Opinions and Toaster Gods 5,000 Light Years Away

Hello, all!

So there is something on my mind as of right now that I would like to talk about, and it's a little thing I'd like to call "having an opinion." While I am discussing this, I will say in advance that no names shall be mentioned because I do not personally want to attack anyone or have anyone feel like they are being attacked.

Early this morning, I posted a picture of one of our USA dollar coins that did not have "In God We Trust" written on it. There was a nice mixture of comments stating opinions about the matter, and I really enjoyed reading to them and responding to them with how I view things in comparison. I think that it's healthy to discuss controversial topics because it allows for a new perspective.

However, there are a few things I'd like to address that have happened to me in the past, one of them being that unless you are open-minded and willing to listen, you should not partake in these conversations. I understand that my viewpoint might be extremely different from yours, but it does not help if you decide that your way is the only way and then attack me for having the wrong idea. There was one night that I posted something related to Justin Bieber's fan base, and one of my friends took it the wrong way and thought that I was attacking Bieber. He/she proceeded to verbally attack my post by accusing me of saying things that I never even mentioned in my status, and he/she did not take the time to look at the blog post I had typed up concerning the situation (in which case I actually defended Bieber). After a long string of comments and explanation, he/she apologized to me. There are too many people in this generation that are only concerned with being right about something instead of sitting down and actually having a calm discussion about it. I've learned that if you listen to someone and take what they have into consideration, a lot of the time, you will learn something new or gain a new perspective on things. It isn't about winning. It's about sharing. That also goes for situations like above when I mentioned Bieber. If that person had taken the time to ask me what I meant instead of accusing me for saying things that were apparently "implied" (although, I had not been trying to imply anything), the conversation would have gone a lot smoother, and I would not have been attacked. I'm a pretty open-minded person, so I never mean anything bad by what I say when I am stating an opinion. If it is taken that way, then I'll admit that I probably did a shitty job of wording it. We're all human and we make mistakes without meaning to. But I never see a reason why anyone should get fired up about what others think and believe.

Secondly, I think it's bullshit when people tell me that someone is wrong for having an opinion. Opinions, in my eyes, are never "wrong" to have. You can disagree with one and say that it isn't something that you think is right, but it's never okay to tell someone that he or she is wrong for thinking something different than you. I had posted a status about gun control after the Sandy Hook incident stating that I thought all guns should be taken away. My opinion has changed slightly since then concerning what types should be taken away and what types the public should be allowed to have access to (which is irrelevant in this particular blog post), but I was very distraught at the time. As usual, it brought up some interesting comments (which I ended up learning from, as always), and then one of my other friends commented and said that my opinion on gun control was wrong. I responded by saying that I respected his/her opinion, and that it was not right to tell me that my opinion was wrong. Opinions cannot be wrong. There are some people who just think differently, and you're going to run into that no matter where you go.

I guess the last thing that I would like to address about opinions is that they are subject to change. When I was a little younger, I guess about fifteen or sixteen, I had a strong belief in who I thought God was, and I also believed in Catholicism. But then about three years ago, my beliefs began to change, and therefore, my opinions on who or what God was. I questioned things that I didn't understand and that no one could provide any good answers for, and the more I practiced being an empath and working on my abilities, the more open-minded I became as a person. I saw the world in a brand new perspective and it opened my eyes up to the things that I used to think were "right." Because of this change, I decided that I didn't know anything. I could only speculate what I thought to be true, right, and just. I think that's why it's easy for me to listen to other people and to explain my side of things to the best of my ability. My opinion may not always be rational, and there may be holes in my theories/beliefs/ways of living, but I'm always trying to fill those holes in with what other people have to say about certain things.

Unless you're not open-minded, I would like to invite you and encourage you to have real conversations with me, especially if you disagree with what I have to say. As long as we can calmly discuss and reflect, I am up for anything. But opinions are not something to get worked up over or to deem as wrong or incorrect. Everyone has an opinion, and they are entitled to them, even if their argument is that there is a toaster God living on a planet five thousand light years away from here. (:

I Finally Understand

Tonight, since it's clean, I decided to sit down in my room and watch a movie, so I put in my favorite: Kiki's Delivery Service. When I was younger, I remember seeing it come on the TV, so I sat my butt down, watched it, and fell in love with it. At that time, I didn't take into account what the reasoning was for my love of Kiki's story, but I felt a certain familiarity with who she was as a person compared to me. As I got older, I started to notice that intimate discussion she has with Ursula, and it goes like this:


Ursula: When I was your age, I'd already decided to become an artist. I loved to paint so much. I'd paint all day until I fell asleep right at my easel. And then one day, for some reason, I just couldn't paint anymore. I tried and tried, but nothing I did seemed any good. There were copies of paintings I'd seen somewhere before, and not very good copies either. I just felt like I'd lost my ability.

Kiki: That sounds like me.

Ursula: It's exactly the same. But then I found the answer. You see, I hadn't figured out what or why I wanted to paint. I had to discover my own style. When you fly, you rely on what's inside of you, don't you?

Kiki: Uh-huh. We fly with our spirit.

Ursula: Trusting your spirit! Yes! That's exactly what I'm talking about! That same spirit is what makes me paint, and what makes your friend bake. But we each need to find our own inspiration, Kiki. Sometimes it's not easy.

Kiki: I guess I never gave much thought to why I wanted to do this. I got so caught up in all the training and stuff. Maybe I have to find my own inspiration. But am I ever gonna find it? And is it worth all the trouble?

Ursula: Well, for example, there were quite a few times when I thought of painting something over that painting.

Kiki: But it ended up being so great!

Ursula: So I guess it's worth it.


Each time that particular scene came up, I would sit there and try to make sense of it. I could never understand what point Ursula was trying to make, and I think that it was because I was too young to recognize what having your own style meant. I was in middle school and didn't know who I was or why I took an interest in writing, but I know I did a lot of copying and mimicking so that I could get a handle on what kind of style I enjoyed writing in. Once I got into high school, I felt as though I could write pretty well, and I was always very fired up about writing poems and stories and lyrics to songs. I absolutely loved to write, and there were nights where I would fight sleep because I didn't ever want to stop. My mind would explode with dialogue and possible characters and discussions, and I was always in a rush to write everything down. Then, by the end of sophomore year, my fire began to dwindle, and it eventually went out. I stopped writing for a long time, and if I did happen to chug out anything new, I hated showing people what I had come up with. I began to question what I was going to do for a career, because for four years, writing was all that I knew. It was all that I had spent my time doing. Without it, I felt lost, but whenever I attempted it, my mind presented me with a blank slate. The ideas had stopped completely, and I didn't know what I was going to do.

