Oblivion

I just finished reading John Green's The Fault in Our Stars, and I can't help but sit back and feel like I've experienced a mindgasm. I mean, I know that I can be pretty deep and insightful at times (don't mind me, just stroking my ego a little bit), but after reading that book, John Green made me sound just about as deep as a kiddie pool. And you have to realize that, yes, it is the author who is deep. We often get so absorbed in the characters that we forget those characters only came to be because of the mind of a great writer. I feel like if I were to sit down with Green and have a cup of coffee at some hole in the wall cafe or a Starbucks, I would walk out of there 20x smarter than when I walked in. Yeah. It was that insightful.

The main characters in the book are diagnosed with cancer or have been diagnosed with cancer in the past, but what I loved about it was that it wasn't a book that gravitated around the disease. There were plenty of other small pieces to it that questioned and explored life, death, love, and how to deal with the whole spectrum of emotion, and throughout the entire thing, I could feel my mind exploding with in-depth thinking that kept peeling away layers and layers of thoughts about life that I had not even taken the time to really notice even existed. I can remember certain points in the book where I just stopped reading and pondered what Green was trying to get at or what he knew was there that needed to be revealed. Never before had I ever been introduced to such complex, insightful thoughts that seemed to dive into an ocean of their own, going deeper and deeper still until I found myself lost in thought.

What is death, anyway? And what is love? It has occurred to me that the more you love someone, the more apt you are to losing yourself once that person is gone. So when they're gone, where do you go? Where does that much of you just disappear to? I know that if I lost Shane, I wouldn't know how to deal with the pain. I could imagine myself lying on the couch in my basement in the dark, completely numb, ignoring the necessities of survival. And it makes me wonder just how much of ourselves we invest in other people. So many of us say we are living life for ourselves and that we can be happy by being ourselves. I've said before that I don't depend on other people because I can be happy all on my own. But that is also a lie. What are we without our relationships with other human beings? Sure, man himself could sit out in nature and enjoy all its beauties and riches, but if his happiness could survive on that, and that alone, then why did God create woman (so to speak in biblical terms)? If no one existed except me, myself, and I, sure, the pressures of meeting society's standards (or even a culture's standards, for that matter) wouldn't exist, which would make things a whole lot easier on my part. But how happy can we feel before our thoughts inevitably start to tangle and have no one there to help untangle them? We'd completely lose it. We simply cannot exist if we cannot find love and companionship in at least one other person.

John Green said in this book that pain demands to be felt, and I can't find any truer words than these. Pain demands to be felt. It carried weight when I read it, because so often, we try to mask pain. We cover it up and tuck it away so that we can save some face in front of people who care about us, because we love them, and we don't want them to feel pain. We create these facades so that we can go along in life not inflicting scars upon other people. But if we are not inflicting them on the people around us, we are only inflicting them on ourselves. Reading this book made me really question why we're so afraid to hurt. Love is hurt. We hurt because we love, and we love because we hurt. If we did not have anyone to love or to care for, we'd hurt from the pain of isolation and loneliness. But by loving others, we are risking the chance to hurt them for whatever reasons life decides to give us; things that we, ourselves, can't always control. There is no way to save face, in the long run, because if you hide it, you end up hurting. If you don't hide it, you end up hurting. But I think that love can overcome the pain just as much as it can cause it. If it hurts, it means it matters. And if it matters, then that means it's real. We question what love is all the time. We've been questioning it for God knows how long. We hear adults say we have no idea what it is, while we so deeply believe that we do.  And I think that to determine if it is real or not, you must know what it feels like for it to be taken away from you.

I understand that these thoughts of mine are most likely disorganized, because it is 4:50 a.m. and I have not chosen to go to bed yet. But I feel like these layers of thoughts are important ones, because not all of us take the time to recognize they are there, and we certainly don't take enough time to question them because we are afraid to feel them affect us in ways we do not wish to be affected. But the way I see it, if they make you feel something, whether it be happiness, sadness, anger, etc., then they must be thoughts that need to be addressed, correct? We are human beings that were created to feel. Again, speaking in biblical terms (although I find the bible to be a long history of telephone and hardly believe in half the shit it contains, no offense to any religious people), if our feelings didn't matter, then God never would have created woman. We need to feel in order to survive, which means that, yes, pain has to be felt and dealt with, just like any other emotion.

Hazel and Augustus (the main characters in The Fault in Our Stars) were well aware of life's cruelties, and knowing that they may end up hurting each other, they jumped into oblivion anyway, all for the chance that they may both end up happy so long as they were with each other. Life is about the risk, and about not knowing what will become of us, but being more than willing to sacrifice it all anyway for the sake of maybe coming across the kind of love and happiness that, even if experienced for just a second, is something real and extremely rare.

So many of us decide to walk on the sidewalk, but everyone knows there's more room for company in the street.

In My Eyes

Oh, how it saddens me to hear anyone say that they are unimportant; that they are ugly and worthless and boring. It saddens me to hear them say that they don't care about anything anymore, and that they've given up. It hurts to watch them point out the most beautiful mistakes on their bodies, and to call those things ugly and unimportant; to wish that they could change it so that they are flawless and perfect. Who has ever wanted perfect? What good is perfect for anyone? If one of us is perfect, the rest of us stand in the background and brood in our own jealousy, anger, and resentment of ourselves and our imperfections. We are inferior to perfect, and therefore, must achieve perfect to feel like we are no longer inferior to those around us who seem to have found a happy medium, who really aren't happy because they keep finding things to hate about themselves, and therefore, are not perfect.

I will tell each and every one of you right now that perfect isn't possible, and if it were possible, then life would be utterly boring and terribly dreadful. What is there to challenge if we are good at everything? If  we have nothing to work with or have fun with? And why in the hell are you feeling terrible about the shape of your nose or the color of your eyes, or even the thickness or thinness of your lips? Why are you beating yourself up over having a stomach when a stomach is supposed to be a part of the body? Why do we obsess over our hair and how it's too frizzy or poofy or flat or whatever your hair is? Why are we picking on ourselves and hating ourselves, and if we cannot love ourselves, how can we possibly love anyone else? If we're always living in someone else's shadow of perfection, than how can we, as humans, possibly be happy? To constantly be picking on ourselves is to constantly discourage others because we cannot be happy with the way we are. And if we aren't happy with the way we are, who is going to want to love us if they must live in fear of us seeing them as we see ourselves, picking at things that are different, odd, weird, but overall, wonderful about ourselves?

