right.

So, that is what I did. The friendship thing...still a work in progress, but that's not my "big news". My news is that, for the first time in 5 months, I have successfully taken a shower, and not cut myself. I have broken the cycle for the day. And, tomorrow, my goal is to do the same. but stronger. And with less difficulty. And the day after, and the day after that.

Habits are not broken in one day. They are dismantled piece by piece; one day at a time.

Sincerely,
Me.

And Here We Go Again...

Why do I have this super strong feeling that this ISN'T going to work out with you? Like...c'mon. Please? That's not fair. I've given up everything about me to you. I am completely vulnerable...and you're just gonna leave me here. That's not fair. But then again, nothing ever really changes. Since we call it the circle of life, and circles have no end. These patterns, bad habits, and addictions can never really end. So my questions is. What's the point of running the same lap over and over again?

Geez.

Hey guys. So...just deal with this post. Because...I had a rough day. And no one cares to listen, nor they care about how I feel. So, I have resorted to blogging. Whether you read the rest or not, I don't care. I just need to write about it. Okay? Thanks.


So...I have this disease thing in both my knees. I've mentioned it before, I just don't remember what post it was. Anyways, I was REALLY sore this morning. Took me a while to get out of bed. I got up, got dressed. Went down stairs to take my meds. The usual procedure. Well, I get down stairs, and it's only 5:45. My mom and leave at 6. She starts yelling at me because apparently I was making her late. 

Okay? I was really confused. 

First and second block were okay. Advisory was alright, too. Math (my third block, with the D-Bag teacher), that wasn't that bad. My friend, we'll call her Mo, her boyfriend was being a dick so she was upset, which made me upset. But it was okay other than that. Got some bull s^$% packets that are usually extra credit for the test, but apparently they are mandatory. Well, I now have no life until after final exams on June 12th. So, after school, I go to the library with Mo to do the math packets we got.

Not five minutes after we sit down in the library, the fire alarm goes off. But, guess what. NO FREAKING FIRE. We get out at 2:45. Mo and I were in the library at 2:50 (I signed in to use a computer to check my grades). The alarm goes off, we get our stuff and go outside. Five minutes later we hear the last bell go off (it goes off at 3:05). WHAT DUMBASS PULLS THE FREAKING FIRE ALARM 15 MINUTES AFTER SCHOOL GETS OUT?! Gosh. So. Freaking. Stupid.

Then, I stand out side the front doors by myself at 4 waiting for my mom to pick me up. My friend, let's call him Q, rides by on his bike and we start talking. Then, 20 minutes later, my mom drives up in her bus (yes, she drives a bus), and he leaves, I get on the bus, and she starts interrogating me about Q. Like..can I not have friend? No? Oh, okay.

We are going along, and she starts questioning my Bio grade. She tells me that she is going to take away my chemistry class next year if I don't start getting a better grade. I have A's/B's. But you're gonna take my chemistry class? Funny though, because in order to graduate I have to have 3 Science credits. I am passing Bio. Why would you take something that isn't yours to take, first off, and that you can't really take anyways because it's the law that I have to take this class in order to graduate. Tells me I am disappointing and apparently I'm not applying myself. Geez. Thanks mom. 

Then, she tells me I can't have my headphones out or on when she's around because I can't hear her when she talks (even though she hadn't said a word while I was wearing them). Complete bull. We get in the car and she starts giving me crap about school and my music. The worst part was when she said "Why are YOU pissed at ME? I didn't do anything! You're the one that did something wrong, and now you're pissy with me because I said something about it." No, mom. I'm not mad. I am trying not to cry because I am never good enough for you. Ever. Since the day I was freaking born I've always been a failure to you. I am SICK and TIRED of being treated like shit because you have problems. 

Peace Out.

Wow. Unbelievable.

I go to have a normal conversation with Metal (remember him from the first post)? And he can't have a serious talk. I really needed to talk with him about some stuff and he is just like....."*thumbs up* oh and it says I like everything with a stupid thumbs up". Like...c'mon man. Seriously?
Ugh. It's short, I know. Just word vomiting right now.

That Moment When You Realize....

Sup guys. Again, I don't mean anything to offend anyone. If you've read my blog before, you can just skip this first little part right here. I vent a lot. Especially on here. Why? Because writing helps get all the s#!* out. I have a bad habit of doing stupid stuff as an alternative, but I am learning. So shove it. Warning: I have no filter. You've been warned. Continue reading at your own risk. 

So, I have crap knees. There's literally next to nothing except a thin strip on muscle holding my knee cap to my femur, and another very thin strip of muscle holding my knee cap to my tibia. In both legs. I was crying last night because I was in so much pain, and I woke up two or three times this morning, again in tears, because of the pain. So my mother decides to pretend to be nice for once, and call my orthopedic surgeon and schedule and MRI for ONE KNEE (even though BOTH are giving me enormous problems), for the 24th of this month. Then...she decides I don't exist anymore, and she starts complaining and freaking out about my sisters health issues. Which is understandable. I am also terribly concerned and scared for my little sister. Yet that does not give my mother the right to just...make me disappear like I was never born. 