I think that was when the discussion between Ursula and Kiki finally made sense to me. Like Ursula, I had no idea what or why I was writing. I had completely derailed from the art of words, and I felt like I wasn't going to ever come back to it. The ability was gone. There were also a lot of times where I'd look back at my writing and recognize my writing as works that I had mimicked, and they weren't good mimicked works either. Like Ursula said, they were "copies." And then, when I started my junior year of high school, I decided to take a creative writing class. I had waited for two years to sign up for it, and I guess part of me was still thirsty to regain my ability. That class completely turned me around, and I had a wonderful teacher who helped ignite that fire again. Her writing prompts began to push my tires out of the mud, and the day that I remember most clearly was when we had one of our critique Fridays that fell on 9/11. For those of you who don't know what critique Friday is, our teacher would ask us to write something and turn it in, and she would white out the name on the work and pass it out for the entire class to read. They would critique it and discuss it in class, and at the end of the critique, if the writer wanted to say that they wrote it and give us more info about the piece and what inspired it, they were allowed to do so. We were each required to turn in at least one critique over the semester, and I was terrified of the idea. Like I said, I felt like my ability was gone, so I was in that mind-set where I thought everything that I wrote was absolutely terrible.

Anyway, the Thursday before 9/11, I felt this urge to write a piece in memory of the occasion. So I went up to my teacher in the hallway that morning and asked her if I could write a piece for critique Friday, and she told me that she already had two pieces ready to go. But then she did something I didn't expect at all: she told me to go ahead and bring the piece to her the next morning so she could make copies.

I didn't understand why she decided to say okay to my critique. I'd like to think that she could tell this was a sudden urge: an all-or-nothing type deal. But nevertheless, she was giving me a chance to come up with something great, so I sat down at the computer that night and opened up anew Word document. But then I realized I had run into a problem. I had no idea what to write. That world of worry and panic opened up again as I struggled to think of something to type down, and I began scolding myself for thinking that I could do the critique Friday. However, I decided that if I was going to write anything, I was going to be honest. So I wrote down my experience of 9/11 in poem form, and the next day, I handed my teacher the free verse that I had written. Later on that day, when we all sat down for class, she told everyone that before we did the two critiques she had planned on doing, there was a poem about 9/11 that she wanted to pass out. I sat there, terrified, trying to look busy, thinking, Oh my God, they're reading it. I was so sure that they were going to take one look around the room and realize that it was me who wrote it, and I couldn't seem to relax. After about ten to fifteen minutes, people began raising their hands to talk, and I remember feeling as though a brick was sitting in my stomach. But something surprised me. My poem was actually causing a conversation. People were not being cruel about it or tearing it apart, but rather, boosting the piece up with memories of their own 9/11 experience. Sure, there was some constructive criticism here and there about what could possibly make the poem stronger, but overall, the piece inspired others to share what they had gone through and what they had felt on that day. My nervousness began to fade as I listened to everyone talk, and the conversation lasted until the end of the class period.

When the talking finally ceased, the teacher asked if the author wanted to say anything. Nervously, I raised my hand, and in a quiet voice, said, "I wrote it..." What happened next astounded me: the entire classroom broke out in applause. I remember sitting there in awe as I looked around the room, watching each student give me their proudest smile, and I thought to myself, They're clapping for me? For my poem? They liked it? My self-esteem shot up like a rocket as I realized I was no longer lost, and my fire was back.

I realized on September Eleventh, 2009 that the inspiration for my writing was because I wanted to touch the hearts of other people. I wanted it to start a conversation, make people think and reflect, and most of all, help people relate to things that were happening in the world. I wanted them to better understand themselves through things that they didn't really realize they were going through until they were actually reading about it, and maybe, just maybe, help them to feel not so lost and alone like me.

Now, when I watch Kiki's Delivery Service, I really pay attention to that scene between Kiki and Ursula. I listen to those words with the utmost concentration and keep them close to my heart, and each time I feel like it's impossible to carry on, I remember that Kiki tried, even when she felt like flying was hopeless. She tried with every ounce of belief that was left inside of her, and she took off into the sky, struggling at first, but succeeding in her endeavor.

Even as an adult, I go through periods where I feel lost and forget what my inspiration is. But Ursula reminds me that taking a break is healthy, and that sometimes, I just need to stop thinking about writing and focus on other things. Everyone goes through days where they feel like they've lost the ability to do what they love, and they'll go through days where they feel like what they've created is crap. It isn't going to be easy to find inspiration all the time. But I know that giving up is not the answer, and it is because I've refused to give up that I've come so far.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I almost turned my back. But it was that last small crumb of fire, that little bit of glowing ember, that said, "Not yet." I'm glad I listened to it, because it was worth it.

Back into Practice

Hey guys! It's been awhile. I've been so involved with theatre and school that I haven't had much time to breathe. But I guess you could say I'm on a little bit of a break now, which is nice. I'm just extremely tired. The good news is that for the past few days, I've been able to come home and crash, catching up on some much needed sleep. I don't feel quite that awesome yet, but I'm getting there!

Not much has really been going on with me as of late, but I am trying to get myself back into the writing groove again. I've been pretty busy, so my thoughts have not been focused on pen against paper or fingers against computer keys, and I miss it a lot. It's funny how writing is the thing that I want to major in, and yet, it's been completely absent from my life for the past couple of months. I haven't gotten the time to sit down and let my words flow naturally from my mind, and honestly, even typing out this blog post is difficult for me. I feel like I'm out of practice, and I'm struggling to make this interesting and readable. But I guess there's only so much you can do when you're trying to get back into this kind of mindset.