I grew up wondering what was wrong with me, and why I couldn't be happy. I constantly asked myself if I had the right looks and if I acted the right way. Then, one day, I woke up, and it occurred to me that I had been going about things all wrong. It did not matter if I had a thousand friends, or one. And it did not matter whether I had a boyfriend or not. It didn't matter if I had the power to capture a whole audience, or just one person's attention. The important thing was that I needed to accept who I was, and to do that, I had to explore who I was. Exploring my interior and my exterior made me realize that I loved my big feet. They were big, but they were healthy and beautiful. I had gigantic hands, but wonderful words came from the way I wrote with them. I gave birth to drawings and baked goods, and my hands were big enough to hold someone else's hands when they needed to find the comforting touch of someone they loved and cared about. I used to not like my eyes, and then one day I fell in love with the color variation and how I could manipulate it with eye makeup. My poofy, wavy hair was thick and full, and I could do so much with it concerning new hair styles. I hated my body and my stomach until I was able to find ways to show my curves without being embarrassed by them, and once I found the right fit, I loved my body just the way it was. And all of these aspects are things that I still love about myself very dearly. I realized my mistakes were things that someone else could easily love about me because they were a part of my individuality and who I was.

At one point, I believed that I led a boring life, and that there was nothing to contribute. I was a waste of space that no one really even cared about. But I decided that I was boring because I wasn't living, and without living, I couldn't develop my own thoughts and opinions and personal views about life. So I stopped being boring and took interest in things that I found curious or out of the ordinary. I began to educate myself by visiting internet sources and reading books and surrounding myself with people who loved to talk about life and love and academics. I began to watch the world in a different way, and I realized that I hadn't been thinking or seeing clearly. My happiness was solely dependent upon me. With that in mind, I sought out good friends and learned from bad ones. I learned lessons through disappointment and a long history of always losing and never winning. And if there was ever an instance where I did win at something, even if it was small, I took notes in my mind on what I did right and went from there. Eventually I got to a place of self-satisfaction, and now that I am happy with myself and my accomplishments, body image, thoughts, and effort to make this world, these people, and myself better, I strive to keep loving everything I used to hate. I strive to love myself internally and externally, and ultimately, it has only become an advantage that I never used to have. People can love me for who I am because I love myself, and if I can love who I am, mistakes and all, then I can love you for all that you are too.

So child, friend, acquaintance, stranger... please don't hate yourself for who you are. Please don't pick on the things that you think are wrong with you, because I find the things that you think are mistakes, and I fall in love with those things because they make up the uniqueness of who you are. Do not beat yourself up over the things you have done wrong, or the failures you have experienced. Don't tell yourself that you are ugly, unimportant, and worthless. Don't question how anyone could possibly love you because you're not happy with the way you see yourself. Look at your imperfections. Look at all of them. Make note of them, and focus on them, because even though you may not like these things, you have them for reasons no one else does, and that's kind of cool. Those imperfections are important. Don't hate them. Love your mistakes and cradle them in your arms, because great things are going to become of them. They have the power to change, to influence, and to make your life worth more than you could ever imagine it to be. Not only that, but once you love yourself, other people will love you too, because they'll know that if you can love your flaws, then you can love theirs, too. If we aren't focusing on perfection, and instead, on loving what is naturally given to us, then we can all achieve what we're striving to be: accepted.

Darling, when you beat yourself up over the things that make you beautiful, it makes me very sad inside, because you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, and I wish you could see just how amazing you are in my eyes.

The Coleture Concept

Awhile back, I heard from Tumblr* users via Tumblr posts that Cole Sprouse had joined the blogging site. Everyone was making such a big deal out of it, but I didn't really pay much attention to it, nor did I seek his page out just to follow him. I knew better than to think I would actually have a chance at communicating with him. After all, he's a famous guy, so I knew there would be plenty of people filling up his ask box and trying to get at him. So I went about not really caring about it.

I just heard a few days ago that Cole Sprouse deleted his account on Tumblr, and saw in several blog posts that he "betrayed" the Tumblr users. Of course, my curiosity got the best of me, and I began to Google the situation to see exactly what had happened. I found a link explaining a good deal of what had happened (click here for the webpage) and the webpage also linked me to his very last blog post.

The text shown above reads as:

So my goal for this website was accomplished.  I got all the information that I needed and now I’m deleting this account. Thanks to all who watched, read, and listened, I hope that in some small way my words carried weight. The next time you see or hear from me I will, most definitely, be a changed man. Before I go I’ll answer a question that people keep asking about my ring.  My ring is the skull of a chameleon. The chameleon can see everything that happens around it. Constantly aware of its environment, the small reptile changes color depending on the situation it enters.  Its very special form of adaptation is one I try to mimic, every time I enter a space I try to become aware of what I step into and change my color accordingly. The way I move, feel, argue, and all the discourse of my life, changes in order to succeed within that space. This adaptation to environmental and social pressure will allow me to succeed, much like Darwin had so brilliantly noted. You take a role and embrace it, but know that you are never whole, and those who fall in love with you or otherwise fall for your performance, not you, for you is never constant. My life is lokinous, but there are many levels to deceit, and cheating is only frowned upon when you’re caught.  So goodbye and remember that the next time you see or hear from me I will, most definitely, be a changed man.

Cole Sprouse also tweeted about his sociology project, which is provided in the link above. But the pictures of the tweets are too small to read, so I'll type them out for you here for the sake of your precious eye sight.

Well, the Tumblr results are in! I suppose I've given this enough time to fester.

1) The goal was to see how a group of people reacted to a suggestion of being observed. Some of you guessed this, good job :) 

2) I never actually stated you guys were part of an experiment or project (go back and read the final post).

3) You guys forgot about everything I said in my previous posts, jumped to conclusions, and changed your disposition to me. Interesting.

4) Even if I did conduct a report on this, which I'm not, you think I would do it without your permission? ILU too much (not really)

5) You guys reacted exactly how I thought you would, gathering nothing from what I said and acting like I betrayed you. (SUCCESS and shame)

6) I don't know you, you don't know me. People have the capability of being nice and mean. Don't blindly follow someone.

7) I had fun :) I hope you did too. We laughed, we even cried tears of a baby angel. So remember the good, not the bad. 

P.S. I will not be making another Tumblr. All people who say they're me are lying. Endless rage- Cole M.W. Sprouse

And then I realized I might actually be evil

After reading all of this, I came to the conclusion that Cole Sprouse is a pretty intelligent guy, and that he's studying something worthwhile. Now for some thoughts of my own.