She walks into my room (which i "share" with my sister) and says that I can't go to Youth Group tomorrow because my room isn't clean. WHO THE HECK CARES?! NO ONE. Question: how often do you clean your room? How messy is it before you decide to clean it
? is your "messy" different than your parent/guardians "messy"? 

4 or 5 articles of clothing on the floor and my bed not being made is messy to me. To her, it's like the devil came in and decided my room was going to be his toilet. and he just "went" all over the place in my room. Yeah. BIG difference there. 

Then, she starts saying how I am this disappointment because I didn't clean my room. What am I supposed to say to that? "I'm so sorry, mom. I'll force myself to walk around and clean and sanitize my entire room, for no reason. Oh, and because I am a disappointment, I'll call the hazardous material squad to have them come and double check for dust particles in the air. I hope you'll love me again. Night." 

NOOOOOO! LIKE WHAT THE HECK?! SERIOUSLY? COME. ON! This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. You would all understand if you lived with her. 

And then, I realized something after she left. I realized, in that brief moment, that because of her and how she's treated me, that I will never be good enough, for anyone. Because she will always continue to trash talk me, and call me fat, and just be rude and miserable towards me because of her own insecurities. And then, when I am taking care of her because of the good person I am (even though she hates me), I'll never be able to convince a man that I am worth loving because of all the crap she says about. 

I am busting my butt in my bio class. I can't make up classwork, (even if I had an EXCUSED ABSENCE) because my bio teacher says so. So therefore when I miss class time, I can't do the lab write ups because I wasn't there to do the lab. Therefore I get a 0 on every class work that I miss, and every write up that goes with it. And I tried explaining this to her, and she says "I don't care. Bring it up." But she doesn't notice my 77 in math (go read the post titled Math Go Solve Your Own Problems and you'll understand this), she doesn't notice my 87.64 in English, she completely ignores my 84 in Drivers Ed. Like...that's cool. You want to tear me down because I was sick and missed class and now have to ace every test and my final exam just to make it around a B- for a final grade? That's cool. You can be that guy. Whatever. 

So done with this bull. Ugh. 

Peace out. 

Seriously, Dude?

Okay. This is a quick one.
So my mom like..half (fake) adopted this kid because he is a pyromaniac and is mentally unstable and is obsessed with death and horror movies/stories. So...he plans to go to this T-Ball game with my mom, her boyfriend, and my sister...and I chose to stay home. And now all of a sudden my six year old sister wants to stay home too. Sure. Why not?

BUT OH MY GOSH. THIS KID WILL NOT STAY THE HELL OUT OF MY PATH OF TRAVEL. If I go somewhere, he wants to go. If I stay home, he wants to stay home. GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ASS AND POP OFF THE D BRO.

Gosh. Sorry. Had to get it out. Now I am stuck with it. Ugh. Whatever.
Peace out.

Beijos

So, if you want to call me a whore, or a slut, or some other vulgar disrespectful name, go for it. Just know that this is MY blog, and MY thoughts. And those are the ONLY ones that matter. Meaning YOUR opinions about MY life do NOT matter nor do the effect me. SO....on with the post.

Beijos means "kisses" in Portuguese. My dad is teaching me some things in Portuguese because he is from Brazil. And for my 18th birthday, we are flying to Brazil to see Carnival in Rio. That's really not what this post is about. Beijos is what this post is about.

For those of who remember your first kiss, what was it like? Beautiful? Horrifying? Socially awkward? Well, whatever it was, it probably wasn't the kind of first kiss everyone dreams of.

For those of you who haven't had your first kiss yet (believe me, it's not all it's cracked up to be), what do you want it to be like? Do you have a specific person you want it to be with? 

So, mine was...boring. Lame. Horrible. And quite frankly, I ended up hating the person it was with. So mine sucked. To all of you out there who had a sucky first kiss, this one's for you:

Yeah. That's right. Shove it other people (kidding. Don't shove it.).
Wow.....that last part (in parenthesis) sounded REALLY wrong. ^^ yeah. Oops. Oh well. Anyways.

People with poopy first kisses: Olympia
People with good first kisses : You guys. 

Okay. This is a typical Olympia first kiss. This is what we mean by a "sucky first kiss"

Yes. I use a lot of memes I find on the internet on my blog. NONE OF THEM ARE MINE. Just so you know.


And then there's You guys...who are all like....:

(that's some kind of blow up dog or something, I don't know; just don't ask.) 

So...yeah. I've heard that your first kiss is the complete opposite of the kiss you get at the altar. So......I'm safe. I don't know about You guys. <3 

Mothers Day

Happy Mothers Day!

Just figured I would get that out of the way before I continue with the rest of the blog post.