I am currently on a Facebook hiatus right now, and if anyone remembers, I took a hiatus last year during my spring break just to see if I could do it. I figure it's healthy, getting away from it every now and then, but it's also proving to be difficult. Facebook is my way of communication with a lot of my friends, and I love how connected I feel when I'm on it. But at the same time, I feel like I should rather be hanging out with my friends instead of just chatting with them. I honestly believe that I become so involved with stuff up at school that I forget to enjoy the company of the people who are currently in my life. So I'm taking this time away from Facebook to connect with the people I've been promising to hang out with, but haven't. I want to feel like a human again, not some online person who people think doesn't exist outside of a computer.

I've also been working on getting my room clean as of late. It's been trashed for over a year, and I've spent most nights on the couch in the family room. But we're finally getting everything moved out of my bedroom, and we plan on painting it this week and next week. When I say we, I mean my mom and I. We're also going to get my carpet cleaned, and then we can start moving stuff back in. It'll probably take us a few weeks to get it all done, but progress is definitely being made.

I really don't have much else to say. I guess if you really want to know, we had a successful show week for Deathtrap, and I got to spend it with some great actors and technicians whom I love with all my heart and soul. I feel so at home in the theatre, and it's amazing how I've gotten this far since my first semester of college. It feels like forever ago, but I have so many fond memories, and I feel as though they happened yesterday. It's fun to look back and realize how much headway I've made, and although I can still be shy and awkward at times, I feel like I've really found my niche. I've opened up more as a person, and I've learned to smile a lot and to trust that the hard times will pass if I keep my head high and keep looking forward. I'm always hoping that my grandparents are looking down on me and smiling, and I hope they're proud of how much I've accomplished these past two years.

I hope this blog post was not one to disappoint, because I feel like it's pretty dull compared to past posts. But like I said, it's all about getting back into practice, and I know that once I start up again, I'll fall right back into the habit of skillful writing. It's just going to take some time for this girl to wake up and get moving mentally again. Bear with me. I'm trying.

Seventh Grade - Forever a Shadow

            I never knew how to start my stories when I was growing up. But I guess the older you get, the better you become at telling them. I was out of practice in seventh grade. I had told my fair share of stories before, and had read triple as many as I could speak. But there is an untold story that is still inside of me; one that I have been trying to tell for years. It is about a broken seventh grader who met depression and took his hand, letting him walk her through thoughts that were not very kind to her mind. They were whispers that were seeping in from the outside world, changing the way she saw herself and other people, and to this day, they still cause problems.

            You aren’t supposed to be depressed in seventh grade. You shouldn’t have to deal with your image or the way others perceive you, and you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong. But the thing that differed between “shouldn’t” and “should” was that I knew. I knew I was different from everyone else, and that somehow, I was breaking a social norm rule. I guess I had broken it in sixth grade since my friends consisted of Tony, Jake, Connor, and Drake, but the reason why we didn’t fit the norm still remains unclear in my mind. The only think I can think of is that we were not very sporty people. Instead of joining the soccer, basketball, or volleyball teams, we partook in our pencils against sketch paper and our noses in books. One of us was musically inclined, one was constantly singing (no matter if the other kids enjoyed it or not), one was a comic artist, one of us was a great runner who always seemed energized and ready to push the limits, and one wrote song lyrics, poems, short stories, and prose to get her through her rough days. We were all special people who seemed to get along great as long as we did it away from everyone else.

            I don’t really remember when the depression kicked in. It was something that just sort of happened on its own, and I think that what might have triggered it was that for the first time ever, I had been placed in a classroom with only one of my guy friends. All of the other guys were in the other class, as well as my friend Sophie, who had been in my class each year since 4th grade. What made it even worse, in my mind, was the fact that I didn’t know Jake as well as I knew Tony and Connor, and I felt completely awkward being around him. I had known him long enough that it shouldn’t have been that way, but in an odd way, it was. Still, he was the only one I had, and I think knowing that made me cling to him. So we started off the year trying to familiarize ourselves with each other while trying to maintain a comfortable distance, and that was the year I began to go home, change out of my uniform, and dress in solid black clothes. That was the year everything in my mind began to fall apart. That was the year I called myself a freak… and actually believed it.

            I hadn’t really taken an interest in boys up until that point. Some of my classmates had started the practice of “going out” with each other in fourth grade, which, you have to admit, is pretty funny. But it was a thing that was happening then, and I never did pay much attention to that stuff. I guess I was a late bloomer when it came to getting those butterfly feelings for other guys, and the closest I had ever come to that was crushing on Tony, Jake, and yes, even Connor and Drake. But they were my best friends at the time, and I knew them more than I knew any of my other classmates. It was more of an appreciation kind of butterfly flutter, because I had them, and they had me, and that was all we needed. I didn’t know what love was, but I knew the way they made me feel made me happy, and that was more than what any of my other classmates (excluding Sophie and Genavieve) could offer. It was also during that time when I found out just how cruel teenage boys could be.

            Our quintet was usually the butt of everyone else’s jokes. Why not? We were the minority. It’s not like minorities have feelings, right? At least, that’s how it felt on my end, and it could have been the depression speaking. It also could have been the fact that I was the only girl, and therefore, took things too personally. But I don’t think I was imagining the laughter that always followed the insensitive way my classmates asked, “Will you go out with me?” These invitations were often caused by dares, and I knew that they were always asked in a joking way. Why? I guess it’s funny to ask the loser kid out on a date and then laugh about it while he or she is standing right in front of you.

            Names, in this instance, are not as important as the scars that are inflicted upon someone who begins to question who the hell would ever want to date her. She did not enjoy having to listen to the two boys sitting near her argue about which one would get to go out with her, each word sounding like a sputtering car as they tried to make the argument sound serious, but instead, chuckled through the entire thing. She did not appreciate being called up on the phone in the evening by the cool guy in the class, sitting through a long, awkward silence, and then hearing him ask, “Will you go out with me?” followed by bursts of laughter in the background. It was even more humiliating when one guy took it far enough to actually treat her like his girlfriend all year.