I really don't see how these Tumblr users can feel betrayed by him. Like Cole said, they don't know him, and he doesn't know them. Did they really think that by him joining Tumblr, they could all gather around a virtual campfire and get to know each other intimately? It's the internet. You can follow anyone and they have the ability to be both kind and ruthless. Therefore, Cole was insanely kind while talking to these people who were sending countless messages to him through his ask box. His answers were answers that online bloggers were expecting to hear, and he portrayed kindness that was expected of him as a famous figure. And I think that people are upset over this whole thing because they're the ones who got involved with it and "fell for it." I was one of the Tumblr users who could care less if Cole Sprouse was on Tumblr or not, and even if I had followed him, I would have been smarter than to actually try to message him. I already knew that chances of communicating with him were slim to none, and he was just another celebrity finding ways to reach out to his fans.

Another thing I dislike about Tumblr is that most of the people who I follow on it complain about how ugly they are and how no one understands them and how they feel so alone. They talk about how no one loves them and that they'll be "forever alone," and they seem to love talking about how they hate everyone. People go on there for the sake of complaining about how horrible their lives are, and every single time I log on, I scroll past at least 50+ posts talking about the above. Then I sit there and shake my head, thinking, "That is no way to live life." So when Cole Sprouse joined the famous pessimistic blogging site, I thought, "These people are going to go crazy over this." It seemed so out of place for him to even be on a site like that. It is simply not a place where celebrities belong.

I find it funny how so many people thought Cole actually gave two shits about them and their lives and how deeply torn and scarred they were on the inside (as if), when no one on Tumblr gives a shit about anyone. It's the truth. People only "care" when someone posts a message saying, "I'm going to commit suicide now. Bye," or, "If I get this many reblogs, I won't kill myself." (a tactic often used to quickly gain more followers). Then people begin to reblog them saying things like, "Help this person! Save a life!" But they don't really care about that person committing suicide. They didn't care when that particular person was posting depressing posts (like every Tumblr user does), so why should that change? Looking at what Cole said, you never know who a person is or what their tendencies are. And people on Tumblr followed him and conversed with him thinking that he understood and that they knew him and that he would know them, Poor, depressed, deeply torn souls.

After reading about all of what happened, I found myself intrigued by Cole Sprouse as a person. The way he thought this through is fascinating to me, not to mention a rather fair experiment. I often thought about conducting a Tumblr experiment myself, where I would make a fake Tumblr account, accumulate a fair amount of followers through depressing posts, and then post a text post about how I was going to kill myself, just to see how many people fell for the "I care about you" card. But I found that to be a rather cruel experiment, considering how suicide is a touchy subject, so I gracefully backed away from the idea. But the whole chameleon concept is true, how we, as humans, adapt to our surroundings in order to survive and blend in with society. Think about it. We all have our private lives at home, but once out in society, we look and act a certain way to blend in, just as chameleons do. We don't want to stick out and show society how different we are because we're afraid we will be looked down upon, rejected, and end up completely alone. And Cole wanted to challenge this subject by means of joining an internet site. He also pointed out that "you is never constant," meaning that as people, we are always changing and adapting, so you can't fall in love with someone for who he or she is, because he or she is always changing as a person.

In conclusion, if you're a Tumblr user who feels betrayed by Cole Sprouse, don't hate him, because he isn't the one who persuaded you to become what you might feel as a "lab rat." Be angry at yourself a little bit for being none the wiser, and be upset with the way society has shaped you, along with natural animal instinct to blend in, adjust, and belong. Had you been a little wiser and a little more realistic about this whole situation (like me), you could have proved his expectations wrong and completely changed the results of this sociology project. But alas, what's done is done, and he's just a human being who as curious about the ways humans behave and respond to a given situation, such as a celebrity joining a networking site.

Maybe some of you will learn from this and be a little wiser next time you think you know someone based on their Tumblr page instead of who they really are and what they aren't telling you.

*Tumblr: A blogging website (usually used by teenagers) where you can reblog photos, conversations, links, text posts, videos, music media, and you can also post these things yourself. You follow certain blogs that you like, and the people who you follow will post things or reblog things that interest them, which will appear on your dashboard (the main blog screen) for you to see, like, and also reblog. The more people who follow you, the more "Tumblr famous" you become.

Some Nights

I just got home from play rehearsal, although, I could have been home around 10:15. But instead of deciding to head out that soon, I decided to hang around and chat with Britney. That "chat" started off just standing in the parking lot, and then it advanced to leaning against her car, and then eventually she said, "Why don't we sit down on the curb if we're going to talk. My feet are killing me." So we sat down and just chatted about girl stuff, like what we thought about guys, who we used to like, who we like now, how guys are confusing, etc. During this conversation, Anthony pulled into the parking lot and decided to sit down and talk to us while he was waiting for Paula. She arrived about five minutes after he did, and we all formed a small circle kind of shape and chatted for awhile. After Anthony and Paula left, Britney walked over and sat in her car while I sat on the ground, and we stalled going home for another fifteen minutes.

I think that tonight, I needed that kind of interaction. I've been feeling so alone lately, although I didn't really notice exactly how alone I was feeling up until now. But sitting here writing all this down is making me realize how good I feel and how relaxed I am. It shouldn't be all that different to tell someone else what you're thinking vs. just keeping it to yourself, because obviously if you think your thoughts are just ramble, then someone else will think the same. But sometimes it just feels good to be listened to. And maybe it feels good to be listened to because you have someone looking at it from a different perspective instead of always looking at it from your own, and that person could say something in response that makes you understand yourself a little better. But even if they don't, it's just the fact that you aren't alone with these thoughts, no matter how unimportant they seem, or whether you understand them or not. There were several times tonight where I ended my statements with, "I don't know," and Britney would say, "Yeah, me either." And it's just that feeling of not knowing together that made it feel so liberating. Because I wasn't alone. Why are we so deathly afraid of being alone?

Britney and I really had a nice bonding night, and I honestly wish people took the time to have more of those moments. We're such a busy society, rushing around, having to get things done, and we often forget to take time to get to know the people around us. We're busy seeing them as our coworkers, classmates, acquaintances, or whatever it is you see them as, and it's a shame when you don't take the opportunity to find out just how wonderful they are. Britney was telling me a story tonight about a conversation she had with her guy friend when she was younger, and somewhere in that story, she said, "You could be missing out on me." For some reason, that just struck a chord. How many wonderful people are we truly missing out on? People who we may see every single day but never take the time to really sit down and talk to? To learn about their hobbies, interests, family life, friends, and to even be included in that "friends" category? How many people am I missing out on because I am simply not taking time to stop and smell the roses? For all I know, the person who I'm hardly talking to could be a perfect fit into my life, and I'm just letting him or her slip right by, unnoticed.

