Pride, paint, and a dignified monkey.

It was this past Sunday night that I decided to write a poem. I was feeling deeply connected with the hardships of my childhood and thought that it would be cool to do a free verse poem about each year that I had to face a difficulty in my life. However, I hardly got a good start on it when my friend Shane called me and told me that the Westboro Baptist Church was coming to two of our local high schools to protest against gays. What made it worse was that a student had requested for them to come, and the news spread like wildfire. My happy little LGBT friendly town was being targeted by a much hated "cult" that often celebrates the deaths of America's fallen soldiers, and they were coming to target my friends. Kids! High school kids! When I heard the news, I felt a fire ignite inside of me, and anger began coursing through my veins. Why would they target two of our high schools? Target innocent kids who are extremely vulnerable at this age? I just couldn't believe it.

I checked Twitter soon after and saw that one of the guys from my high school was going to go to the nearest high school with his group of friends to counter protest these ignorant people. He was asking other people to join him and said that the protest was at 6:55 in the morning and to be there at 6:30. The time of the morning killed me. I don't want to get up that early, I thought to myself. It was already getting late and I was tired. I messaged my mom on Facebook about what was happening (even though she was right upstairs), and after finding out that the protest was only supposed to be for half an hour, we both decided that it wouldn't kill us to stand outside for thirty minutes and take a stand against bullying. After all, I must do what I preach, right? This was my family town that was being targeted. I had to support them.

It was already midnight by the time we had made up our minds, so I stayed up and made posters to hold for our counter protest. Since Westboro is all "Christ friendly", I decided to use bible quotes against bible quotes. The two I used were:

Luke 23:34 Then Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do." They divided his garments by casting lots.

Matthew 7:3 Why do you notice the splinter in your brother's eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own eye?

I felt as though these would be the two most significant verses in the bible for this occasion, and at six in the morning, my mom woke me up so that we could get our things together and drive down to the high school. It happened to be an extremely foggy morning, which I found quite funny, because I could just imagine the Westboro snobs getting lost in the mist. As we gathered our things and hopped into the car, I realized that we should have left sooner. It was already 6:30, and the school was quite a ways to drive to from where I lived. So as we started out, my mom asked God to give us green lights so that we would make it on time. Of course, with God, all you have to do is ask and He will provide. So we were given green lights all the way to the school, and by the time we got there, the sidewalk was already lined up with rainbow flags and unicorns and picket signs of every shape and size. It was a never-ending trail of cheering pride, and as we parked the car and headed over to this gigantic crowd of people, I couldn't help but feel like I was at home. They were all here for one reason, and one reason only: to fight for the right to love and be loved. 

We stood out in the cold with the counter protestors for the full thirty minutes, and although I was freezing my fingers and toes off, it was worth it. The street was nearly car-free at first, but as the morning progressed, it became more congested with cars of every shape, color, and size. Some drivers slowed down to read our signs, some of them took pictures of us while they were temporarily stopped, and some of them even had their iPhones out recording the long line of counter protestors. We patiently waited for Westboro to show, but by 7:25, we realized that they were not going to come. With a sense of pride, we all began to head back to our cars. We had accomplished our mission: to show everyone that we had tons more supporters of our gay community than we did non-supporters, and I feel like we really showed everyone that times are changing, whether they like it or not.

When I got home, I realized that I was a stranger on at least seven different iPhones, and in at least ten (if not more) different pictures. But I didn't mind it much, because I could only imagine how many witnesses uploaded those photos and videos to show people exactly how many supporters of LGBT there are in my town. As long as I'm making a difference or impact on someone, then I'm doing my job as a human being. And that's enough for me. I also thought about the fact that there were no rivalries that morning when it came to the different high schools fighting for these students. Whether we were located North, West, South, or East, we all came together as one student body and as one family, and I feel like I can really count on my community to make a stand during the times when we need each other the most. We could have all stood in different groups and called ourselves east, west, south, and north. But we didn't. We melded as one school district and as one community, and we held together like glue. Even if the four protestors from Westboro would have shown, they would have been outnumbered and outspoken, because we were louder, prouder, and stronger as a team than they would have ever been.

I did hear that Westboro completely skipped over our particular school because they didn't "have everything sorted out with the police in time" to protest, which, I must say is utter bullshit. My guess is that they saw the large quantity of people lining the sidewalk  and kept on driving to their next destination. Of course, the high school that they were supposed to stop at after that was supposed to have a lot more counter protestors than we did, so it would have been smarter to protest at the school we were at since we would have had the least amount of people (which I think exceeded a little more than 300 total). But hey, they had to stop somewhere, right? Otherwise they would have never been able to live it down for not showing up at all. I am extremely proud of the counter protestors at the other school Westboro did show up to, because I know you all really held your ground. I'm glad that I have a community I can be proud to live in and a community that I know will back anyone up who is being bullied. It's nice to see change finally taking place.

This video shows the remaining line of people when my mom and I were leaving the counter protest.

After the protest ended, I ate breakfast and headed up to school. I was already in high spirits when I got there, and my day continued to blossom. When I arrived to my speech class, instead of using power point to go over notes, my teacher popped in the pilot of the television show, "Lie to Me" to teach us about communication. Readers, that show was like my form of crack. I sat there absolutely mesmerized and sucked into the whole idea of reading body language, and it was like watching my life on a screen. Well, okay, the situations that the characters are put into, not so much. But the whole concept of the show reflected how I have come to recognize whether people are lying to me or not. Like the main character, I have learned to observe the habits, expressions, and different pitches of voice that other people display in order to familiarize myself with their "truths" and "lies". Although it isn't to the extremity that he has studied it, it is the same concept, nonetheless. I definitely want to watch all of the episodes now, from start to finish. 

I headed to American Lit class after that, and all we did was talk more about Emily Dickinson's poetry. Our teacher likes to pace back and forth when he lectures, so my eyes were following him like a Kit Cat clock, and then my mind started to yet again remind me of how much he looked like a lion. I'm serious about this. His hair is like a flaming blond type hair, which looks like the color of a lion's mane, and it's combed back and has this wavy look to it. To top it off, he has one of those mustache-beard pieces going on. ...Maybe it's best just to show you.

Yes. I drew this. Haha. Unbeknownst to him, of course (: See, I have this weird thing going on where if I find someone who looks interesting to me, I just get this sudden urge to draw him or her. And how do I explain to people that my teacher looks like a lion without providing some sort of picture? Anyway, that's him. And whenever he walks into the classroom, that is the first word that pops into my head. Lion. It's sort of hard to ignore, that comparison. He handed back some papers during that class period, and I was surprised to see that he had given me good grades on my writing. Why was I surprised? Lets just say he can be very vague sometimes when it comes to asking you to write an essay for him. He doesn't always fill you in on what he's looking for, so when I go to write for him, I pretty much jump into it blindly and hope to God that I'm heading toward the light. I was pleased to see that I was doing something right, and I once again left class with this happy, fluffy cloud above my head. 