So, yes. I have a mother. But I don't really plan on making this post about mothers day. So...as some of you know, I don't much of a relationship with my mom. And what little I do have, is not that great. But, sap story aside, there's a difference between being a mother, and a MOM.

A mother conceives the child,carries he/she for 10 months (yes, it's technically 10), and then delivers the child into the world. 

A Mom, she doesn't have to do all of that. If she does, cool. If not, she can still be a Mom. A mom loves you regardless of the circumstances. She stands behind you and supports you through every decision. She changes your diapers. She catches you when you fall after your first steps. She tells her boss to shove it when your sick and need someone to take care of you. She is the first one to school when you have a recital or a play. She volunteers to chaperon your field trips to museums and apple orchards. She helps you make a mess in the kitchen and cleans it just so you can get an A on your science fair project. She walks the halls with you on freshman orientation. She goes to every sports game, both home and away. She runs the concession stand. She helps run fundraisers for your graduation class. She sits in a meeting to help plan your prom. She takes the center, front row chair just so she can get a picture of every step you take across the stage when you graduate. She helps you pack in the fall for college. She drives you to the air port. She visits you at the college YOU chose. She helps you decorate your dorm every year.  She does the dougie at your wedding with you. She's there when your first, second, and third child is born. She's there in your heart after she passes. She's your mom. 

My mother, is not my "mom". She takes care of me, and probably does love me on some level. But the way she grew up, and the way we had to live for a while, she kind of left me to fend for myself. Which isn't much of a big deal. But now, she just knocks me down every day. Continuously. Unconsciously. That is not a mom. 

But don't take pity, wonderful readers. Because I do have a Mom. Actually, I have many Moms. I have many brothers, and many sisters. Lori, she's probably my Mom. The first one I call Mom. I can't explain how much I love this woman and here husband, Jack. They are my real Mom and Dad. The one's I should have been born to. 

Then there's Barbra P. This woman is amazing. Her oldest son is my best friend. Her kids are my brother and sister. This morning was particularly rough, because I had a mental break down in the middle of church. I ran to Lori, naturally. And behind was Barb. Barb just rubbed my hair, and loved on me. These two women are ALWAYS there for me. Always. With out them, I would not be alive right now. 

Miss Strong. She gives me hope that this world does still have a few good, genuine, loving people in it. She always talks to me. Every day. She cares for me, and is another one of my many Moms. I can't describe you the things this woman does for me, but she is a miracle. And she is my example of how to love people even when they don't give a flying crap about you. She does this daily. She is an example to all of her students. And for their sake, I wish they'd realize it sooner.

Miss Robyn. I have known her for 8 years out of my life. She has helped me through things you cannot imagine. She is my light house on solid ground when I'm lost at sea. She just...she's always been there. When I've lost loved ones; when I started cutting; when everything in my life goes down hill in an uncontrollable spiral, she's there with reigns of steel and love to put it all back together.

Miss V. My English teacher. She has taught me so many things, that I wish I could some how repay her. She has given me the tools to express myself, and she's listened to me intently when no one else would take a second glance in my direction. She is one of the elite. She is one of a kind.

Mom's are the best. Especially all of mine. 

But then there's my friends. That I wouldn't trade for the world. We talked about dying for someone we loved the other night at Youth Group. I would die for any and all of these people.

Caton has walked every step of this unpredictable adventure with me. We didn't start it together, but we met up along the way somewhere. We helped each other up, and kept going together. Knowing that in life, you can't go backwards, we knew we had to keep going. And thank God I had her to be by my side because with out her I would have gone insane. 

Nick is my best friend. We sit and talk together in the morning at school every single day. We are pretty much the only students there at 6:30 in the morning. We have breakfast together every day, and we talk about life. It's nice to have someone there all the time. I love this kid with everything I have. He's my best friend. Today was rough, and he was the first person there to ask me if I was okay. I can't say enough about this kid. And ANYONE who decides that they are going to give him $*#!, is going to get there @*& kicked. Nick means the world to me, and he was like a mom to me, I'd tell him Happy Mom's Day. But that'd be weird if he was like a mom...0.0

Marquez is a cool kid. He's a good friend. And like Nick, he's always there. Anything I need to talk about, he's right there to listen with a good hug and open ears. Always there to check on me when I run off to hide, always there to make me laugh when I am upset. 

Anna. Gosh. I can't begin to describe the love I have for this girl. She was my first REAL friend. She showed me what it means to HAVE FUN, and be myself. Whenever we hang out, I can GUARANTEE that one of us will do something so stupid, that the other laughs hard enough to pee themselves (it's happened before). 

Tameka is the best person I could have ever met. We have no boundaries or secrets with each other. Things other people would find extremely socially awkward, are completely normal to us. We've cried in front of each other, spit out blue lollipop slime and orange soda on the floor and the counters. Just....she's my best friend. I couldn't ask for a better friend. 