I feel like every encounter is an opportunity, whether it be to make a new friend, to have a love interest, or to simply create a beautiful relationship without even meaning to; a run-in collision that just so happened to work out perfectly. I was watching New Girl earlier today, the episode where Jess goes to Cece's birthday party at the bar while Schmidt makes a big deal about Nick not ever taking the time to think about him, and at the very end of the episode, Jess asks Cece, "Do you think if we met today, we would still be friends?" to which Cece replies, "...I don't know. But we're friends now." And that's really all that matters, when it boils down to it. You just have to jump into things and not question them, and hope that it all turns out okay, and I think that's the beautiful thing about human nature. We're never really sure, but we still take the time to risk it all anyway, and sometimes you just need to quit questioning "I wonder if this person would be good for me" and just find out.

I still have a lot to learn about love and friendship, and I know that bonding doesn't happen overnight. But it can start by just taking a night to not be anywhere but where you are right at that moment, and to feel that moment come alive; to be in it completely instead of thinking about the moments ahead. Take the time to live in the now, because if you're always looking forward, you could be missing out on some pretty great people who are standing right there next to you.

The things you take for granted, someone else is praying for.

I was sitting here earlier today talking to one of my friends online like I usually do, and I was feeling down in the dumps about being alone. Not in the sense that I had no friends or family. Trust me, I've had plenty of my friends wanting to see me this weekend, and it made me want to laugh, because it's my last full weekend off from play rehearsals. But, I was thinking about being alone in the sense that I don't have a significant other in my life. And in the midst of wallowing in self-pity over it, I saw a quote on Facebook that said, " The things you take for granted, someone else is praying for." I stopped thinking for a second and read the quote a few times, really grasping what it was saying, and suddenly, I thought, Why am I so hung up over this? There are people right now who wish they could be alone; people who are in abusive relationships that don't know how to get out of them or who are too scared to. It made me realize that I'm not so lonely.

Later on tonight, I was also thinking about Bullying Prevention Day (October 1st), and how so many of us take our happiness and our friends, family, and lives for granted. There are so many people out there who are suffering from depression, abuse, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts, and I know that even though some of it does have to do with the chemical imbalances in the brain, I also think that things like that don't just develop on their own. There are people out there who don't understand what words or actions are mentally or physically doing to another person, and because of that, we don't really think about what we say or do. We just do it. 

I don't think I developed depression on my own, even though it runs in our family. I highly believe that I developed it because I was seen as a "weirdo" at a very young age, and it made me feel disconnected from everyone around me. I was never really concerned with making friends because my imagination was enough, but I also think that I didn't bother with it because I knew how mean people could be. I had almost my entire Brownie Girl Scout troop mentally affecting me with their stares and whispers and finger pointing, and I guess being shy didn't help that much. But I just felt different all the time. There was even an instance where one of them invited me to a sleepover, and when I showed up, I rang the doorbell and could hear all of the girls on the other side saying, "Who is it?! Who do you think it is?!" When they opened the door and saw that it was me, all of the excitement drained from their faces and it was replaced with a look of boredom. "Oh, it's just Stephanie." They all went back downstairs, and I ended up going home that night. I felt like the present that some five year old opens at Christmas and sees that it's only socks. And when you feel like that, it does take a toll on you. I went on to be bullied in first grade by a girl who actually hit me and screamed at me (although, she screamed at everyone), and in 5th-8th grade, no one seemed to like me because I hung out with "the rejects." 7th and 8th grade were the worst, because that's when my depression hit its peak point. I showed it in little ways, like wearing black clothes when I'd get home and sitting by myself at lunch. Not interacting with anyone at recess. And what made it worse was that the boys in my class would ask me out just because they thought it was funny. You can't blame someone for isolating themselves and having high doubts because they feel like the punch line of everyone's jokes. 

Being a supporter of anti-bullying is the one thing that I feel comfortable doing. I will wear the anti-bullying clothes and the "Don't Give Up" shirts because I know what it's like to eat alone, sit alone, and feel like there's no hope. I know what it feels like to not belong and to not feel loved enough. And it really hurts me to know that there are people out there who want to end their lives because of things like that. People are bullied every day, and I will admit that I've bullied a few people in my lifetime too by talking shit about them. We all do it, and I'm not proud of myself for knowing that I've done it, especially considering the fact that I know all too well what it feels like to not belong or to be rejected and made fun of. It kills me on the inside when I hear about people who have committed suicide because they couldn't take the pain that other people were causing them, and I always wonder, How could it get that bad? But on the inside, I already understand. I know because I had those thoughts my senior year of high school. I could never make my dad proud of me with my grades or getting accepted into colleges. I felt like an idiot and a worthless piece of shit that was only costing my family money to get an education, and for writing, nonetheless; a career that could easily cause me to starve if my future writing doesn't sell. And when you feel like that... when you feel like you aren't good enough and feel like you won't make a difference, alive or dead, you start to think about what it would be like to not be around anymore. People become distant, and you just simply stop caring. 

I remember when I was younger, and I thought that being happy was a simple thing. You aren't happy? Well just start being happy then! That was before my depression got bad. I thought that if you always looked toward the bright side of things, nothing could hurt you or harm you. Stay positive. But once I got into high school, I realized that there were going to be days where being positive just wasn't enough to keep you from feeling sad and down in the dumps. I realized that sometimes you really had to fight off depression in order to just feel okay on some days, and I also learned that it was easy to pull off looking happy to other people, and to not show any of what was going on inside of you. I've often thought about how people would react if they ever saw me on a bad day by myself, crying and feeling as though nothing was ever going to be alright again. And then I think about how many other people are feeling that way in the world right now; people who are starving themselves or cutting or contemplating their own deaths, and I just wish that they could hang in there and know that there are brighter days. I wish I could convince them that it really takes a lot of fighting in order to hang in there for one more day, and to hope that you're just having a bad day. 

People who don't suffer from depression, self-harm, substance abuse, suicidal thoughts, and/or being bullied may never understand what it's like for those of us who do. But I will say that it's something you constantly need to tell yourself you can make it through, no matter how hard it may be to believe. And I want you guys to know that it's okay to trip and fall sometimes; to not believe those words of encouragement to yourself. I can't tell you how many times I've thought about just giving up, or about starving myself or cutting myself, and I did starve myself once over a 24-hour period, but I promised myself that I would never do that again. I've spent weeks on end feeling like things were never going to be okay again, and never get better, and whenever I'd hit rock bottom, I'd take a good look at myself and ask, How could I let myself get this bad?  Then the battle would start again, and I'd begin fighting. Don't think you have to be strong all the time. It's okay to mess up a few times. But remember that things are going to be okay.