            Being treated like someone’s girlfriend when you really don’t want to be associated with that person at all becomes extremely annoying. He loved putting his arm around me whenever he had the chance to kiddingly show me off to an audience, and at one point, I finally found enough courage to remove it. I vaguely remember him offering me a piece of chocolate on Valentine’s Day, and instead of accepting, I pushed his hand away and declined. And there were days where he would make an obnoxious scene around me just so everyone could see that we were next to each other. Those were the days I wished for nothing but for him to leave me alone and to let the torture stop. Those were the days I wished I could sink into the floor and disappear. Being treated like someone’s girlfriend for the sake of a joke, and being asked out for the sake of a joke, are not very funny jokes. I began to believe that there was something wrong with me. I would look in the mirror and see the ugliness of the girl staring back at me, thinking, Who in the hell would want to date this? After a while, I began to answer my own question, and the answer was no one.

            There were several nights I spent talking to Jake over the phone. The more time we spent together, the more I could vent to him and talk through things that I couldn’t talk myself through. I was able to tell him about being sad all the time and dressing in black clothes. I could talk to him about being an outsider and feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere, and his voice was the only thing I was able to find comfort in when the other voices became too much. The gap that we had between us at the beginning of the year began to diminish. We were scooting our chairs closer and closer to each other each passing day, and we were getting more comfortable with the close proximity when we talked or told stories. I found it easier to look into his eyes when I was telling him my troubles, and they always gazed softly back at me. Speaking to him was easier than it had ever been for me to speak to anyone, and deep down, I felt like he understood my conflicting thoughts and feelings.

            I didn’t feel like it was right for me to feel the things I felt. I had no idea why black was such an important color, but I did know that it was the color that people dressed in when they were sad. I wasn’t comfortable with the word “goth” because that was not who I was. I felt like an imposter trying to pull off the look of “my life sucks and there’s nothing anyone can do to make it better.” I didn’t feel like I had a reason for any of it, and I knew that my life wasn’t as tragic as I was trying to make it look like. But I still felt the urge to explain it to myself somehow, and to make me believe that, yes, I was an outcast who didn’t belong. Not only that, but I was hoping someone would see my sadness through the way I was dressing. I wanted my classmates to see that my clothes were without color, and I wanted them to question it. I wanted someone to fix me and to make me believe that I wasn’t who I thought I was and who I felt like I was. I just wanted to be colorful again, but I didn’t feel that way anymore. I was at the point where I was completely aware that I was not like my fellow classmates, and that I would never have a date or a first kiss or someone who liked me enough to even hold my hand. I understood that I would never have a spot at the lunch table and would never be included in the same gossip and drama as everyone else. I knew that I was different, and because of that, I got used to being alone. I had Jake, Tony, Drake, and Connor, and if they were not with me, I was in my room writing poems and song lyrics about the dark and sinking into quicksand and wishing that someone would just rescue me. My routine consisted of coming home from school and sleeping until one or two in the morning, waking up to do homework, and going to school. Sleep. Isolation. Not participating in activities. No interest in doing anything with my time. I had the symptoms of depression, but no one recognized it. Not even myself.

            I think the most difficult situation that I was put in was when I discovered AIM. Everyone had the damn thing, and it was fantastic. Before the days of Facebook, and for a while, more popular than Myspace, it was the first place where every one of my classmates could connect with each other. We exchanged screen names and created our own little profiles to go on our accounts, and it was like having a reserved corner of cyberspace just for our own benefit. It was also easy to be brave, and that was when I was put to the test of trusting who I was, as well as believing the truth of another person. Bball (this name is sufficient to use, I think) was a boy who was in my 7th grade class, and throughout the year, we had kind of gotten comfortable with the whole communication/conversing thing that humans are supposed to do when they want to be friends or acquaintances. It was even easier to communicate on messenger because you did not have to look at a face, and therefore, did not worry about revealing emotions. Words can be taken in many forms when written out in such a plain way, and that is why I did not believe him when he asked, “Will you go out with me?”

            I had heard this question many times before, each time asked with stifled laughter and the attempt to keep a straight face that ended up looking like the face you make right before you’re about to sneeze. Each time, I said no, and at this point, it was an automatic reflex in which the word “no” would escape my lips without a second thought. The word had become a rule to me; a bible of knowledge that I would be stupid not to listen to or to take note of, and without a second thought, I found myself typing those two little letters into the text box; two little letters that formed a word I found myself taking more comfort in than I should have. I sent the word with the knowledge that it was just going to be a one-time thing, and in reply, I received, “Why?” To this, I said, “I don’t feel that way about you.” It was not a one-time thing. I found the question repeating itself each time I signed on, and I kept giving him the same answer. Sometimes we were able to start a conversation with hello, and even a few sentences to follow. But “will you go out with me” was always thrown somewhere into the attempt to have one normal conversation, and each time, I found myself thinking, “Again? This is ridiculous. How long is he going to keep this up? I’m not stupid.” The idea that a boy might actually like me was completely out of the question because I knew the question was, Who would ever want to date someone like me? and the answer would always be, no one.

I expected him to catch on that I wasn’t going to be a punch line and that I wasn’t going to give into some silly little ongoing prank that someone put him up to. But the more I resisted, the more persistent he became. One of his friends even asked me why I wouldn’t go out with him one day when we were in the art room. I remember giving him the same answer I gave Bball, and the subject was dropped. I fought it because it was the only thing I had left to fight against; the only proof that I had dignity worth protecting. Then, one summer evening, I decided to use the word yes, just to play into the joke that he had been trying to pull on me for nearly a year. “Really?” He asked. I remember saying yes again, and he told me to hold on. A moment later, he told me to check his profile box. When I opened it up, I saw that he had changed it to “I love Stephanie Pabst,” and a wave of panic rushed over me. It was not that I didn’t like him. It was not that it was weird. Every guy who was dating someone in our class wrote a message like that in his profile box. What freaked me out was that he said he loved me when loving me was not at all possible, and since it was not possible, I was fulfilling his pranking efforts. I asked him if he was serious, and he said, “Yes. Are you?” Unsure of it, I told him to let me think about it, and after a stressful thirty minutes, I told him no. It was then that he messaged me saying, “I guess I’ll wait then,” and that was the end of it all.