By the time stagecraft rolled around, I was ready to do whatever it was that Lonna needed me to do. So I walked in not knowing that I would be painting, which just added to the sunshine of my day. One of my classmates wanted to paint up until Lonna told her that she would be on paint duty until the job was done. For some reason, the idea of painting every day until the wet blend, spattering, and the painting on of bricks was done scared her, and she quickly looked at me and asked me if I liked painting. It took all I had to avoid saying, "I love painting! I'm an artist!" Instead, I casually replied with, "Yeah. I like painting." She then asked me if I wanted to do it. I said that I didn't really care, and thus, the brush was placed into my creative hands. Finally! my mind thought. Something in my area of expertise! Don't get me wrong. I loved walking walls down and putting pieces together. I loved messing with the screw gun and staple gun when Lonna told me to give them both a shot. But the brush was the first familiar thing that had been placed in my hands since the beginning of that semester, and I was finally back in my comfort zone. 

Lonna then told us that we would be doing wet blends, where we would each take a different shade of brown, darkest to lightest, and just kind of swirl it around on the wood in swift motions. It was important that we made sure not to blend each others' shades into each other, because the point was to see all the different shades of brown swirls on the pieces. We also had to avoid painting over each others' shades. I was the leader because I had the darkest brown, and pretty soon we were all forming a line and painting as a group. There were a couple brush smack-downs (I thought of sumo-wrestlers after hearing the sounds the collisions made), and we would laugh and continue working. By the time we were done, we stood back to admire our work and then left class. Our job was done for the day.

I had a bad day the next day. We all know what that's like, where the day before was so fantastic that the following day just has to dump a load of crap onto your plans. I woke up around nine because I can usually sleep in longer on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and my phone had made a distinct buzzing sound against the coffee table that had triggered the "wake up" mode of my brain. Still groggy, I opened up the text message I had received and saw that my mom had asked me how to grade a 40 point worksheet. It took me a minute before it all clicked, and suddenly the panic set in. I frantically asked her if she was subbing up at high school, and she said yes. Poor communication from the day before had made me believe that she was supposed to sub on Wednesday, not Tuesday. I found myself without a ride, and I began to panic. What am I going to do? I thought. To say the least, I was pissed and upset. I logged onto Facebook to see if anyone would offer taking me up to school, but no one could, which I had expected. I was beginning to work myself up over the fact that I would miss my two classes, and then finally my brain reminded me, It could be worse. You could be dead. Let me tell you, it's amazing how comparing death to missing one day of school can brighten up someone's day. And I mean that with the deepest sincerity. I suddenly realized that being angry over missing school wasn't going to solve the problem of not having a ride, so instead, I accepted the fact that class just might have to be missed. Not much else to do, right? Luckily, my friend Taelor got out of class in time to come pick me up and take me up there (for which I am forever grateful for). There wasn't much I would have missed if I had not shown, but that's okay. I'm just glad I could be up there. We went over notes in English and critiqued poems in creative writing, and then I was done for the day. I must say that we have some great poets in my class. I enjoy reading their material! 

My mom and I got into a fight about me getting a job and my license after school, to which I'd rather not go into details on since it's over and done with, but let's just say I wasn't too keen on spending much time with her when I got home. So I walked inside, came straight downstairs, and did not emerge from the realm that is my basement until around eight p.m. I ended up typing out a story to submit to one of the Chicken Soup books (which I did end up submitting, in case you're wondering), and after I did that, I felt better. It was almost as though I gave myself my own therapy, and by that night, I was feeling tons better.

Today was one of those days that was just genuinely great for me. I woke up in a good mood and had even gotten a chance to sleep in longer than usual. I just felt like I had less to do this morning as far as preparation for school goes, and by the time Taelor came to pick me up, I was packed and ready to go. Once we got to school, I headed to my speech class only to find out that it was cancelled. Yes! I thought. Now I can read the two stories that I didn't feel like reading last night! You see, lion teacher assigned us two stories out of our book, and since I haven't favored many of the selections so far, I just didn't have the desire to read anything. But I had an hour and a half of free time, so I headed to the student center and cracked open the book. The two stories were actually enjoyable to read this time. There was great detail and alliteration, and I could picture everything in my head. I was sucked in, and once I finished both stories, I realized just how much I had enjoyed reading them. It definitely made the class more fun to go to, and I was focused and paying more attention to my teacher's lecture than I have been previous classes.  After class let out, I hung out in the student center and changed into paint clothes, and before I knew it, I was off to theatre. 

Today's class was pretty fun... and abusive. Haha. Lonna showed us how to build a flat, and many of us took turns with the staple gun (me excluded since I hung back behind everyone else, hehe). I was looking forward to painting again, and once the flat was built, Lonna gathered all of us painters up and brought us over to what we had been working on last class. We walked the pieces down and set them side by side so we could spatter paint, and she explained that the paint for the spattering would be thinner than what we had been working with before. The paint was all watery and thin, and she showed us how to dip our brushes in and how to get all of the excess paint out of the bristles before spattering. Otherwise the paint would go flying in huge blotches, which was the opposite of what we wanted! Once she got the extra paint out, she curled her left hand into a fist and began tapping the metal part of the brush against the curled sides of her index finger and thumb. The paint spattered in tiny dots onto the pieces we had painted, and she told us that wherever the hollow part of our fist was pointed, that's where the paint would go. We imitated her after her demo and found that hitting the brush against that part of our fists didn't feel so pleasant. We began making references to the mean Catholic school nuns who used to beat students' hands with their rulers, and after the darkest color was done being spattered, we went and rinsed our brushes. Our hands were red where we had hit the brush, but we laughed about it and moved on to the next lightest color (again, dark to light). It was kind of funny listening to all of us spatter the paint because it sounded like a bunch of ticking clocks. We weren't moving as fast as Lonna would have liked us to in fear that we would mess the paint job up, but in the end, it looked really good! The tiny dots were finally becoming noticeable, and when we stood back, it looked even better. One of the painters and I stayed past the class time to help finish up with the last color, and by the time we finished, we looked like beautifully spattered canvases! 

I met Jes and Allison in the student center after class to show off my beautifully painted self, and while in the student center, also pulled my tiny sock monkey out of my back pack. He just chills in there every day, and I was talking to Jes and Allison about making him look like a very distinguished and sophisticated monkey. I made him a monocle tonight and also plan on giving him a mustache, making him a top hat, a pipe, and a cute little outfit to pull it all together. 