To the ones who have committed suicide, just know that even if I have never met you or heard your story, it's important to  me, and I would have loved you despite how broken you were. To those suffering now, please find the strength to keep fighting whatever it is that's bringing you down. And if you are being bullied, don't be scared to tell someone. Your life is an important one, and other people should not be in control of it. And... for those of you who are suffering from depression, self-harm, substance abuse, or suicidal thoughts, please find a way to either get some help, or to keep yourself from falling deep enough to where there has to be an intervention. 

Some people take life for granted, while others are praying for a life free of pain. 

Keep fighting. 

Uncontrollable.

Depression. I hate having it sometimes. And honestly, I doubt I would have it today had I not been bullied for being "different" while growing up. I often wonder why people do it. What causes you to bully someone to the point where they feel like they don't belong anymore? To make them feel like they're never going to fit in and that they'll just have to accept that? Do the differences of someone else scare you to the point where if you pick on them, you think that they'll stop being like that? Because that isn't true. Bullies turn victims into bullies or cause their victims to become so withdrawn that their social skills suffer greatly. And I think that's why I'm such an awkward penguin today, even with my upbeat personality. It took me all of my high school years to improve myself and to make most of that awkwardness melt away. Had it not been for the people who reached out to me when I first got into high school, I would probably still be that person who doesn't talk to anyone because I know I'm weird and different, and society rejects that. I can remember how secluded I felt while growing up, and when you're young, it doesn't bother you all that much. I think I knew I was different, and knowing that made it okay some aspects. But then the teasing and whispering would start, and I guess seeing people point at me and snicker was what hurt me because it was confirming that I was right, and that I wasn't accepted because of it.

I'm not going to say my childhood was terrible. I actually had a pretty great childhood. I had neighborhood friends and classmate friends. We would always hang out and have fun together, and those were the happy times where my weirdness didn't really matter or register to the other kids. But there were still the people who liked to make it obvious that I was an outcast, and the more I grew up, the more I realized that I didn't belong. I was different and weird, and eventually it sent me into a depression. I was used to being ignored and talked about. No one every really wanted to extend a hand and say, "Hey, it's alright. Come hang out with us. You belong." I don't really think I understood what depression was at the time, but I would eat lunch alone and sit on the playground alone because I felt like no one wanted me. It wasn't really anyone's fault at my grade school though. I can't blame them all that much for why I acted the way I did. It was because I was mentally bullied at the age of five that I grew up believing I was unwanted, and ou can't expect thirteen/fourteen year-olds to understand what kind of mental state I was in at that time. They didn't grow up the same way I did. But I did feel ignored, and sometimes all I wanted was for someone to come up and tell me it was okay and that they wanted to hang out with me.

High school was the better part of my life. I figured that I would just go to my classes and be silent and not talk to anyone for four years, and then people began coming to me. It was different, and for awhile, I was slightly confused. People liked me? That was when I began to grow. That was when the awkwardness began to go away, and although I had my episodes of depression and rejection, it didn't hurt as much. Then junior year came. They had this new internet site called "Formspring" where people could go and ask questions, either directly or anonymously. When I heard of it, I thought it would be a lot of fun. I'm one of those people who loves telling others about myself and my views and thoughts. So I made an account and began talking about it on Facebook. That's when I found out that people weren't always so nice on the internet. I received messages such as:

Have you ever realized that you need to clean yourself up a bit? Try and get some style, andnd try and fix you're acne problem. You always complain about loosing weight, but that's not your biggest concern.

I kinda agree with the person two questions down. Maybe not change your style but clean yourself up. Sometimes it looks like you don't even try to look decent.

You say you don't care what people say, but you post depressing things on Facebook.About how ugly you think you are? That person may have approached it the wrong way, but they never called you ugly.And, Im bigger then you are, and I wear jeans? Dont worry

I'd like to say real quick, off topic, that the grammar in those messages is frightening. Okay. Back to the blog. 

These messages didn't really phase me at first, and there were other questions worse than this that I ended up deleting or not answering because it just wasn't worth the mental abuse, but after awhile, they really started to take a toll on me. And I think that's what started my depression up again. I guess senior year was the worst for me if I had to choose one. I did meet Shane that year, and that's probably the only really life-changing part about it. I don't mean to say that the other people I talked to (Kassie, Rena, Eddie, Dalton, Brian, Cynthia) weren't significant, because they're great people that I enjoy talking to. But I also noticed how many of my friends didn't talk to me anymore, and one of my old friends even came back and used me, which really ended up hurting later on. And I think that now, in college, depression has been coming pretty easily to me. I've lost some friends which hasn't helped my happiness out much, and what's horrible about depression is that even little things can set it off. An ignored amount of texts or messages to my friends. A change in plans that makes me feel like I'm being rejected for something or someone better. Comments that are meant to be jokes but that I end up taking to heart. Even yesterday, I felt ignored, and I guess that's what triggered the depression that I'm trying to shove away now. I hate feeling this sensitive because my feelings end up affecting the ways I'm thinking. "So and so doesn't care about me. I'm being ignored. Someone better came along. I've been replaced. They forgot about me. They're leaving me." Blah blah blah. And pretty soon, those thoughts start to weigh me down and make me believe in things about people that usually aren't even true. I begin to make assumptions and convince myself that those assumptions are true. It's something completely out of my control, and I even began thinking about blades again  last night. It wasn't the first time and I know it won't be the last, and although I know for a fact that I could never bring myself to do it, imagining myself cutting my wrists is almost a relief. I guess I mentally do it and imagine the scars there, and they're scars no one except me can see. No one can't roll up my sleeves and react like people usually do, looking alarmed or frightened about it. And I think that's what I like about thinking these things. No one knows or can see, so there's no need for alarm.

Sometimes I feel guilty for having this illness. I know there are people out there who have worse lives than I do, and sometimes I feel like I'm making a big deal out of nothing. But I have to keep in mind that mental abuse is just as serious as physical abuse or anything else that can trigger depression, such as eviction or debt or losing a job. I was treated differently growing up and I spent that time alone because that's just how I thought life worked. You grow up alone, you stay alone. And maybe that's the reason why I'm trying  to avoid a relationship with someone. I'm so used to being by myself that I'm afraid letting someone in is really going to end up damaging me in the end. I'm aware of my illness and how horrible it can make me feel, and because of that, I'm trying to avoid any kind of relationship that might end up triggering that pain I've become familiar with. 

 Depression is honestly a day-to-day battle. Some days are really great, and others just completely suck. It's something that I always have to be aware of and that I have to fight, even if it's something that I don't have a choice in feeling. It's also something that I'm choosing to fight without medication, because I think that depression med stuff really messes with the head and can even worsen thoughts, and I don't want to be like that. Sometimes I wish people would understand the state of mind I'm in when I get like this, but I understand why they can't. I guess it's just wishing someone could look at me and ask me what's wrong, even if I try to pull off a smile that I don't mean. And I wish that person would refuse to leave me until I was feeling better and would just sit and spend time with me. But you can't always receive what you want, and I guess that's just the way life is.