8th grade started up and we ended up in the same class again. I felt as though nothing had occurred between us; as though that whole night was a blur, in the past, and that everything was cool again. I still had the idea that everything I had gone through had been an attempt to crush the last of the belief I had in myself; to destroy the little bit of high self-esteem left inside of me. But there was a moment in that 8th grade classroom that made me realize I might have made a mistake. One of our classmates had walked over to the teacher’s desk (if I remember correctly, to use the stapler), and on her way back, she tripped and stumbled. I cracked some joke about how funny it would have been if the teacher had been there and she would have knocked her over or something. We both laughed at the thought, and she went back to her desk. My laughter died down, and as I lowered my gaze to continue writing whatever it was I had been working on, I could see him in my peripheral vision. He was gazing at me, holding his eyes on my face while I tried to keep mine on my own paper, and it was the most powerful thing my 8th grade mind can remember. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. It was a struggle as he dared me to look up at him; to meet the eyes that wanted to tell me it was real. Finally, he looked away from me. I could breathe again, and at that point, I realized that he might have actually liked me. The fear that had been there for so long and that I had built up so high finally came crashing down, but at that point, it was too late. He had not waited, and I don’t blame him.

Seventh grade was a tough year, and maybe I’ll never be able to express everything I was feeling through these words. I don’t think that depression can be expressed as much through words as it can be by simply feeling, but I do think that by having some idea of what I went through, it is easier for people to understand those moments of uncertainty I still struggle with today. There are a lot of people who tell me that they can’t believe I’ve never had a boyfriend, and who can’t believe I have trust issues. There are people who call me innocent and don’t think I have experiences that haunt me and linger like a shadow. But maybe now, if you read this, you will understand that experiences like this stay with you, even if they’re little pranks that people play on you for a laugh or two. I have issues with self-image and the way people view me sometimes, and although I’m getting better at dealing with these things, there are days when I wake up and feel like I’m not pretty, and like no guy would ever want to date me. There are days when I can’t be in places filled with strangers because I can feel them judging me, stripping me down to that seventh grade weirdo who still isn’t comfortable in her own skin. There are days where I feel like I can’t trust the people around me, no matter how well I know them, and there are even days where I feel like I’m an outsider in the places where I’ve been a million times. It’s difficult to even be a stage manager sometimes because we have to dress in black for show week (since techs are ninjas), and when I slip into that solid black shirt, I can see seventh grade me staring at me from the bathroom mirror.

Guys, although I still have my moments, I’ve gotten better. I have people around me who care about my wellbeing and my health, and who love me enough to let me trust in who they are and to let me know that they will never intentionally hurt me. I’m comfortable with talking to strangers and to people who I’ve had very few encounters with. I have people who I can go to when I have those bad days, and I know that through all the difficulties, all I need to do is look at what I’ve overcome. By seeing my accomplishments, I can trust that sometimes I’m going to have bad days, and I am going to have mean thoughts and run into mean people, but that I can always get past them.

This story has been in me for as long as I’ve had the fire to write words down on paper. The only problem was that I always allowed people to give me my beginnings instead of allowing myself to start them on my own. You get tired of letting others determine your own story for you, and that is why I decided my senior year of high school that I was going to be the writer of my own story. Because of that, I have grown in confidence. I’ve learned to trust myself and to love myself, and that the only person who can control my happiness is ultimately me. I can look in a mirror and see how beautiful I am, and actually believe it, and even if I don’t find a guy out there who I’ll be brave enough to let myself love, I am brave enough to love who I am as a person. Not everyone has the power to say that, and that kind of love, to me, is pretty spectacular. 

Feelings Don't Expire

It was one of those late nights where I couldn’t go to sleep last night, so I decided that I would go onto Tumblr and see what all there was on my dashboard. In case you aren’t familiar with Tumblr, it’s a blogging site where you can reblog photos, text posts, audio posts, etc. Basically, it’s the same thing as sharing a picture on Facebook, and the scrolling goes on forever because it’s one of those never-ending scroll websites. It can make it pretty difficult to find a stopping point. Anyway, I was reblogging posts and happened upon a text post with a picture, and it said something like, “I’m sitting at a restaurant and just witnessed a break-up between two 13-year-olds. This was the aftermath.” Following that text post was a picture of the boy with his head buried in his arms on the table.

Underneath was another text someone had added saying “Poor little fuck,” and it just struck a chord with me. You know how as young adults, we’re always putting younger kids down? “Oh, they aren’t really in love. They’re too young to know what love is,” or, “They’re too young to be dating.” Well… I’m not so sure we’re entirely right about that.

I read a response from John Green on his The Fault in Our Stars Q&A page to a question about love, and he said, “I find it really offensive when people say that the emotional experiences of teenagers are less real or less important than those of adults. I am an adult, and I used to be a teenager, and so I can tell you with some authority that my feelings then were as real as my feelings are now.” At first, I used to be one of those people who said teenagers don’t know what love is, and that they were too young to know. But I read his answer and really thought about it for a while because I didn’t know what to think of it, as open-minded as I am. And then I saw that picture on Tumblr and felt this pang of sorrow for such a young boy, and I realized that it was because I could completely relate to him. When I was thirteen, I had one of my classmates constantly asking me out over AIM. And even though I was very young and didn’t have my feelings figured out yet, I still felt horrible every time I told him no. I always thought it was a joke, because that’s what the guys did back when we were in grade school. God forbid you fall victim to the awful rules of ZAP, or worse, to a dare. I felt like half the time, I was usually the punch line of those ask-out jokes, and I had gotten so used to saying no that it became an automatic response. Although I had not become romantically involved with anyone, I still feel like I have some say in how miserable of a time it was.

When you’re that young, you don’t really understand why you feel the ways you do. With my AIM experience and being around him at school, I felt more scared than anything. Scared and confused, because I didn’t understand. My emotions were mixed up. I don’t think I had ever really acknowledged how I personally felt until he caused me to face them. And it didn’t help that my depression had started up that year. It was a roller coaster for me, and the one time I did say yes to him, I chickened out and changed my response to no. To this day, I still feel bad for the younger him and the younger me, him because he might have really actually liked me and had to hear me say no a hundred times. For me, I had to worry about my self-esteem and my confidence in myself. When I was that young, being rejected gave me enough of an emotional meltdown. If I would have let him crush me for the sake of fulfilling yet another joke, I don’t know how I would have handled the humiliation of thinking someone actually cared for me when they didn't. 