Then there's JT. He's one of my many ginger friends. One time, we were at a football game hanging out. And I had this like..brand new roll of blue duck tape (I know it's not spelt that way). And I had him hold onto it because I didn't have pockets. I forgot he had it when I left the game (which was in November). So, he's had it for 6 months. He always makes me laugh. Never fails to lighten my mood or make my day brighter no matter how crummy it is. Just....the greatest person I have ever met.

Alex and Angel are my knights in shining armor. Angel offered me to live with her and her family until she moves to Virginia with her sister. Alex is always there to talk things out with me, and helps me think through things. I cannot thank them enough for being there for me every time I needed someone. They are my favorite people in the world. No one could ever replace them.

Okay. I am done talking about all the people I love now. Okay. Bye.

Memoir Part 3 (last piece)

Thanks A Lot

A few days before Christmas my mom told me that she wished she had given me up for adoption, and that she should’ve gotten rid of me when she had the chance. She said that the last 15 years of her life had been a waste of time. I was so hurt, angry, and upset.. I looked her dead in the eyes. My face was as empty as a bottomless pit, and I told her “I wished you had.” And then she kicked me out of the house for four days, and made me come back on Christmas.. That was the night I felt good when I cut. I put the razor to my leg five or six times in the same spot. I was so mad and hurt and I was crying that when I didn’t see any blood, I couldn’t feel the sting. I lost all control. after that.

It’s an addiction. Like drugs, or alcohol. Just like any other addiction. It’s because it feels good. When you blow up a balloon, all of the hot air rushes in and expands the outside of the balloon. It stretches and pushes against it. It puts stress on the balloon.. And when you pop it, and break the outside of it, the hot air is released. The stress is gone. And when I cut myself, my balloon pops.. The stress is gone. It just rushes out of my body. And I feel better for a little while.

My mom still doesn't know about half of this. She doesn’t know about my blog, she doesn’t know about me or Caton cutting. She doesn’t know about any of it.. And if I did tell her, or she found out, my memoir would end here. I would not be able to write another one, or ever see the light of day. When my mother tells me she hates me, or that she doesn’t like me, it die a little more inside.

Ever since that first summer, when I came back, I was changed. Inevitably. A person cannot endure something so profound and horrific and emerge half the same as they were before. To me, at the end of the day, I’m not me. I’m not who you think I am. I am not a person. I am just sitting here. Waiting for someone to take this exhausted, beaten, broken body, and give it life. Inside this shell, there’s

nothing but a hole. A hole that can never be filled. The story continues, as it always does. :Like they say in the theater, ‘the show must go on.”

Fin.

Memoir Part 2

The Valley Summer

There are three things I love the most: spending time with my friends, volunteering with my friends, and listening to music with my friends. And every summer, I get to do the first two. I volunteer as a soccer coach for young students in Northfield for a week in June. It’s called UpWard Soccer Camp (they also host other sports camps). I also volunteer every summer to be a mentor at my church’s VBS (vacation bible school). It’s also a week long, but it’s fun and I get to help younger kids learn about God and that they are never alone. I participate in Youth Explosion (like VBS, but geared for high school students. Then, I went to SoulFest during this past summer. This is kind of where everything really hit rock bottom. I had been depressed for most of my life, but always just kind of brushed it under the rug. My mom and I don’t have the best relationship. In fact, it’s deteriorating as we speak. When I was born, neither of my parents wanted me. My dad was a strung out crack addict, and he left when he found out my mom was pregnant. My mom was also a drug addict and an alcoholic And my mom set up an adoption for me.

The adoption fell through, but my mom REALLY didn’t want to keep me. So, the family she was going to give me to (a nice Christian family in Texas), they said they would take me even though they had received another child. But. my mother had decided, for whatever reason, to be my mother.

Well, this particular summer, we had a huge falling out, me and my mother. I wanted to go to this music festival called SOulFest. It’s this huge Christian music festival in New Hampshire at Gunstock Mountain Resort. It was beautiful. I met a lot of really nice people. But...the people I went with, weren’t very nice. I ended up alone every, single day. I was sick. At this point, I knew nothing about my health conditions, and how sick I was. I had two appendicitis scares in the same day, and my mother refused to come get me. I was alone in the middle of thousands of people, and no one could see me. Nor did they care to look.

I didn’t know that I was depressed. I didn’t know what depression was. I didn’t think that I could have it. Or that I could ever become depressed. I had friends. I had a mom. I had a sister. I had no idea how seriously MESSED up my life was going to get. Or just how far I had let myself fall. I walked around for hours. I don’t know what time it was, but I had decided to walk into the lake and stand there until I got hypothermia. And if I didn’t, I would drown myself. I was in tears. I had no idea what was going on. I wanted to be in control of my body, of my emotions. But I couldn’t.. That night was the worst night of my life. I will never forget that night.

When I came home a day later, I was mute. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I couldn’t think about anything. I didn’t want to be around anyone. I started to lock myself in my room for days. I stopped eating. I drank nothing but water. I just...shut down. I had regressed to a state of subsistence. Eating and drinking just enough to keep my body functioning. I had shut down completely. Nothing mattered.