Alright, well that is the extent of my past three days. I apologize for such a long blog, unless you like reading. Then I don't apologize. Haha. So much has happened and I wanted to get it all down, if not for you, then for me to look back on and read. I like to remember fun and memorable times!

I'll keep you guys posted! Thanks for being amazing readers <3

♫♪My breath fogged up the glass, so I drew a new face and laughed♪♫

So I'm sitting here on my mom and dad's bed listening to music, and my mom comes in to get towels from the bathroom. When she sees that there's more than she expected, she says, "I'm never going to get towels done!" I apologize to her and then she starts telling me how I need to start helping her with laundry around the house. I say, "Okay, Mom! All you had to do was tell me! Don't bite my head off about it!" She replies with, "Okay, I'm sorry." And then a couple minutes later she says, "I started doing laundry in 6th grade and no one had to ask me. I just did it." Has anyone ever had an experience like this? Where you find out there's a specific rule you're supposed to follow that no one tells you about? Drives me nuts! I think every household should have a list of rules to follow so that there are no "surprise" ones that no one knows about until it's too late. Oh, the little unexpected joys in life.

Anyway, my weekend has been pretty eventful. Friday was one of those days where I thought I was going to go home and nap, but low and behold, I didn't get a chance. It's funny, being tired. Whenever I think I'm going to take a nap now, or, I'm going to go to bed now, that's when my phone blows up, or when people randomly pop up on chat needing advice that I can't ignore in fear that they might contemplate suicide. Yes, drastic, I know. But that's just how my mind works. So on the way home from dropping my friend off at her student teaching job, my friend Brian texted me asking if I wanted to go out to lunch. So of course, since I hadn't hung out with him in awhile, I suggested Pizza Street, and we met up there. Then I went to my friend Taelor's house and hung out with her for a bit, getting a good 15 minute power nap in. After that, I went with my mom to go pick my friend up from her student teaching job, and when I got home, I relaxed for maybe an hour (I was being asked to do little favors on and off during that time). Then Brian came over to watch Paranormal 3 with me. I stayed up a bit longer after he left and crashed at twelve. So, I didn't get my nap. But I got a good amount of sleep in that night.


The next day I had to wake up around 9 to shower because my friend had won a free makeover for her bridal party. I'm not part of the bridal party since it's family only, but she lied  for me ;) So I went up there thinking that actual people were going to do my makeup for me. It was freaking Mary K. There was only one lady there, and she had little makeup stations set up for us. I thought to myself, If I wanted to do my own makeup, I just would have stayed home. But still, I wasn't going to turn around and walk out. Maybe I would learn something new. We had a short skin treatment for our hands and then were also taught about Mary K products and how they could take dead skin off and improve skin as well, so it was pretty cool. But the lady kept trying to sell us her items and then also tried to get us to sign up to be consultants for Mary K. She even went to the trouble of bringing rings with her and said that if we signed up that day, we could take a ring for free. Of course, I can never pick rings out of a box like that because my fingers aren't average size. I usually have to have rings sized for me in order to wear them. It can be a blessing and a curse. That day in particular, it was a blessing. I also had no money with me, so I wasn't tempted to buy anything. Yay! However, I couldn't help but notice how all of the girls' eyes got ten times bigger when looking at these lovely pieces of jewelry. They sure know where to get us! :P I had to fill address and phone number info out in order to be able to have a chance at winning a bracelet (damn jewelry), and I was put under that high pressure situation to fill all that info out (we all know what that's like). So if I do get a call, I'm just going to tell them I'm not interested in selling. I have no desire in advertising makeup since I preach about the evils of bending to society's expectations, and I'm not going to look at my friends as customers. Friends are friends, not a money opportunity. The only part I liked about Mary K was the skin cleansers that took the dead skin off and hydrated the pores. The makeup was average, and I didn't learn anything new when it came to applying it. My skin is clearer than it was yesterday, but I don't have money to spend on that stuff. No more going to "free makeovers" anymore :P

After the makeover, my mom and I had to head up to the high school that I attended last year so that we could judge some of the people in the speech competition. I was a little nervous at first, but it all turned out fine. The theatre teachers, Croghan and Murphy, explained how the judging worked, and then my mom was off to judge the first round of Radio. I, however, wasn't needed for the first round, so I headed to the foods room to snack on some chips and to talk to my former foods teacher, Lehmann. There wasn't anyone I knew in there, so I got bored pretty fast. After spending a good fifteen or twenty minutes sitting and talking, I headed down to the library to see Shane and Jonah. They were doing duet improv for the competition, which I knew was going to turn out good for them since they're a couple of natural comedians. I found an empty seat in the library and sat down, so Shane and Jonah got up from where they were sitting and plopped down in the chairs on either side of me. We talked up until it was time for them to go down to their room for improv, and once they went into the classroom, I noticed that my mom had finished judging. So I went into the foods room to see her. Then it was time for me to judge original speech. I headed down to my classroom and waited for almost twenty minutes when one of the competitors finally walked in. She was a very friendly girl, tall and absolutely gorgeous with long, blonde curls, and she had a lot of positive energy radiating from her. It was like being on a high for me, since empaths can feel other peoples' emotions. It's rare that I ever get anybody that positive, to where I can be in that sort of "high" moment. She was absolutely phenomenal and had a great speaking voice. Very clear and direct, and she made eye contact with me the entire time. Her hand gesturing was as fluid as water, and I couldn't help but smile the entire time she was talking. Her speech was about procrastination, and let me tell you, she had that speech down! She crossed her t's and dotted her i's, and she never once tripped over any of her words. After she left, another girl walked in who looked very business formal. She had some of her hair pulled back, had the professional-looking glasses on, and was dressed like she was ready to pitch a very exclusive business meeting. Her speech was about how much complaining America does. I agreed with her entire speech, but she was not very enthusiastic about it. She didn't make much eye contact, and it seemed like she had to think every now and then about what she was supposed to say next. She had one of those voices where she made almost everything sound like a question, and I gave her a good score, but she wasn't as together as my first girl had been. Finally, the last original speech speaker came in and talked about how America can't move backwards to being that happy, on-top-of-the-world country anymore now that technological advances have been made and can't be taken away. I was starting to lose interest at this point. She tripped over her words a lot. Although her voice was better than the second girl's, it still wasn't as powerful as it could have been. Her hand gesturing was good, but I was really bored with what she had to say. I felt like it was all common sense stuff that everyone knew about, and when she left, I rated everyone and took my judging sheets back down to the judge's room. Murphy said, "Thanks, love!" in her cheery voice, and then I walked out and sat down to talk to Shane. My friend Tasha, who was also doing duet improv with one her friends, saw me and sat down to talk, and then Shane kind of walked away... haha. But it was good to talk to her again since we had not seen each other in quite a while. After that, I had to head to my final classroom to judge the finals of poetry. I was put with another judge (a former high school classmate) and we got ready for the speakers to come in. They showed up almost immediately after I sat down, and before I knew it, the speeches started. The rating for poetry was difficult since it was finals, and each time I thought I had my mind made up about who I would place in first, someone else would walk up and out-do the other one. I finally decided after the third contestant which one deserved first place, and after listening to the remaining three, the decision became concrete in my mind. Once the poetry judging was over, I went and turned all of my sheets in to Murphy, and again, she said, "Thanks, love!" I was thinking to myself, since when did she start calling people "love"? I had never heard her call anyone else by that pet name. Croghan then mentioned to her that my poem was being published, to which Murphy replied, "I know! A published author! Maybe we can perform your pieces." I thought to myself, not this one, since my first piece would only depress people. It's sad enough to read, much less act out!! So I headed back out into the common area and found my mom, and we walked around and talked to a few people. After a good half hour, it was time to judge, so I went and sat with all the West kids and watched as the awards were given out to the different school districts. While they were being given out, Jonah was acting goofy and putting his head back so that I could see him, and he would stick his tongue out and make faces. The first time, I patted his cheek twice with my hand, and the second time I just ran my hands through his hair as he shook his head around. Haha. I love that goofball. The girls who I wanted to win first place in both of my categories ended up winning (which I was very pleased about), Shane won 3rd place in storytelling, him and Jonah won 2nd in duet improv, and Tasha and her friend won 3rd in duet improv. It was Tasha's very first time in a speech competition, so I was very proud of her! I felt like a proud mom. Haha. The other West kids who had competed all won trophies as well, and I was so happy for them!! Shane came home with me afterwards to have pizza, and when we were hanging out, I asked him about Murphy calling me "love". He said that she calls people "love" if she likes them, which made me smile. Glad to know I'm liked! We took him home afterwards, and then Saba called me and told me she was bored. So she came over around ten and we talked for two solid hours about college and about people and technology. She left around midnight and then I fought sleep as much as I could. I ended up passing out on the couch around 1 a.m. and didn't wake up until around 11:30 or 12. So it was a pretty good day! :P