So in a lot of ways, seeing the picture of that young boy with his head buried in his arms reminded me of how frustrating it was to try and make sense of this concept we call love. But at such a young age, confusion of emotion is probably the best confusion there is. You don’t have to worry about distance or social status or looks or money or any of that stuff. You’re at an age where your relationship is based solely upon feeling, and feeling alone. It’s wonderful to experience it, because you’re taking in so many different emotions at once. It gives you a rush, and you’re blushing and stuttering and feeling anxious and you just can’t understand why you’re such a mess over something that adults make look so simple. I know this young boy is going to figure it all out one day. Being rejected by a girl you really like has to be the worst, and I’m sorry to the boy who I was too scared to say yes to. I still don’t know if it was a joke or not, but it’s something that I don’t think I’ll ever get an answer to, and I’ll just have to trust that the feelings were real, no matter how doubtful things may have been.

I hope that one day, I have the courage to say yes to someone that I really care about and who I would like to try and be with. There are still a lot of commitment issues that I need to sort out and rationalize with, but the emotions were and are still existent, and they are real. Like John Green said, “I can tell you with some authority that my feelings then were as real as my feelings are now.” Feelings don’t really go away, and they don’t change or become fictional. We still have the same emotions that we did when we were young teenagers who thought we could take on the world. Our priorities just changed. We grew up and became wiser, more grounded by humility, braver through fear, and more confident in ourselves and in our paths through our own mistakes and/or limitations. But love, fear, confusion, the thirst to live, those things all still exist. I feel them every day. I face them every day, and that boy who sat at that table faced them that day. It won’t change for him. It won’t change for any of us. These feelings are real, and I think that young teenagers have a better understanding of what love is than any of us adults ever will.

So, to the young boy who looks absolutely devastated, keep fighting through it, but never doubt your understanding of what love feels like, because I think you’re feeling it. You just don’t understand it yet. 

The Bieber Trend

I really don’t think there is anything I can say at this point that hasn’t already been said, but I still feel the compulsion to say something. And for those who take self-harm as a touchy subject and find it difficult to discuss or read about, I advise you to close the browser page right now, because I don’t want to make things worse for anyone who is recovering or who is still struggling. Alright, here goes.

For those who don’t know, there was a troll started on 4Chan called “cut for Bieber” in which young girls (and possibly boys, to avoid any exclusion) started cutting themselves to protest Bieber smoking marijuana (which no one has proved to be 100% true yet). It became a trending topic on Twitter entitled #cut4bieber in which people posted the pictures of their cutting jobs for the world to see. I visited the trend page and a lot of it is now composed of fellow Twitter users begging other Twitter users to not follow this trend. There are also a lot of pictures going around that are making fun of the trend, such as people cutting their hair, marijuana leaves, and cake since Justin probably has “the munchies.” I was relieved to see more people “against” the trend on the trend page than people “for” the trend, but the fact of the matter is that there are still Bieber fans out there doing this to themselves.

I don’t think I have to convince anyone of how stupid or serious this matter is, because most of the people I know are decent about these kinds of things, and we’re usually on the same page. But I do want to speak out for the few people who may not be taking this seriously and who may not completely understand it. As a sufferer of depression, it makes me absolutely sick to know that there are people cutting for some celebrity who is now an adult and who, just like anyone else in this country, can make his own decisions. There are people out there who cut because they cannot deal with the emotional pain, and I don’t expect everyone to understand what it is like to hurt that much.

There are those who would argue that there is nothing that hurts more than physical pain, but you’d be wrong if it were up to me to decide. With physical pain, yes, the outside hurts. But you could run into a pole or trip over your own foot and hurt yourself, and you could still laugh about it because you’re a klutz. You could be completely fine emotionally. But for people like me, it is possible to feel so emotionally miserable and depressed that it actually causes physical pain. There are days where I become so lost in my own sorrow that I can feel my chest throbbing, and it isn’t a good feeling. That is when you are truly hurting; when you hurt both ways at the same time. And I don’t know how to explain why cutting is so comforting (although I have not done it before, but have been tempted on several occasions), but I have been told that it releases endorphins. It is also used as a distraction method so that the emotional pain isn’t so prominent.

The thing that really upsets me about the trend is that it was started as a joke. Then someone took it seriously, and all of a sudden, everyone began doing it (and when I say everyone, I mean the people stupid enough to do it). Cutting is not a joke. It is an actual problem for people who suffer from mental illnesses, and the pictures, not to mention the topic itself, has made it difficult to deal with for the people who are recovering from self-harm and who are still suffering from it. It would be like putting an alcoholic in a room full of alcohol. It is just as tempting and triggering for cutters to see these pictures. Not only that, but cutting could actually kill you. There is the risk of losing too much blood and getting hospitalized, and there is also the risk of cutting the right vein in the right direction. The fact that anyone sees physical harm as a joke ought to be shot, because it isn’t something to take lightly, especially for a stupid reason like protesting against a marijuana-smoking celebrity. It would be far more effective to protest by not purchasing music and/or not supporting that artist if you feel that strongly about what he or she has done. But don’t fucking harm yourself for someone else’s choice. You didn’t see anyone cutting themselves when Britney Spears shaved her head or when Miley Cyrus was caught smoking from a bong. So why are you doing this for Justin? What is it about Justin that made this trend so fucking important? He’s a person just like everyone else and has the right to do to his own body what you have the right to do to yours. But the choices he makes for himself should not determine the choices you make for yourself.

Also, parents, please please PLEASE take responsibility for your own children. You control the things that they are exposed to and the people that they find to be role models, but you should not let their role models become their parents, and you should not be outraged by Justin making a (the way I see it, by personal opinion) bad choice. Everyone makes choices, good and bad. We’re all people, no matter how famous some of us may be or may become. But it does not become a celebrity’s responsibility to give up his or her free will and humanity to make a great impression on the people that happen to like their music. It is your job as parents to bring your children up well and to steer them in the right directions, and to actually sit down and talk to them about this kind of stuff. Not only that, but how are you not aware that they could be doing this to themselves? If you’re going to be that disconnected from your child’s emotional and physical struggles, I find that to be very disappointing. No one as young as ten years old should be doing that (although, really, no one should be doing it anyway). But that young? For some stupid celebrity? And damn, watch what they do on the internet! If it weren’t for the internet, none of this would have even happened!