I'm still trying to fight this wave of sadness that's trying to wash over me right now, and it's really difficult to do because I haven't faced it in awhile. But I'm never going to give up this fight, because I know that there are better days ahead, and I want to see them happen.

The Chase

It's early early EARLY in the morning right now and I still haven't done my homework. It's something that I should be doing, but I just can't focus because there's something else that's bothering me. So we're about to move onto the subject of guys. And being single. And all that jazz. Here we go.

When I was younger (and by younger, I mean 8th grade), I started to wonder what it would be like to have a boyfriend. However, I was never one of those girls who fantasized about her wedding day because it was never anything on my mind. It didn't seem important. All that was important to me was the "now" and not the "later on down the road" deal. And, like any normal person should, I found myself growing more and more interested in guys as I matured. But I never actually got a boyfriend because the ones I wanted throughout those four years of high school were simply not meant to be, and instead, ended up being little crushes that I got over fairly quickly. I would constantly question myself and wonder when Mr. Right was going to show up. I tried to befriend them, and I tried to be friendly and joke around and do all the cute things a girl does to get a guy. But sadly, nothing ever worked, and I just kept on living my day to day life like any other person would. For awhile it was an obsession, and I worried over it so much that I probably caused myself more pain than what it was worth.

Once I started college, I realized that I no longer cared. And... it's weird. I thought I wanted a special someone in my life just like everyone else. I always used to look around and think Why can't that be me? And I guess one day I woke up and was just sick and tired of asking myself questions without answers. I was tired of worrying and tired of making it a priority. So I decided that I was going to make myself happy instead and follow the beat of my own drum, and when I made that decision, I felt better. Things improved, and I was actually happy for once without any concern creeping around in the back of my mind. I think that now, I actually have more guy friends than girl friends just for the fact that I've been worrying about the things that matter instead of trying to make the idea of someone matter. My feelings, my career, my friends, my family, my life in the theatre... it's all very important and all very significant to me, and now, without even meaning to, I'm beginning to charm people. Somehow, doing the things that matter grab a guy's attention.

Guys...I hate it.

You wouldn't expect a girl like me to say that I really don't want to be with anyone, but the more I think about being alone and being with my friends and family, the easier it is for me to relax and be myself and be happy. I've been without the voices of unreasoning for so long that it's actually nice to not have to wonder, Could I be attracted to him? Could I be with him? Should I try to get close to him? Does he like me like that? Do I like him like that? This is so weird and awkward.  And I've already had a couple guys (not gonna name names) admit that they like me, and I honestly don't mind it, but it's just that I'm really not interested. I'm actually really uncomfortable with the idea of having a boyfriend, and don't ask me why, because I have no clue. I'm just happy being myself. Of course, there are the occasional crushes, but they always amount to nothing. Alone seems to be the right idea.

My friend once told me that when girls are stubborn and won't go out with a guy who likes them, that it only fuels their fire to try harder. They think, I'm going to be the one to win her over. I know I can be if I just keep trying. And normally, girls like to play hard to get for that particular reason. The chase is the most exciting part of a relationship because it's like a complicated dance that takes time and skill to master, and it can be a beautiful thing. In fact, it can be an attractive quality to a person. But I'm not playing hard to get. I don't want anyone trying to pursue me or trying to win my heart over because they think that's what I'm expecting them to do. If I don't give you a clear sign that I'm interested in that way at all, then I'm not, and that's that. I'm a nice person, but nice with a bubbly personality is not flirting. Not only that, but I've tried the chase several times on several occasions and just fell flat on my face, and I'd hate to watch someone else try to do that same exact thing with me. I just want to be alone. I don't want you to think that I secretly want to be chased after. I don't expect you to hold the door open for me. I don't want you to pay for my movie or my food (the only exception to this rule is Shane because he likes to forcefully do it at times and he's the only person I won't beat up 'cause of it), and I don't want you to give me those starry eyes like something is happening. I want to be me and I want you to be you, and I want to be your friend and just hang out, and that's the cold, hard truth.

I also have a lot of trust issues. I can only trust a handful of people, and I normally hesitate when it comes to telling new people personal things. Not only that, but I'm afraid the person I'd be with would end up not trusting me on certain levels due to fear. You have to be honest in a relationship, and I'm not a fan of white lies or half truths, which I know happen a lot. There's a constant fear that grows inside of me; a fear that I'll be abandoned or lied to; a fear that I will be broken again. And not only that, but I have this horrible fear of hurting the person who I would be in a relationship with. What if I couldn't trust them and tell them everything? What if I couldn't return the same feelings? I don't want to be the bad guy. I don't want to ruin someone because they aren't right for me, and although I know hurting can make a person grow stronger, there are a lot of bad things to turn to in this world if you hurt someone bad enough. I never want that to be the case for anyone. There's fear, and I'm not saying that I'm letting that fear control me, but it's something that I do take into consideration, which is another reason why I am by myself.

Now, let me be a hypocrite for a moment here. I wouldn't mind having a guy in my life. Honestly, if I get married in the future and have kids, that's great. I know there's a lot of love in my heart that I could be giving to someone, but I guess what I want is for me not to be the objective. What I mean by that is, I want to befriend a guy, and get to know him and have no intention on dating him. Not have it on my mind at all. And then, somewhere along the line, I just want it to happen. I want to fall in love and fall so hard that there's no chance of saving me. But I want the person I fall for to fall for me just as hard. And I know that's a lot to ask, but I guess that's just who I am, and that's another beautiful part of being me. The unexpected things are the best things in life. Living in the moment.

I honestly can't see my wedding day. I can't picture having children. I don't see myself living with anyone. All I can see is a small cottage in the woods with a beautiful creek and a little bridge going over it, and I can hear the crickets outside at night and gaze up at thousands of stars. I can see all the wildlife around me, and the colorful leaves cascading to the ground when Autumn comes around. I can see the trees thick with snow as smoke puffs out of my little chimney, and I can have my own artist room and writing room. I'll work at a camera store in town about twenty minutes away from where I live, and I can be at peace and not have anything disrupting me. Just a beautiful area where I can be myself and be free.