Commercial Break

So, I don’t like keeping things serious all the time. And at this point in my life....I could find no happiness. So, I want to write a little funny story right here. Because I just spilt half of my life story out on the table for you ladies and gents, and before I go and spill the rest of my intestines and other bodily organs, I learned something after all of this was over. I learned that the song by Ne-o Miss Independant, had a very true meaning behind it. Even though it’s about this stupid thing called love, and being happy, and all mushy-gushy gross PDA stuff, the part about the woman being independant, and not really needing anyone else, that part

is really the meat of my memoir. I learned how to stand on my own. Like, in all honestly, I can barely stand on my own two feet and not fall and get hurt (physically). I am such a clutz. I own eight pairs of crutches. It’s like one of those Disney Channel things where they make a commercial about these kids who collect things. Mine would probably sound like this:

“Hi, my name is Cheyenne, and I collect emergency room crutches.

I started collecting them when I was in the fourth grade. I got my first pair when I fell down a hill, shattered a growth plate in my foot, and then walked on it for a few weeks. I don’t really like or dislike collecting crutches, I just kind of keep them.. My most recent pair that I acquired was from a knee injury during my lacrosse season. I’m Cheyenne, and you’re watching Disney Channel.”

Yeah. I have no life. So BACK TO THE SHOW, FOLKS!

Back to School....What?

School started back up in the fall (as always). And I was still really quiet. I started talking to my friends again, but I have never been the same since that summer. I don’t know how, or when, or why we became friends, but my friend Caton and I got REALLY close this year. Now (as a sophomore) I was finally “cool”. I wasn’t fresh meat anymore. I had a place; or so I thought. I had found out a few months into school that my childhood best friend and cousin, Jj, had overdosed, and they didn’t know if he was going to make it. My mom never sits down and talks with me privately unless someone has died, something really bad has happened, or she is blaming me for something that is going wrong in her life. So when she sat me down after school this day, I knew something was up. She just looked at me. She looked at

me and stared at me, but she didn’t say a word. She started crying. And I was really scared. She just looked at me and said, “Jj overdosed, and they don’t think he is going to make it.” I was in shock.

Have you ever lost your best friend? They (or you) moved away, you guys stopped talking, or maybe they were in a different grade and one of  you moved on early. Well, focus on that feeling. How sad you were and how lost you felt. Like someone had just cut off your arm, right? Well, for me? I had died, too. I couldn’t see him, I couldn’t go visit him; I couldn’t call him or talk to him; the only person who could tell me what was going on was his mom (my aunt), and even she didn’t have time to text me what was going on. I was so scared. Everyday I wondered if I would come home and my mom would tell me that he had died. Living in that kind of fear and wonder every day changes you. It changes the way you look at the world, and the way you act around other people. SOmething in you just clicks into place, and all of sudden every message about suicide, every campaign to end bullying, every post on Facebook, Twitter, and TUmblr about self-harm and eating disorders: all of that becomes real. And all you want to do, is make sure that no one ever has to go through what you did. You become this other person. This person whose sole goal in life is to make sure that no one has to watch their loved ones sit there and hurt and slowly die and waste away inside, KNOWING that there is absolutely NOTHING you can do about it. That is one of the most extreme changes a person can go through.

I remember sitting with Caton telling her about how when Jj and I would play Spider-Man when we were little. I describe to her him jumping off of my dresser and running to my bed to cut the pretend ropes off my wrists, and beat up the Green

Goblin and save the day. Caton and I laughed so much that day. After that, I realized that I had found my best friend. My sister. My other half. The one person who would stick by me and do what she could to keep me safe, and that I would give my life for her. We were and still are inseparable.

To this day, Caton and I talk about everything. SO when she told me around Christmas that she was “a cutter”, I was lost again. The candlelight in my big dark room had been blown out once again. When she told me this, I came clean, too. I told her how when I tried to commit suicide this summer, even though I lived physically, I died emotionally, and mentally. I had started cutting, too. And to be completely honest, I still do sometimes. We promised each other that we would do whatever it took to stop. And we did for a while. But when her sister moved out and her mom started yelling at her for no reason, and being really mean and rude, she started cutting again.

My mom, every day I would come home, and she would tell me that my belly was big, or that I was gaining a lot of weight, or that I needed to stop eating. Sometimes she would even go as far to come right out and call me fat. I hurt. I hurt so much, that I became mute again. I decided that I wasn’t going to eat ever again, and that by this next summer I would have a beautiful flat stomach, toned arms and legs, and I would get a light tan. SO when I come back to school for my Junior year of highschool, I would be pretty like the rest of the girls at school.
I stopped eating. I started making myself throw up. I did whatever I could to eat less, lose weight, and be prettier. But inside, I just kept hurting. I kept hurting more and more. And I didn’t lose any weight. In fact, I gained weight. My mom noticed that I had “cut down” on my eating, but still commented on my weight gain.