I am not a parent yet, but I for sure wouldn’t want my child to be doing this to him or herself, and I’d like to think that I would have a little more control over what they’re exposed to. So please, sit down and talk to your kids. This kind of stuff is important, and it’s no joking matter.

I find it very difficult to emotionally express my frustration and disappointment. I am disgusted at the trend and at the person who started the troll, and I am even more disgusted that people disrespectfully followed it for no fucking reason. Yes, I said disrespectfully, because it is disrespectful to me, to my friends who struggle with this problem, and to all the other people who have fallen victim to it and cannot find the will to quit.

The trend has disappeared from the top ten trend list on Twitter, which I am relieved about. So thank you, Twitter, for removing it.

I’m done here. I hope my words carried weight. 

Some Old Formspring Questions Re-Answered

I was looking on my old Formspring account and found a number of questions that I really wanted to go back and re-answer. Some of them are the same answers, but typed out in a more thoughtful manner, and a lot of them are questions that I have changed the answer to over the past four years. Hope you enjoy them! If you would like to comment on anything I said on here or if you have more questions you’d like answers to, you can leave them in the comment box at the end of this post.

If you had to pick a single moment in your life which affected you most profoundly, what would it be?

-I think that this question is going to have a different answer every few years I go back to it, which is why I’d like to answer it again. My last answer was the time I was bitten by a Pit Bull and spent two weeks in the hospital because it “changed me” as a person. It did, in fact, change me, but it changed me in a way that caused me to be fearful. Since then, I have really become the opposite. The single moment that affected me most profoundly would now have to be the moment I found out I was an empath. Because I figured out where my emotional problem was coming from, I was able to get some control over it, and now I am a pretty stable person. I have learned how to handle my abilities and how to make myself feel better, and because I have a renewed confidence in myself, I have become a much happier, successful person.

Do you have a DeviantArt page?

-Yes I do, but it just has the same stuff on there that I post on Facebook, so adding me on there would be redundant. If you don’t have me on Facebook but would like to see my pictures, my DeviantArt page is stephropabst.deviantart.com

16, never been kissed nor have had a boyfriend? There must be something wrong. There are some gross fat chicks that are total bitches, and they get boyfriends? Have guys lost their way..?

-The only thing that has changed about the above is that I’m 20 now. Haha. But I will tell you this. Yes, there are “bitches” who treat their boyfriends like crap. Yes, some of them might be overweight. But there are a lot of girls out there who think they’re hot, skinny, sexy shit, and because of that, they let looks control the way they feel about a person, not to mention the size of their egos. But just because a guy decides to date an overweight person does not mean that I deserve a guy any more than that girl or any other girl on this planet. I’ve been patient with myself and have decided to figure out who I am instead of depending on someone else to shower me with affection. If I can’t love myself, then I don’t see how anyone else can. Not only that, but if the attraction isn’t there, then I am not going to date someone who I don’t have feelings for. That would make me a bitch, and I don’t believe in false hope or in using people. Also, guys are just as human as girls are. They’re going to make dating mistakes just like us. When I find someone who I really like and who really likes me back, things will be different. I’m willing to wait for that.

What do you like about winter?

-When I answered this question before, I mentioned the hustle and bustle, fresh cookies, snow days, and I don’t remember what else. But I never mentioned actually being outside at night when it’s frigid. Most people would probably find this odd, but I love going outside on cold nights because the sky is usually clear, so there’ a great view of the stars. It’s also extremely quiet, so when I feel like there’s too much noise, it’s a place I can escape to for a little bit. Then there’s the feeling of nothing: being numb. I love when I can’t feel my skin, because when I close my eyes, I don’t feel like a person who is sitting out in the cold and freezing. I feel like I’m in another world where I can escape being and feeling human. I am a free soul wandering about in a place of nothingness and feeling at peace. No pain. No runny nose. No emotional feelings or bothersome thoughts. It’s just the state of being.

Are you a social person?

-I never used to be social. Sure, every now and then I’d find people to talk to. But for the most part, I was really closed off and actually pretty fearful about talking to strangers. But that part of me has really changed since then. I’ve come to love and understand people, and I take every opportune moment I have to make a new friend (if it can happen without me being creepy). I think I was scared about it before because I was bullied emotionally as a kid, and I used to be afraid that more people would do that if they really got to know me (I had always thought myself to be weird). But now I realized that no matter who you are, you’re still a person. You’re as much of a person as I am, and if I’m going to be fearful of someone who I don’t know and who may not even be a threat, then I might be missing out on someone pretty spectacular.

Do you prefer shoes, socks, or bare feet?

-Last time I answered this, I said you rarely see me in bare feet. Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Haha. I love being barefoot and wearing socks. I usually kick off my shoes the second I walk through the door because they annoy me. My feet get cold easily, so sometimes I argue with myself about slipping my shoes off when I know it’s going to cause my toes an instant freeze, but if I don’t have to wear shoes, I don’t.

What non-banking related card in your wallet is the most valuable to you?

-My license!! I kind of need it to drive. Haha.

Do you ever wish that for one moment you were someone different than who you grew up to be?

-Definitely not. Sure, maybe being in another child’s shoes might have been easier, but I find it more fulfilling to know that I survived some pretty rough moments in my past. I made it through bullying, my dog bite, private school, losing friends, losing my grandma, and many more struggles. And it makes me realize how many sweet moments I’ve had and how much I’ve accomplished by just being myself. I like who I am, and I wouldn’t want to ever change that.

what happens if the glass is half empty to you but full to me?

-I don’t think the glass half full/ half empty concept is constant. As humans, our spectrum of emotions is pretty colorful. We’re going to have days where the glass is half full just as equally as the days where we’ll see it half empty because our attitude towards life fluctuates all the time. However, if there is ever a time where I see the glass half empty while you see it half full, I hope you’re there to help me through my rough patch.

Do you drive?

-Yes yes yes! It feels so good to say yes! Take that, 16 year old self!!

Do you ever miss people from your grade school?