When I think of relationships, I think of being tied down. I would feel obligated to have to tell my boyfriend/fiance/husband anything and everything, let him know where I am, what I'm up to, blah blah blah. I can't stand the thought of that. Not only that, but it also requires a stamp of approval. I don't want someone to have to approve where I'm going, what I'm going to do, how much money I'm going to spend, etc. Being by myself just seems natural. And who knows. Maybe in the near future, there will be a guy to prove me wrong and who will cause me to fall in love with him whether I want to or not. But I just don't want to be chased. I don't want to be on anyone's mind. Call me prude, or pure, or whatever you want to do. But that's just who I am, and that's all I can be.

It's weird not wanting anyone. And it's weird being happy because I don't want anyone.

If your motive is to get me to fall in love with you, good luck, because you'll probably fall short.

DKA

It seems like forever since I last made a blog post. I guess it's been a mixture of being busy and not really knowing what to blog about. I realize that the last time I posted anything, it was the dead of night when I was really tired, but at peace, and my mind was on a one way ticket to nowhere. Since then, a lot has happened. I've started school again and also became stage manager for Crimes of the Heart. But I guess the biggest thing that has happened to me since my last post was that I went into DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis). I've been hesitating to talk about it for a long time because it's something that I haven't been wanting to talk about, but I think now is the time to finally give a story about what my experience was like.

I hadn’t been taking care of my diabetes like I should. I wasn't skipping insulin dosages or anything, but I wasn't taking my blood sugar. It's something I haven’t told anyone because I was and still am honestly scared of the questions. “Why? Do you know how dangerous that is? Why would you not take your blood sugar?” I honestly don’t know why. I think that maybe I just stopped because I wasn’t happy with the numbers. I didn’t want to see them anymore, so I stopped instead of telling people and asking for help. I couldn’t get myself regulated. I was so frustrated, and I guess after a while, I began thinking, “Why?” I never thought DKA was going to happen, so I kept abusing my sugar checking. Note to any diabetics who are doing anything remotely close to this: PLEASE ask for help!!! Don't make the same mistake I did!!

Wednesday night, August 15th, I missed my lantus bedtime shot. It wasn’t on my mind, and I stayed up all night because my sleeping schedule was screwed up. So I slept all day, which means I didn’t eat anything. It wasn’t until around 8:30 p.m. that I woke up, and I felt awful. I checked my ketones and saw that they were large. In case you don't know what ketones are, it measures how much sugar is spilling into the urine. I thought, Don’t tell anyone. I was scared. I didn’t want anyone to know I was abusing my health (again, huge mistake). So I just stayed silent. I walked out into the kitchen and all of a sudden had a dizzy spell, and I told my mom to go get me some cold cloths. I sat down and put my head in between my legs, and then my mom held a cloth against my neck while I held one on my forehead. I had gotten a large, 32 oz. glass of ice water since I knew my ketones were large, hoping I could flush them out without anything bad happening, and I told my mom that I just needed some food since I hadn’t eaten. But my stomach was all in knots and I felt nauseated, so I just kept drinking water. I took my blood sugar and it was 450 something (can’t remember the exact number), and I took 8 units of insulin to try and get it down. My mom kept asking if she needed to call the diabetes doctor. I kept saying no, and (this part may be a little out of order) I think I threw up the water I had been drinking, but I was wondering how anything could be coming up at all considering I hadn't eaten all day. It was then that I told her to go ahead and call the doctor. My mom told me to check my ketones, so I did and they were still large. When the doctor got on the phone, she asked me what had been going on. So I told her I missed my lantus dose and had slept all day, and that I had taken 8 units of insulin. She told me to take 12 more and to sip water, because if I gulped it, I would throw up again, and to call again in two hours to report my blood sugar and ketone level. I felt better after puking and tried sipping water instead of gulping it down, but I guess I wasn’t doing it slow enough, because an hour later, it came up again. My mom called the doctor once more, and she asked me if I wanted to try it one more time. So I said okay and sipped extra slow. I was able to keep it down, but I was having hot/cold sweats on and off, and at 11 p.m., my blood sugar had gone down to 338 I think it was. We called the doctor again and told her, and she said I had two choices. I could either drink water all night to flush the ketones, or go to the ER and get myself flushed faster without throwing up. I was so worn out already and was afraid that if I fell asleep, I would slip into a coma and die. So I told her I would go to the ER. I figured that if I did that, I would at least have people watching me around the clock.

My mom and I walked out into the garage. I was a little dizzy, but I felt fine enough to walk, and made it into the seat okay. I had my pillow, blanket, and Savage with me for comfort, and reclined back but kept my eyes open as we headed to Progress West. I texted Shane telling him what happened and that I'd be fine, and he was worried sick, but I guaranteed him everything was going to be okay. Then I laid back for the rest of the ride there, telling myself not to fall asleep. I felt like we got there fairly quickly, and I was still wobbly walking in, but I felt okay. My mom checked me in at the desk while I went to sit down, and I was hoping that the wait wouldn't be long. Luckily, it wasn't. They took me back to the room quickly and a nurse began asking me what happened, so I started telling her the same thing I told the doctor on call. Not too far into the questions, I began to feel dizzy and broke out in a sweat. The room became freezing cold and blistering hot at the same time, and I told my mom it was really hot. She began fanning me, but I told her to quit because it was making me colder, and I couldn't seem to find a happy medium. I reached for her hand and held it, staring up at the lights, which had become brighter than they normally would have been. Everything felt so unreal, and I was aware of my surroundings, but they didn't seem tangible, if that makes sense. It almost felt like they were figments of my imagination. I felt so weak, and I wanted to close my eyes. But as tempting as sleep was, I was afraid. I kept thinking about Shane and how I couldn’t leave him behind. I could feel my body trying to slip, trying to give up, and I fought it and fought it with Shane’s image in my mind. Don’t give up. Shane needs you. Don’t give up. You can't leave him here. I forced myself to stay grounded, and each time I wanted to give in, I told myself no.  I could feel the sweat gathering on my forehead, and my mom said she could see the beads of perspiration on my skin. The nurse finally got done with whatever she needed to do and asked if I was okay to walk back into the waiting room. I wanted to say, "Are you kidding me? Do you not see how weak and miserable I am right now?" But I was too tired and miserable to use heavy sarcasm. Totally drained, I said, “I don’t want to move.” So she let me sit there and said she would get me started on my fluids right away.