So this concludes today's blog. I'll make sure to get some new material to write for this week, which I'm sure will be easy considering the fact that my college classes are pretty eventful all in themselves. Gotta keep writing! Gawd, what a joy it is to be alive and have people to love who will love you back. (:

Love you all! xoxoxo

Just a little blurb (:

Hey guys! I haven't really written anything new. My last blog I posted on here had also been posted to Facebook, and I don't really consider it a new read for anyone, which means I've gone a long time without blogging! So I just decided to fill everyone in on what has been going on lately with me (:


I recently announced to my family, my friends, and to my Facebook friends that my poem, Never Gone, is being published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tough Times for Teens. It's a synopsis of the last day I had with my grandma in the hospital as life slowly slipped away from her. It's my first published piece, so it's very exciting for me! The thing with Chicken Soup is that they get about 100 submissions daily for their books, and it can take 3 years for them to read all of the submissions and choose the best 101 for publication. I really thought my chances were slim, and although I was hoping, I was also telling myself that if my poem wasn't chosen, I couldn't be disappointed. However, God had different plans, and he brought me through the entire thing with green lights. The books go on sale Feb. 7th (this upcoming Tuesday) in all book stores and on Amazon and can currently be pre-ordered. Just type "tough times for teens" in their search bar and it should come up with the book! I'm not sure if it will hit libraries right away, but I would check up with them after the on-sale date if you just wanna check it out temporarily. My poem is on page 276 (:

I was also stricken with a cold last week, and I haven't been that miserable in awhile! I couldn't smell ANYTHING, which was just horrible, because my sense of smell is the strongest of my five senses. It also caused a sore throat since I was breathing through my mouth at night. I missed three days of school (which killed me), and it lasted for five days. I just found out from my friend, tall hair, tonight that the cold I had is a new kind of cold, and it's really contagious, even if it's showing signs of clearing up! It's been hitting a lot of people lately, so I stayed home for those three days because I didn't want to make my classmates sick! I love them too much to do that (: Unfortunately, I passed it onto tall hair, because he's just too fixated on coming over to my house every weekend, no matter what risks are involved. The good thing is that he obtained some medicine that knocked the cold right out of the ballpark, so he wasn't as bad as I was. There are a few people who I wished I could have passed it onto, but oh well. I guess we can't always get what we want, right? :P

My left arm is currently sore. I'm in a stagecraft class, which is basically all the glamor of theatre behind the scenes (lighting, painting, building). We spent Monday building the platform for the upcoming production, Harvey, and the whole idea is to put two sets into one via a rotating floor. One side will be a sanitarium, and the other will be a library. When my class walked into theatre, we had a bunch of cut wood pieces. By the time we walked out, we had built almost the entire moving platform. There were a lot of "puzzle pieces" to push together and drill, And then we had to walk the main piece of the platform onto the pivot piece that one of the stage workers had built into the floor. It took my nine classmates plus the teacher and both carpenters to walk it down, lower it, and place it perfectly onto the pivot piece. After that, we had to take the other two pieces and do the same thing, only they went on both sides of the main piece. After we did that, the carpenters drilled them to the main piece. Before we knew it, we had a rotating platform. However, the real challenge didn't come until Wednesday. That was the day we had to start painting and putting walls up. There were only three people selected to paint that day, and the other seven of us had to help carry walls, hold them up, push them against their respectful matching sides, and use the best muscle strength we could offer. The walls were really tall and extremely heavy, even with another person helping with the lift. Lucky me (yes, I am being sarcastic) got one wall that was horribly warped, and another wall that matched its respectful matching side at the bottom, but trailed away from it at the top like a fork in the road. So with the first one, we really had to balance it well while it was being drilled, and the second one took three people and some nice sets of muscles (mine included) to push it against the other near the top. My teacher stressed that we had to match everything up correctly, or else the walls would not meet like they should when it would come time for the entire set to rotate on show nights. It was a little stressful, but our class handled it well. My hands hurt when I was done, but a good kind of hurt, and even though my sore arm is noticeable to me, it's one of those satisfying feelings. There's a difference between being sore because you did something completely stupid and idiotic that you shouldn't have done, and being sore because you put a lot of hard work and effort into something that is going to be extremely satisfying when it's all said and done. I couldn't help but stand back and admire what we had built by the time class ended. It probably wouldn't look like much to someone who randomly walked into the theatre and saw it, but to a person who built it, it's like looking at a grand castle. I can't wait to see how the actors interact with everything!