SO I went to my doctor. He had be do a blood test, and he ran a few other tests as well, and he told me I had Raynaud's Disease. It’s a rare blood disease in the U.S. (it’s more common in the UK and Europe), where your blood will clot in your appendages (like your fingers and toes) and your hands turn blood from the lack of circulation, and then white from the lack of oxygen. And when the attack is over, they turn bright red from the blood rushing back into the appendages.

A few weeks later, my doctor called back and said it wasn’t Raynaud’. It was hypothyroidism. My thyroid was not working properly, and my metabolism had slowed down to almost a dead stop. My hair was falling out by the handfuls, and I was showing signs of serious depression (no kidding, right?). And so I started taking a medicine for it. I only took this medicine for about a month. And within that month, I went from around 18o pounds to 140 pounds. I went to go see a pediatrician who supposedly was very experienced in this field. And he told me I had depression, and that I should get a counselor and see what they think. And he dismissed it. Oh, and I mention that he had me stop my meds COMPLETELY? Like, cold turkey? Yeah. Well, now my thyroid is back to almost a dead stop. And I am even more depressed. I am now on an antidepressant, an acid reducer (for my stomach from throwing up all the time), and have it written on my medical history and notices/allergies that I cannot, under any circumstances, take and anti-inflammatory because of my stomach issues.

I have a lot to get off my chest, so I am sorry if this is really long. and boring. But I need to.

My Memoir Part 1

Just Because

Cheyenne Bonnell

Personal Memoir

Hey There

Well, my name is Cheyenne (if you haven’t already figured that out). At some point in my life, I grew up. Not into an adult (boring and serious all the time), but I grew up. It’s hard to explain how exactly this “growing up” occurred, but I am sure you know what I mean; cause you’ve been there, too. I may not be able to describe this process that every nine and ten year old kid wants to do (and every 17 year old dreads), but I can tell you when it started. It all began at the end of eighth grade...

The Eighth Grade

I have been an honor roll student since I was in kindergarten (not to gloat or anything). I don’t know how they graded things at your elementary school, but at mine, we did the 1 2 3 4 system. A four is like an A+; you are above the standards, and are doing well. A three is like a C+; you are at the standard. level. A two, it’s not that great; it’s like a D. You almost meet the standard, but not quite. And a one, well, no one wants to get a one. It’s the nice way of tell you that you are failing miserably. I had all threes and fours in elementary school. And in the middle school, once we were graded with the letter/percent system. I had all A’s and B’s.. I did well in math, science, social studies, and language arts. Art was my favorite subject, the library my favorite place to go. Gym was fun, too (I began tapping into my hidden leadership skills early). Everything was good. And then towards the end of the eighth grade, my grades started slipping in language arts. I had a great teacher. His name was Mr. A. He has known my mom for years, and has known me since I was little. I couldn’t keep up in that class for some reason. I couldn’t focus long enough to read the books that were assigned to me, even though I loved reading. I had to use other peoples notes in class because I couldn’t sit still long enough to take my own. And on the rare occasion that I tried to take my own notes, I couldn’t read them later on when I needed them. I tried to study for every test, and each time I would fail..: and I wasn’t able to retake it..

Umm.....What?

I was fed up with failing all the time, and getting yelled at by my mom for not doing well. Every time I brought home a progress report that had a C on it, she would yell at me saying “Why do you have a C? Is it because you’re not handing in your work? WHy aren’t you handing in work? Look at all these F’s! What are you doing? You need to be better.” And then I would be grounded from going to church, and to my youth group, and hanging out with my friends.

I had heard from one of my older friends, that students who play sports tend to do better in school because they have to maintain a certain grade in order to stay on the team. So, I played basketball. I had played before in younger grades, but I didn’t know anybody and felt very out of place. So I tried it again. I played with my best friend Tameka. We were crazy on the court. I was the tallest girl on the team, and played left post. Right under the hoop. We won every game.

I had heard about lacrosse. I knew it was quite violent, but it looked like a lot of fun. So I tried that, too. Mr. A ran a Cityscape Program after school and taught us how to play. He coached the girls lacrosse team at our high school. So, naturally, (and in order to keep everyone safe), he taught us to play by the girls rules, but with boys sticks. I fell in love with the sport. All I wanted to do was play. But I had no one to play with. I enjoyed the six week program, and then put playing to rest.

I hated myself in the eighth grade. I didn’t like the way I looked, I didn’t like the way I talked, I didn’t like anything about myself. The thing I hated the most was my hair. It was long, curly, and VERY blonde. Looking back now, I wish I had kept it that way. But instead, me, being a typical insecure eighth grader, I dyed my hair. What color, you ask? But of course a bright, red velvet. My hair looked like the inside of a red velvet cupcake. I loved it. No one recognized me the day after I dyed it at school. It was weird. People looked at me differently. They looked at me like they wanted to talk to me. Like I was this new toy. And for a while, I liked it. But it got old. I kept up with the coloring, but the socialization piece of it wasn’t my cup of tea anymore. So, I decided that I would focus more on school. My grades went up, and I stopped worrying about myself for a while. Started focusing on everyone else’s problems thinking that if I could solve theirs, then maybe all of mine would go away. SO I started fixing people. Someone was in a bad relationship, I would tell them what it looked like from the outside, and have them, decide what to do. And it worked.