Right away felt like forever. My mouth was completely dry, and I told my mom I wanted water. She asked if I could have some, and they said no, that my fluids were being prepared. The thirst was so horrible that I almost told them, “Look, if you don’t give me water, I’m going to die. Do you understand that?” But I held my tongue. I was too weak to argue. Too weak to fight. I waited for what felt like hours, and finally the nurse came in and gave me an IV with nausea medicine and fluids. After that got in me, she asked me if I was okay to walk. I said yes, so she took me to a room with a stretcher because all the other rooms were taken. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to lie down. Once I got onto the stretcher, I began to shiver, teeth chattering, so the nurse got me some heated blankets which felt amazing. I was finally feeling better, and they gave me an equivalent of two 2 liter bottles of liquids. A male nurse came in to draw blood gases (which measures the CO2 and Oxygen levels in your blood) and it didn't hurt too badly. After a few hours had passed, they asked me if I wanted a drink. I thought, Yes! Finally, I can drink something without puking! So I drank a small diet coke and they moved me into a different room. They also took a urine sample and saw that there were still ketones, so they decided to start another drip. One of those drips was potassium, and after I had taken my potassium pills, I figured that was it. But in no time flat, my arm started burning. It felt like there was fire coursing through my veins, and I was afraid that the I.V. had slipped out of the vein. I pressed the nurse call button and gritted my teeth, not being able to stand it. The male nurse came in and attached a new fluid drip to dilute the potassium, and then I was fine. After being there for about four hours, they told me they would have to admit me because not all of the… I’m just going to call it acidity since I can't remember the correct term, was out of my system yet, and that it would take longer than a few hours to flush it. They gave me another IV (blew one vein), and I was on so many liquids that night that they said I had “the bath.” They wheeled me up to a room, and so many nurses and doctors came in that I felt very overwhelmed. I thought, "How many people does it take to take care of one diabetic?" They got me into bed and put around five or six electrodes on me in addition to the IVs, and they also had been taking my blood sugar every hour of the night (which had been improving, by the way). One of the doctors asked me, “Have you ever been in DKA before?” and I answered, “No.” But just hearing her ask the question shocked me. I had heard of DKA so many times, but I never thought I’d go in it.

I tried to sleep that night, but it was hard with the nurse coming in every hour and taking my sugar. I thought angrily, I’m right back to where I started when I got diagnosed with this fucking illness. Nothing has changed a bit. How did I let it get this bad? How could it have come to this? It was just one of those things where I kept calling myself a dumbass for letting my diabetes get so out of hand. I was furious with myself and wanted to cry. What was even more annoying was that each new nurse or doctor who walked in said, “Now, they told me what happened, so let me run the story by you and you tell me if it’s correct.” And they kept getting it wrong. So it was like I had to tell them what happened over, and over, and over again. Each new person frustrated me, and all I wanted to do was rest. My body was exhausted. The doctor even came in at one point and asked me what had hapened that caused me to go into DKA. I told her the lantus story, but I knew that DKA didn't just happen over night. DKA happened when you abused yourself over a period of time, and by the way she was looking at me, I think she knew I was bullshitting her too. Then she asked me if I smoked, drank, or did drugs. I told her no, and she gave me this look like I was lying and goes, "Are you sure?" I immediately answered with, "No. I don't do that stuff," because everyone knows I'm 100% against that stuff, and she moved onto the next question. Finally, I don’t even remember when, the nurses finally let me sleep. I had told my mom beforehand to go home because she fell asleep and was snoring, and I couldn’t sleep with that because she has bad sleep apnea. So I finally got some rest, and around one o’clock, I was awake and ready to eat. My mom came back up, and I was having muscular pain in my chest. I had to ask three times for Tylenol because apparently there was a miscommunication, and that hurt pretty bad. They told me that it was probably due to stress after what all had happened. Then I ate and got to take a walk down the hallway. I was still a little out of it when I did that, but I could walk pretty dang well! When I got back to my room, I fell asleep again for I don’t even remember how long, and they finally told me I could go home. They wheeled me down to the first floor and out to the van, and once I got home, I slept for a while and then was woken up for dinner. But thank God I was home.

Going into DKA was scary, but it was a wake-up call. Diabetes can kill you if you don’t take care of it, and even if you don’t think you’ll ever go into DKA, it is possible. I had bruises in the crook of my left arm and on my left wrist, and when I wasn't looking at them, feeling the ache was a reminder of what happened. I keep thinking about how close I was to losing my life that night, and how many people I scared because I simply didn’t want to deal with this stupid diabetes anymore. I had plenty of “I love you” texts when I told my friends what had happened, and my mom had updated her Facebook status way before I did, so some people were already scared for me. I feel so ashamed to have done this to myself, because it honestly was like a form of suicide that I was ignoring. 

When I go to the doctor again, if they ask me what happened, I plan on telling them the truth about not taking care of myself. But I don’t want to hear the lecture of how dangerous abusing diabetes is because I know now. I experienced nearly dying, and that should be enough to get me out of any lecture. After I got home, my parents kept bugging me about checking my sugar and ketones and about doing my insulin shots, and it was really starting to annoy me. But I kept reminding myself that if I had been taking care of myself like I should have, they wouldn’t have had a reason to bug me. So I couldn’t really hate them for that.

For the first couple weeks after my release, it felt like every other thought I had was diabetes related. It had once again became the center of attention, like there was nothing else that existed besides insulin, blood sugar, ketones, food, insulin, blood sugar, ketones, food. I had no desire to write or do art. I didn’t want to sleep because in the morning I knew I'd have to take my sugar and insulin to eat, and I’ll be told to check my ketones each time I went to pee, and to check my blood sugar every couple of hours to make sure it wasn’t going too high or low. 

I didn’t and still don't want my diabetes to be the center of attention for everything. I don’t want to be known as the diabetic who everyone needs to worry about. I just want to be me in a diabetes-free world. I don’t want to have this anymore, and it really sucks because there’s not a single thing I can do about it. I don't want diabetes to define me, but because of what I did, everyone will continue to worry, wondering if it will happen again, and I know they mean it in the most loving way. Trust me, I felt like shit for putting my friends in a position where they thought I was going to die, and for that, I will never forgive myself. I just don't want people to associate "Stephanie Pabst" with "diabetic."

Diabetes, I hope that one day, a cure fucks you over so hard that you’ll no longer be a threat to anyone anymore. Not to my future children, grandchildren, or anyone else down the line, and not to anyone else's future family either. And I hope to someday be a ninety year old woman who can eat all the cake she wants and say “I might die from this cake, but at least it won’t be because of you.” 

My blood sugars are doing great and I do my insulin shots before each meal. I've been remembering my lantus pretty well (it's only been twice that I forgot since the hospital), and if I forget, I always let my mom know and take half a dose to keep me stable for the rest of the day. Things are getting better, and I'm taking care of myself like I should.

Diabetics, if things aren't going well, I know how scary it is to speak up, but please tell someone. There are ways to help stabilize you and get you back on track, and it's better than abusing yourself and causing your loved ones to worry over you like mine did. It isn't worth it.

They said I danced on the edge without going over. 

Diabetes, you will never do this to me again. Never. 

There is too much to live for.