I'm also really enjoying all of my English classes that I'm taking up at college. We haven't been doing much in my English 2 class besides reading and discussing what we've read. I think that we've done a total of four stories, and we had one in-class writing assignment on Tuesday. I had walked into my normal classroom and noticed that my teacher had moved us over to the technology building. I checked the time and had five minutes until class started. Luckily, the building wasn't far, and I walked into a computer lab. Since I had missed the last class, I asked what we were doing, and one of my classmates told me that we were writing an essay on one of three topics given. Now, this guy had written down two out of the three in class, but had been too lazy to write the third one out. His writing looked like chicken scratch. So he typed up the directions and printed them out for me. Upon reading, I realized that his laziness had not stricken him by the time the third topic was being discussed, but it had actually stricken him while writing down the second topic, because there wasn't enough info for me to go on. So I chose the first one, which was actually better for me because I had read the reading for it that morning, and it was fresh in my mind. What should have been an hour and a half of class time was only half an hour for me, and once I printed the essay out and turned it in, I left and grabbed some lunch. I was supposed to read a reading for today as well, but I didn't, and lucky for me, the teacher popped in a movie that followed the storyline of what I should have read last night. So it was a freebee!

My speech class has been pretty easy as well. We've just been taking notes, and I had my first speech to present yesterday (which was very informal). We had to create our own "currency" explaining who we were (interests, hobbies, etc.). I went all snazzy and printed out a dollar bill for my format, but covered everything up with pictures and words. I thought it looked pretty nice. I think that I started out strong near the beginning of my presentation, but near the end I realized I was talking faster and speeding up, and as I sat down, I realized that I had missed out on the chance to give them more detail as to why I liked writing, and honeysuckle, and my favorite quote, etc. Definitely need to work on that!! Haha.

My American Lit class, although confusing and vague at times, has been pretty good. I think that the earlier material we had been reading was so "not in my department of expertise", that I had shown little to no interest in the matter, and it was difficult for me to comprehend exactly what my teacher wanted from me. We had started with Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself", but the poem was so lengthy that my brain instantly shut down. I still haven't read it. Then we had to read "Under the Lion's Paw", and I realized as I dove into the story that the characters were a bunch of country hicks. So of course, being me, I was like, "Yes!! I love talking in a country accent!" So what did I do? I read the story out loud, to myself, in my basement, alone, in different country accents. I don't think it helped too much since I was tripping over some of the country slang, but I was really able to focus on the ending. The middle of the story is kind of fuzzy in my memory, and I guess the ending was the part that intrigued me the most. But I won't elaborate, because it wasn't a very interesting read. Haha. We started on Emily Dickinson yesterday, and when I saw the first day that we would be reading her poetry, I thought, Oh great. Way to pick the most difficult poet to interpret. But guys, something miraculous happened. As I read the assigned poems, although some of them were difficult for me to interpret, my mind was able to decipher most of their meanings. I soon found myself wanting to read more of her poetry, and I wasn't so scared to discuss her in class anymore. I think one of my favorites (that I can relate to right now) is this poem:

Some keep the Sabbath going to church;

I keep it staying at home,

With a bobolink for a chorister

And an orchard for a dome.

Some keep the Sabbath in surplice; 

I just wear my wings;

And instead of tolling the bell for church, 

Our little sexton sings.

God preaches,—a noted clergyman,—

And the sermon is never long; 

So instead of getting to heaven at last,

I'm going all along! 

If you guys can remember from my earlier blog post, I talked about how I'm not much of a fan of religion anymore. So after I read this poem, it really spoke to me because I could relate to it. I definitely want to write a response paper to it (we have to write four this semester) because I feel like I can really elaborate on it.

I'm sure you're hoping that I'll end this thing soon. So I'll wrap it up by talking about my last class, creative writing. This week I've had to turn in five haikus, two limericks, a response paper to Anne Lamott's Bird By Bird, and a free verse poem. A lot of writing, isn't it? But of course, I guess I should expect it since it is a writing course. This is my first time learning the names of the different poem styles. I'm familiar with all of them, but I didn't know they all had formal names to identify them by. Shame on me. Anyway, it was my first time working with haikus. When I say first time, I don't mean it's my first time writing them. It's my first time putting thought into them. However, it was my first time ever writing limericks, so that was interesting to think about (content wise). The reading response is a different story. I've only read a little bit of Bird By Bird and I already dislike it. The author is basically giving tips on writing, but I feel that she's going about it in a very pessimistic way. I can agree with her on some aspects of writing, but she tells her readers that the first few months before something of yours is published is "the worst life has to offer". I completely disagree with that statement. I can think of a lot worse things that could happen to me than getting mean reviews on my writing. I figure everyone has opinions, and there will always be someone who doesn't like you. She also makes it sound like it's impossible to get published, and that even if you do get published a few times, it probably won't be enough to pay the bills. She just has this very sour outlook on it all. She also said that the first draft of something that you write looks like a child wrote it, which I disagree with. When I write a first draft, it often looks like a second or third draft that needs very little editing. It was also said that writers need to establish a certain time to sit down and write every day, which I also disagree with. You can't force creativity to come to you. It has to strike you. If you sit down and try to force it like that, I guess the first draft is going to look like a child wrote it, because it's forced to be written!! Many writers who want to be known, or published, or famous, don't think about what writing actually is. In fact, I think that there are very few writers who sit down and write for the sake of just wanting to write, and having the ability to do it well. My friend Jes is one of those writers that can sit down at a computer and type away, and then post it for the first time and have it look like a finalized paper. That is pure talent! I think writers have to be able to feel, and think, and perceive things differently than others do in order to write something brilliant, touching, and that others can relate to. Writing is personal, yes, but at the same time, it has to be adjustable so that others can relate and want to read more. My teacher says that doing so is very tough and takes practice. She also told us that every once in awhile, writers will be able to sit down and write a piece that needs no revision or fixes, and that it's rare. But to me, it happens often. Not so much that I never feel a need to read through and revise, but I guess it comes more to me than it does to normal writers. It's just who I am, and who Jes is, as well as any other writers out there who possess such talent.

Speaking of writing, we spent Tuesday and today critiquing poetry. And a lot of them needed critiquing. Some of them did not. But I was thinking about it tonight and thought how sometimes even the best poems can have mistakes in them. It just takes time to find them. I wrote a poem a few nights ago about silence (which I will be submitting for another publication opportunity), and then two nights ago, I pulled it up again and read through it. The more I read it, the more mistakes and fluidity errors I found. So I went through it and fixed what I needed to fix. I had to do that today with my classmates, and it was difficult for me to fish out the problems that needed fixing. But the more I read the pieces and listened to others' opinions, the easier it was for me to critique. I think that this class has a lot to offer me and to teach me, and I'm definitely in it to strengthen my writing as a whole. I want to be able to analyze, revise, think, write, and have that pull of interest. It's definitely a long and sometimes tiring learning experience, but it's what stimulates my brain and makes me feel better. Writing is my passion, my therapy, my voice, and it's who I am.