I was happier. I had more friends, I had deeper friendships. Then when graduation came along, there was a hurricane that passed through and flooded most of town. It displaced almost half of the population. So they all lived the towns auditorium (which is where we planned to have our graduation ceremony). Every year in the past, graduation was held here. And us, being the cool eighth graders that we were, wanted to go out with a bang. You know? When you get all stupid on adrenalin and you go and accept your middle school diploma or whatever. We ended up having to have our graduation ceremony in our gym. Which was (by far) not big enough to hold all 125 of us, and all of our parents, brothers and sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, and the previous graduating class from the year before. It was chaos, but it was fun. We all graduated together. We had become a little family. It was nice.

Summer came, we all had fun., July came, and we all went crazy. August rolled around at some point (which came sooner than we had wished), and we settled down into the act of being a real student. We tried to grow up. Become a real teenager. Be a cool high school kid. You know how it is. And then this..this is where the adventure turns more into an episode of some weird tv show mash-up of Degrassi and Survivor. Yeah....

Fresh Meat

Describe your first day of school using one adjective.

Mine would have to be ‘interesting’. Why? Well, we had freshman orientation, and that was really cool. We had these contortionists and other people come for a presentation on succeeding and following your dreams. They told us that high school is really the foundation for the rest of your life. I found that out real quick. The second day of my high school career, was the first day of school for the rest of the student body (10-12 graders). Ean Hulbert (I believe that’s how you spell his name) was student council president and senior class president my freshman year. Well, since the doors open out into the hallways, we have this thing called “door checking”. When you open the door and accidentally hit them (usually in the face), it’s called a door check. Well, I door checked Ean the second day of school. During our first passing period, too. Great start to the day, right? Well, it got worse. At my school, we had 16 pairs of twins my freshman year. And one of the most well known pair of twins were the Avery twins. Matt and Kevin Avery. I door checked them both as well that SAME day; as you can see, my day didn’t get my better.

Over all, freshman year was pretty good. With the exception of my two best friends Anna and Tameka calling me a whore when I was fully dressed. I had on this huge sweatshirt, a pair of skinny jeans, and Ugg boots. The sweatshirt was zipped up to my collar bone. I was so taken back by this. I stopped talking to them for a while and started hanging out with other people that weren’t exactly the best influences. And I started to get in trouble. BUt, me and my girls made up, and life went on as normal. Then....the summer came, and that’s when all hell broke loose in my life.

Teachers......You NEVER Know What You're Gonna Get 0.0

First things first....I love all my teachers. The good ones and the bad ones. The good ones because...well, they taught me how to be a good person. And the bad ones because they taught me one of the most important lessons in life: don't let the little things stand in the way of you making it to where you want to be. 

Okay. Now that all the sentimental things are out of the way...I want to take a moment and talk about my teachers at school. We have like...I don't know...three weeks of school left? (yeah, I am SUPER excited.) For each semester, I will tell you a little bit about each teacher, (maybe a few funny stories here and there :p), and then tell you how amazingly awesome I did in their class (not really. Not the sarcasm.)

Semester 1:

So...I was really excited for my sophomore year (yes, I'm a sophomore. Get over it), and I thought I would love all my teachers. And I did...except....some things went down between then and now...and...well...you'll see.

Block 1: Spanish 3 w/ Miss Strong (#BestTeacherEver)

She is my favorite teacher of all time (right next to my 8th grade science teacher Mr. Woodard). She is so nice, and she always compliments me and really cares about me. She went to college in Guatemala and they have this saying "Mi casa su casa" Meaning "my home is your home." she is just....REALLY nice. We sing and do lots of crafts and videos and listen to cool, hip, spanish music in her class. Great day to start the day. 

One time...I was talking with one of my friends (let's call him...Dude). I was walking with Dude and we talking about something and I don't remember exactly what he was saying, but just as he said the words "big butt"...Miss Strong walked by. And the three of us BURST out laughing. It was the funniest thing ever. We looked like this:

SO anyways...yeah. Next class.

Block 2: IMP w/Miss Hession & Mr. D

Okay...Mr. D does have a last name..I just don't know how to spell it...(even though he's like...my cousin). The year started with Miss Hession....and she was a JERK! Like....you have no idea. She told us on THE SECOND DAY OF SCHOOL that we were her worst class ever out the 15 years she had been teaching. And then, the next day, she was out for the next month of school. She came back, started saying mean stuff to us again. Like...the THREE people that didn't turn their homework in, that the things she had to say to those people were "not school appropriate" (<-----she actually said that). You get the picture. She was a jerk. She missed like...half of the first semester. It was ridiculous. After a while, she left because she got really sick (so we were told), and we had this sub named Mr. Winston. He was a cool dude. He still subs at our school, and when any of the IMP kids see him we yell "HEY!" like this: 

Cause he's cool. Then, we got our permanent teacher. He's a pretty chill guy when it's just a few students and he's helping them after class, or in the morning on a test. But once  you get in the class room, it's like...