-I do occasionally. I mean, I know that a lot of the time I kept to myself and didn’t really reach out to make friends with my classmates, and I know that I felt as though some of them were really mean to me and said things about me, but I’ve come to the understanding that it wasn’t their fault, and it wasn’t mine either. We were kids who didn’t know any better, and as much as I would love to blame them for the bullying contribution, I can’t, because I had depression and had no idea that it was an illness at the time. So I still have moments where I do miss seeing my old classmates, because although I felt messed up at the time, I think that they did contribute to helping me believe in myself as a person and making me realize that we’re not so bad once we grow up a little.

why do you like thunderstorms so much?

-I wondered about this for a long time and had no direct answer. But after figuring out I was an empath, I started studying it more and came up with a conclusion. Thunderstorms recharge us. We have seven chakras, which are energy points in the body. And since empaths are more aware of this energy, they feel when they are being worn down or when they are losing that energy. Like batteries, thunderstorms recharge us because they carry energy of their own; energy that helps rejuvenate ours. That is also why we can usually feel the weather change before the rain actually reaches where we are. Plus, thunderstorms are gorgeous and they keep plants alive, which make oxygen that keeps us alive, so why not love thunderstorms? (:

what makes you go in life?

-Knowing that I’ve been through rough patches before, and knowing that I can overcome them because I am still here. My friends and family also keep me going. Oh, and books. Books are good.

would you rather spend your life never knowing how that one person truly felt about you or know your whole life that they didnt care?

-Last time I answered this, I said never knowing how someone truly felt. But I feel differently now because I actually went through both sides of this. And it is much easier to know how someone feels about you and to find out that they don’t care. Why? Because I don’t need people in my life who don’t care about me. It’s unhealthy to be in a relationship where you are just being tolerated or being used, because if there ever comes a day where you really need that person and you find out that they don’t want to be there for you, you’re going to fall on your ass and be an emotional wreck. But if you know that they don’t care, at least you can get that person out of your life and find someone better; someone who does care. Not to mention, it hurts a lot less when you know vs. not knowing.

what do you do when life doesnt go as planned?

-Well, it’s hard to move on when life throws mountains in the way of where you are trying to get to. And when life does that to me, sometimes I sit down and think, “Well, this is pointless.” But a lot of the time, what follows that feeling of defeat is the stubborn ass of a person that I am telling me that there has to be another way. And I think that there is always another way to get past an unexpected difficulty. Yes, it may require some sacrifice and harder work, but I never just sit there and give up. I might cry a little. But in the end, the words “don’t give up” stay with me, and I get up and try to find the alternative that will get me out of my funk.

out of all of your years of HSchool so far what is one thing you have learned?

-After two years of college and coming back to this question, I think the biggest thing I have learned is to accept change and change with it. I started off as a scared freshman, and I graduated being a much stronger, more beautiful person. That wouldn’t have happened to me had I not accepted change. Everything in life is constantly changing, whether it is relationships, grades, talents, ambitions, etc. You have to learn to let go and to embrace who you are and who you can be. The world doesn’t slow down and time doesn’t stop. Choosing to hold on instead of letting go and refusing to become instead of becoming is just going to hold you back. Life is hard, but change can be good if you just decide to make some smarter choices and to keep people around you who matter and who love you and care about you. I accepted change, and I couldn’t be more proud of the person who I have become.

hardest thing you have ever had to do?

-The hardest thing that I have ever had to do would be to let go. I’ve been through a lot of crap caused by a lot of people, and it was hard for me to see them as the people they had become vs. the people they used to be. Although I wanted to hold onto the idea that they were still good friends, I knew that they weren’t, and it was hurting me. It hurts me whenever I have to let go of someone and move on, because how could I just let go of someone who mattered to me so much and who played such an important role in my life? But, change is inevitably going to happen, and sometimes it causes us to grow apart from each other. It doesn’t mean they are bad people. It just means they are no longer who we need to be around. It’s hard for me to let go of friends, but I never forget what they teach me or what they do for me, and that is where the true root of our relationship lies: forever in my heart.

                                                                                                                                                                                       

Last book you read and hated?

-The last book I read all the way through and hated was The Glass Castle. It wasn’t a bad book, so I don’t hate it because of that. I just hate it because it is truly a frustrating book. I wanted to throw it at the wall each time I turned the page. I have never felt that angry reading before.

Ever been in love?

-They say that if you are crushing on someone for longer than four months, then you are technically in love. In this regard, yes, I have been in love twice, even though I have never gone out with said people. But the second guy I fell in love with was more worthy of my time and devotion than the first, because although the first guy was the one I fell really hard for, he didn’t make me feel happy and loved and appreciated like the second did. The second guy loved me as a friend despite my flaws or shyness. He cared about me as much as I cared about him, and he was deathly afraid of losing me as a friend and didn’t (and still doesn’t) want that. And that meant a lot more to me than what I felt for the first guy. I had two very different “being in love” experiences, and there is a truth in saying that if you fall in love twice, choose the second, because if it was love with the first, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second. I am currently not in love with anyone, and there are to be more crushes and possibly loves in the future, but for now, I am content and happy.

Have you ever loved someone so much it hurt?

-Yes. Yes yes yes. Being an empath probably doesn’t help much, but hey, not much I can do about that. Lol. People think that it’s bad to hurt over loving someone. But I don’t think that’s necessarily true. Yes, with the first guy I fell in love with, it was a bad thing to hurt from it because I was hurting myself emotionally over someone who didn’t care that I was even alive. And being in love should make you happy, not depressed and upset. But with the second, loving him hurt because I knew how important he was to me and how important our friendship was. And it was so easy to love him, but it hurt when I couldn’t help him with some of the struggles he had to face. And it hurts to see someone you love be in so much pain, and to know that no matter how much you care about him or her, sometimes there isn’t anything you can do other than be there. It hurt because I wanted him to be happy. It hurt because I cared. It hurt because he mattered to me. And I think that hurting in that aspect is completely different than hurting because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to. Loving the second made me selfless and hopeful and happy to wake up in the morning, and loving him meant being able to hug him and laugh with him and be myself without feeling shameful or feeling like I needed to change who I was.

What is your favorite nursery rhyme?

-I don’t really have a favorite currently, but whatever one I choose in the future, I’m sure it’ll be a pretty messed up one. I like the really creepy nursery rhymes when I can stumble across them. If you have any suggestions, that would be great!