On that note, I think I'll end this long blog. Remember, you can comment below if you wish. I'm extremely happy to know that I have readers who like what I write, and I hope to continue being a positive role model for people who need a lift or a friend. I want to be able to offer different ways of thinking and different perspectives, but it takes readers to do that.

By the way, if you still read, I commend you. People like me need readers like you in order to achieve that self-fulfillment. Without you, my words are empty. Love you all (:

Grandma Turck's Candle

After my grandma’s passing in May of 2011, my family had a rough time dealing with her being gone. We spent months thinking of her and spontaneously crying. Most of the time, my mom did her crying while she was washing the dishes. I cried while trying to fall asleep. My cousin would drive to her apartment and sit in her car and cry. We all dealt with it in different ways, and often tried to do it privately. I never wanted anyone to try to comfort me, which is why I waited until bedtime most of the time to let it all out. I just wanted to cry and miss her. That was all. Even on the day she died, I didn’t want anyone touching me. My dad sat by me the day she passed and kept rubbing my back. I eventually jerked away. He didn’t touch me again.

After about 6 months or so, the church out where my grandma lived was giving a memorial mass for all those who had passed away that year. For each person, a candle was lit, and someone from each family would carry it up to the table in front of the alter and set it down when the name was called. It was a difficult mass to get through. My youngest cousin cried and had to leave for a few minutes. Then it was the next cousin. And then, even though I fought it, I let a tear or two slip down my cheek. I had to remind myself to take deep breaths and to not think about what was going on. 

After the memorial mass, my aunt told my mom she could keep my grandma’s candle. So we went out to lunch with the family and then brought the candle home. My mom would light it during any event my grandma would have come to, and we even took it to my aunt’s house for Christmas. Wherever family was, so was the ever-present “Lillian Turck” candle. For some reason, this candle became extremely important. In a way, it took the place of Grandma, and if any of us were to forget to light it or bring it with us, it was almost as bad as leaving Grandma at home by herself.

I never saw this candle as much of an importance as the rest of my family did at first. To me, it was just a candle with my grandma’s name on it. A candle that was eventually going to run out of wax… and eventually, we would not be able to light it anymore. We wouldn’t have anything to keep Grandma alive and well, and I did not want to idolize this candle to be such an important part of our lives. In a sense, I felt like the candle dying would be like Grandma dying all over again. I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing her twice. 

Weeks passed, and then suddenly it was halfway through my Christmas break. Time was flying by, and I felt like I had squandered a lot of it feeling depressed and forgotten. So I finally decided that it was time to keep myself busy and preoccupied again, just like I do any time I get depressed. It wasn’t until around the third week of break that I decided that I wanted to paint. At the time, my sleeping schedule was extremely messed up. So I was up during the hours my family was in bed snoozing away. It wasn’t until one fourth of the way through my painting that I began to think of the candle. I was so lonely, and it was so quiet. I began craving attention, and although I tried to focus on painting, the candle stayed clear in my mind. So finally, after much attempted ignorance, I walked over to the small coffee table and took her candle off if it, carrying it over to the dining room table where my paints were set up. I struck a match and lit it, setting it away from my paints so that I would not accidentally knock it over and start this huge bonfire, because that’s just something I would naturally do. I’m like a child. You have to keep certain things away from me. Haha. 

As silly as it may sound, the lit candle made me feel less alone. I would glance up at it every now and then and watch the flame calmly burn, as if saying, “Yes, I’m still here.” I would then return to my painting, and I just felt like Grandma was sitting in the room with me, watching me paint this picture. I definitely felt this very calming feeling wash over me, and the loneliness that I had been suffering from went away. 

I sit here now, thinking back to that night of relief, and wonder, How on Earth could that lit candle have made me feel so much better? Certainly this material item held no important value. It was just a candle with a simple sticker on it. A name. A sequence of letters that spelled out my deceased relative. So why was this flame so relevant to my way out of loneliness? But you know, maybe it’s not the candle that is relevant. Maybe it’s what it stands for. My grandma held a light to my passions for many years, whether I wanted to be a ballerina, artist, or writer. My ballerina phase ended shortly after my grandpa had passed, and then my artist phase started up. In seventh grade, it was writing, and since then, I have never looked back. And not only did she hold a light to what I wanted to do, but she was also very calm in her old age. She always did a good job of listening to me and thinking about what to say next, and I could always tell how every word I spoke to her was accounted for, no matter what it was that we were talking about. She took her time, and she had a lot of patience, just as the wax takes a lot of time to melt. It makes me think twice about this candle and its huge role in our family. 

I’m now beginning to think that maybe the candle is just a measure of healing time for all of us. It’s measuring our time that we have to go on without Grandma Turck, and then maybe when it burns all the way down, by the time the wax is gone, we won’t need the candle anymore. By that time, maybe we will finally be able to stop crying and realize that our memories serve both us and Grandma just as well as the candle did. I’m coming to find that the candle is not really a “replacement”, and it doesn’t represent another lifetime. It represents the time in which it will take our hearts to heal from our loss, and then someday, we will be able to move on.

Don’t get me wrong, I will never forget my grandma. I think about her every single day. And sometimes I still do cry because I miss her. Even this morning, I woke up crying because I had a dream that it had been the first year without her, and I wiped the tears away from my cheeks and went on with my day. But it has gotten better, and I am able to smile when I see all that has been laid out for me because of her. When I feel alone, I just remember that my grandma is still here to listen in spirit, and it makes the emotional pain of loss easier to deal with. I do believe that I’ll see her again someday, but until then, I need to carry on. I want to share my loving nature with the world, and I want to set the footsteps that my grandma could not make while she was here. She passed down a wonderful mind and an overwhelming love for the written word, and I think that of all things she left behind, that love is the best heirloom of all.

Someday the candle will stop burning. But my passion to change the world will not. Thank you, Grandma, for everything.

Stephanie Michelle Pabst

I don't like religion too much.