D-BAG MODE ACTIVATED

Yeah...this one time, I had to stay after to finish a test, and he was talking to me about how he is working on getting people to stop talking and getting up and stuff during class then complaining how they don't understand...and he called me 'dude'....like.....5 times. Like...this guys in his mid 20's. So it didn't surprise me, but then it kind of hit me after that like..."Woah, he's almost just like us...accept older..and uses a lot of hair gel..." Yeah. I am currently getting a 73 compared to last quarter where I was getting a 71. Mhm. That's right.

Block 3: Digital Photography w/Mr. Eaton (favorite class EVER!)

So, I took this class because I love art, and I love taking pictures. I take a lot of pictures of my self, and of weird things (because I can). So I took this class so I could earn my Fine Arts credit and do some cool artsy things. Anyways, so I liked this class a lot because I always had fun, and met a lot of really cool people in this class that became some of my best friends. Mr. Eaton, he taught me something really important that I still remind myself of daily. He taught me that a little self-confidence goes a long way (but don't get cocky, cause that's not cool, and SUPER annoying). There was this art gallery this past December, and he told me I should enter. There were three of us who entered. Me, another girl in my class we'll call M and another student in a different class that we'll call K. M submitted a REALLY cool looking 3-D statue of an owl and a mouse next to it. It looked really awesome. K submitted some digital media, and a few hand drawings. The gallery was called the "Norwich University School of Architecture and Art Chaplin Hall Gallery". We referred to is as the Chaplin Hall Gallery. Well, the day of the gallery came, and I was the only out of the three of us that showed up. Yes, there was a judging. And no, you didn't have to be present to win. So, there were four places:

(in order from greatest to not as great)

Best in show = $200.00 prize money

First Place = $100.00 prize money

Second Place = $50.00 prize money

(added last minute) Judges Favorite = feel good feeling (<--- I made that up.) Well, anyways, I entered this picture that I took of my bleachers at school, and submitted it along with three others. 

So, I ended up winning First place and a hundred bucks. Yeah, it was cool.

Block 4: U.S. History w/ Mr. Treece (Mr. T)

Yeah, I called him Mr. T all year. Cause he's cool like that. He was a great teacher. Taught me to think outside the box and explore a little more. To not just read between the lines, but read the next page. Everyday was a new adventure in that class. I failed the first quarter, but pulled an 86, then bs'd my way into an 88 on my exams. Passed with a C- (: It was a good time. 

You're welcome

(:

Math. Go Solve Your Own Problems.

So...I'm in this math program called IMP (interactive math program). Before you judge and say that I am stupid, or that I am bad at math, you are DEAD WRONG BRO. IMP is a college prep-course, and I tutor some of my classmates (graduating class classmates) with THEIR homework. Okay? Okay. So...step-off homie G dog. 

Anyways...0.0....So, we are solving systems of equations with 3 variables (x, y, and z) using the Elimination method. BUT....here's the catch. Since we just finished our introduction to matrices, we have to turn the system into a matrix. And then enter those matrices into our graphing calculators, and solve for the values of x, y, and z. Needless to say, it's a pain in the read end. 

We have had like....4 worksheets to do. 2 over the weekend, and 2 today for homework. I finished one in class, and so I took the second one home for homework. I started solving.....you know, solving by elimination....and I got OUTRAGEOUS numbers. like........8.0285430293852, -.00001283u54901984, .8fh0208357201-58740. I knew this was OBVIOUSLY wrong, so I tried it again....and again....and again......and yet again. And I got no where. So...I solved it using the matrices, and I got simple numbers -5, 4, 1. Easy. I tried it one last time. Still...I was no where near the answers I should have been getting. So, I skipped it. I wrote a little note saying that I had spent an hour on this one problem, and that I was confused and frustrated, so therefore I was skipping this problem. Then I moved on to number 2. Still...........I was dead wrong. I got infinite solutions. So...I just skipped that one, too. I gave up on number 3. I got whole numbers, but they were like......608375092134012 times the numbers I was supposed to get. Naturally...I went on to number 4.  This one was easy. Like..super easy. It kind of looked like this:

So, I solved it. Got the numbers I was supposed to. And then....you all can guess what I did...I THREW MY HOME WORK IN THE AIR AT LAST! SCREAMING I HATE THIS DUMB SHIZZZZZZZ! And it looked kind of like this: 






So, yeah. And now I am sitting here...on my laptop.....writing to a bunch of people I don't know. Complaining about how I hate my math class..but want to be a high-school math teacher. Yup. No logic. Welcome to IMP every body.