Tonight as I was sitting in the recliner watching The Fresh Prince, my mom decided to ask me whether I would be able to wake up for church or not tomorrow (Sunday) morning. Now, I found this to be a foolish question considering she's going to make me go anyway. But my reply, I felt, could be my own opinion, even if my opinion did not matter come 8:30 a.m. So I told her, "Maybe." This seemed like a legitimate answer considering it was a "maybe" on whether she would be able to crawl out of bed or not. That's the reason why we didn't go last Sunday. She had a migraine (if I remember correctly) and we ended up skipping church.
The more I go to church, the more I despise it. It's not something I look forward to, it's nothing new, and the people there are just horrible. I feel like I'm walking into a masquerade party minus the ball gowns and plus plus the vagueness of who I am talking to. I often wonder who the church-goers really are outside of church, just as one would question who Cinderella really is when she's not tidied up and dancing with the handsome prince. Many of these people from my parish don't even pay the slightest attention to me when they see me or any of my family members out in public. Out in public, we don't exist to them because they aren't in church being judged by other goody-goods who are probably ignoring other so-called "goody-goods" outside of the building as well. The church is supposed to be God's "house" where we gather to learn and to empathize and care for each other, and yet, when we leave this place, many do the exact opposite. It's as though a group of people who absolutely despise each other are being invited to the same dinner party and must be nice to each other for the host's sake. Once that dinner party is over, who cares who hates who? But here's my take on things. Even if you aren't in church anymore, God is still watching every little thing you do. God is still judging you, ultimately, for the hurtful things you are doing to those who don't deserve it.

Now, back to religion. I used to be a Catholic. That's what I've considered myself to be my entire life because that's what my parents said I was. And when we get older, it can be hard to break that mold. But as I continued to go, I began to question why I was even going. What did we truly believe in? What was being preached? And out of that preaching, how many of us were really practicing it? Then I began to think about confession. Why did I go confess my sins to a priest? What made this priest so great? Why did he have to be the bridge to asking my God for forgiveness? Heck, any guy can go into the seminary and become a priest (granted they become knowledgeable about what they need to know). So why does the priest get to know the bad things that I've done? And then I began to wonder what the use was of being at church anyway. The only use I ever get out of it is when the priest preaches for a good ten to fifteen minutes because the sermon is always something new. The readings are repetitive and the songs are always being re-used. And what if the priest doesn't even practice his teachings outside of God's "house"?

I'm currently forgetting about my past religion and focusing on what I know is right and just. Going to church each week is becoming difficult to tolerate, and as much as I hate going, I only do it because my mom wants me to. It's important to her, and I think she only likes it because it's sort of like a family time for us. One of my friends told me that my mom is worried I won't go to church anymore once I move out, and she is absolutely right. I'm not going to go because I don't find a need for it at this point in my life. Now, I believe in God, and I believe in Jesus Christ. I know God is with me every step of the way, even when I don't think things will get better. In fact, when I get that down, He is my only hope, and he's also the #1 dude I can depend on. God hasn't failed yet, and he hasn't bailed on me yet, even though I've completely decided that Catholicism was hypocritical. I meditate. I appreciate the nature around me. I work hard. I love a hell of a lot. And I think that's the only thing God really wants. He didn't create this earth for me to waste my life on. When he created humans, he wanted us to enjoy the beauty of this planet.

Now, you may ask me how I can believe in this almighty God when there are people on the streets who can't even afford to eat. People are always asking, "If God exists, why are there homeless people? Why are others starving?" Well, I've got an answer for you. Humans. When God created us, He gave us free will. What kind of life would this be if He controlled all of us? He wants us to have free will so we can practice being kind to each other without being forced to do it. If we were forced, how is it kindness, really? Anyway, with this free will that we have, we've created these corporations and the technology and our economy. We've decided that money is the way things would be bought, and we've decided how to organize that money. I must say, we're doing a pretty shitty job. And that's why we have the homeless and the rich and the middle class. We cause this to happen to ourselves with little or no awareness that we are even doing it, and then there are idiotic morons asking, "Well where is this so-called God that you speak of?" I'm not sure, dumbshit. Maybe He's off crying in a corner somewhere because we're destroying this planet of His that He created for us to live on. And don't ask me why He would have given us the resources to create our technology if He didn't want us to use it. I'm sure the resources found on our planet could be used for far better reasons than what we've decided they could be used for.

Now, from an atheist's point of view, I can understand why they wouldn't believe in a God. People can be very hurtful and selfish. It is sad that others are living in poverty. And it is difficult to picture a life after death, even for those who believe. I think that sometimes when we think about dying, this heavenly place we hear of can be extremely vague and out one's right mind. I've even imagined what it would be like to die and to have nowhere to go afterward. It's a very scary concept to imagine, and I've often wondered if dying is like falling asleep and never waking up. You know how that is, right? Where you sleep and all you can see throughout the entire night is black, and you wake up the next morning and say, "I must have fallen asleep." Well, I've imagined that's what death is like quite a few times. Maybe we're just  blissfully unaware, and that's our heaven. Just being... gone. But I also recognize that there must be something higher than us that had to have put us here, and that keeps me hoping and praying that there is such a place of happiness waiting for me.

I guess my point in this blog is that you don't have to be a part of a religion to be a good person. You don't have to go to church every Sunday to believe that you still have a chance to move on after you die. Religion is just constraints put on what the possibilities of the afterlife are, and it's constraints on what you can and can't do, should and shouldn't do, and how you can and can't act. But isn't the whole point of being human to make mistakes and to have an all-forgiving God to forgive you of those temptations and acts of wrongdoing? I mean, we wouldn't have religion if we didn't have reasons to feel guilty for the ways we act and speak and think and perceive. If the world were perfect, and we were perfect, what would God's purpose be?

I only enjoy going to church when I feel like a part of my faith is slowing down or when it feels broken. When I need someone to listen and I need to hear words of encouragement, I enjoy my time spent. I hate how church, for me, has become a routine that I do not enjoy and that I feel like I have to get up and struggle to do each Sunday. I experienced that in high school, where I would get up and not want to go because I was just there too much. When you do something so repetitive for so long, you're going to get burnt out. And that's me right now. I don't feel lost or broken. I feel like myself. I feel fine. I know God is with me. I have my morals and values in place. So why is my attendance at some building that the community decided to build so important? Why is it that we feel we all need to be on common ground in order to give our attention to God? I'd rather pray to God with a room full of Jews, Baptists, Protestants, Mormons, and all of those other religions than to be doing it with "my own kind". I can't stand close-minded people, and I highly believe that we can learn more from people 100% different than us than learning more from someone 100% the same as us. It took me all sorts of tolerance and open-minded listening to be where I am right now and to think as I am thinking right now, and most importantly, to love as I am loving right now. Without meeting others who were worlds apart from me, I could be an entirely different person, and it drives me crazy to think that! I love who I am right now, and I don't need a religion to do that!

So, for those of you who are feeling lost about your beliefs, just listen to me when I say to you that you don't need to be labeled by a religion to be a good person. You just need to have faith and to practice what you know is the right thing to do. Apologize when you need to. Love yourself and others when no one else will. Be the one to toss a smile and hold a door open. I promise you that if you stay true to who you are, God is still going to love you, whether you have a name slapped onto your beliefs or not.

If I offended anyone in this blog at all, I am truly sorry for my opinionated mind. Maybe you'll like my next blog better.

xoxo

Psi Vamps are real?!

Hey guys! I apologize for the lack of blogging lately. I guess nothing really came to mind for me to type about. Of course, being me, not too much excitement goes on. Sure, I could post my thoughts every day, but who wants to open that can of worms? ...I say that jokingly. Haha.

For most of my readers who grab this link off of Facebook, you know that I am empathic. And if you don't know what that is, go to my FB profile and click on info, scroll down to the about me, and click the link I provided. It explains it all there. Anyway, being who I am, I am always learning about the complications of being more sensitive than other people. Sure, empathy is hardwired into each and every one of us, but with me being extra sensitive, there are certain precautions and steps that I must take in order to handle it. However, I was unaware that empaths have predators, and it almost went against me last Friday at the mall.

My three girlfriends and I decided that we needed to have a girls day together, so we planned the mall and dinner. Normally when I go out, the energy is pretty neutral and I don't pick up on it much. I would have to focus on one individual if I really wanted to get any sort of emotion through to me, and it's very rare that I get people who are appealing. For instance, I was drawn to three different people in high school (not going to name names) that had very good energy, so naturally I liked to be near them when I could. Same goes for college, only it was one person. It's usually guys who I get that attraction towards, and it's never intentional. It's just what it is. Anyway, we were all walking around for awhile, and things felt as neutral as ever. Then somewhere along the line someone mentioned lunch, so we all headed to the food court. Two of my friends went one direction, my other friend and I in the other. She stopped by DQ to get her chili dog and then came with me to Sbarros. That's the downfall for me. I hate being by myself when I go places, because I think that along with anxiety that runs in our family, if there isn't a form of energy nearby that I'm accustomed to and comfortable around, the energies around me are too much to handle. So I went to get my pizza, and as my friend and I made our way back to the table we had spotted earlier, I noticed another table nearby that was taken by three guys. The energy levels rose to a shocking degree, and I found myself becoming instantly nervous and hesitant, as well as drawn in and tempted. Therefore, I tried to choose a table that was a safe distance away that could seat four, but the safest one had something smeared on the table, and I'm one of those germaphobes. So I instantly decided against that. I didn't want to take anymore time searching for another table in fear that I would look like an idiot overlooking a clean, open table near the dirty one. So I had no choice but to choose the table that was about a yard and a half away from where the three guys sat. As we sat at the table, I glanced over at the full one and made eye contact with the guy facing me. That was where I made my mistake. He looked like he could be punk, a sort of on-the-edge, lets-have-fun kind of guy, and I found myself instantly distracted by his presence. I looked back to my friend, and the other two of our friends returned to the table we had chosen. I began trying to concentrate on my food and on the conversation at hand, but I could feel his eyes burning into my skin. No, not literally burning. But there was that intense feeling that he was watching me. My mind became scattered, and my nerves were on edge. I glanced over at him once more, and we again made eye contact. Danger, my mind said. Danger. Danger. But there was an unbearable temptation to get up and talk to him, to sit next to him and feel the energy take full control. I again struggled to concentrate on the conversation at hand, but my mind was reverting back to thoughts of the guy sitting across from me. I had never felt such a terrible urge to give in before, to walk over to him, just to be near him. Something about my empathy liked the rush, but I was smart enough to tell myself no, and my self-control was too powerful for my urge to overcome. However, it was difficult for me to think straight, and I again found myself making eye contact with him. Why was this so hard?

Finally, him and his friends left the food court, and shockingly, I realized that the food court was full of other people. It was almost like one of those moments where time around you stops dead in its tracks, and it feels like the only things moving are you and that person that you have full focus on. As I took a good look around, I could see the average "I have to work and I'm so bummed out" looks, and I could also see the casual, "Yes, we're a couple, just chit-chatting" looks. I wanted to get up and shout, "You didn't feel that?!" It reminded me of Freaky Friday, when the mom and daughter feel the earthquake, but no one else does. I realized it was my empathy that had made this strong connection, and later that night, I posted about it on Empath Community, which I consider my safe haven. Not too long after my post of what happened, I had a response from one of the users telling me to send her a message, so I added her as a friend and shot her a message about my forum post. She replied with, of course, new information. When I read the word "vampire", I was turned off.

However, I kept on reading, thinking, "This is going to be ridiculous. She's some crazy person." But the more I read, the more perplexed I was. The message is as follows:

"So basically your description basically reminds me of an energy vampire I actually used to see in my classes last semester.
How that guy messed up your concentration was actually on purpose because when we're not focused, it presents a vulnerability, leaving ourselves exposed. If you had your shield up at the mall, you may have forgotten about it and completely got rid of it while not focused. Considering that guy most likely was a psi vamp, he wanted to distract you to "borrow" your energy by making you scatter-brained.
By the way, empathic energy is far stronger and more appealing for psi vamps compared to the average person. Based on that, I assume your friend Jes isn't as strong as you, making you the target.
Once the guy left the table, you felt more calm and returned to your senses because psi vamps create confusion, nerve-wracking emotions and if they're more powerful ones, it's worse; we're talking the stronger ones can basically control people's minds...yeah you don't want to be in that position. A helpful tip is to NOT stare into their eyes, look at their shoulder or anywhere else except the eyes. It really bothers them if you avoid eye contact. Doing the latter allows you to retain your focus and lets you disconnect from psi vamps quicker.
I thought it was cute when you said:
"But his energy was really messing with my concentration, and I kept feeling a sense of danger mixed with a curiosity and temptation to sit next to him and talk to him."
A lot of us empaths feel that way in several situations so some people such as this guy use it to their advantage to attract empaths and people in general(they also happen to be physically attractive almost all the time, making it harder to resist getting closer). Their natural attraction is ridiculously strong and if not trained properly, it's more difficult to avoid it. Think of being pulled by a black hole or strong gravitational field.
Judging by how much time you and your friend were near that guy (a few minutes according to you), he probably did not have enough time to get what he wanted.
My advice to you is to becareful when you go to public and crowded places because you honestly don't know who you will come across. I believe if you were focused and had a shield up during the encounter, you may have not felt the guy as intensely as you did. Making your shield stronger in public areas wouldn't be a bad idea either.
~~~~~
It just happens that this guy at the mall is a psi vamp feeding at the people there, but not every stranger you come across is a psi vamp. So then what are they? Answer is, I'm not completely sure...but since these strangers are usually males for you, it's probably some part of you trying to tell you, "Oh I admire that guy's personality or physical chracteristics etc." and that your hand-picking what would be an ideal friend/boyfriend (you may favor certain types of energies over others). Do you notice a common trend among the stranger's you're attracted to? If so, then the above probably explains it."

I proceeded to message her back (I'll only include the psi vamp portion): "Wow!! I had no idea that there were such things as psi vamps... are there any other types of people such as this that I need to be aware of so that I can better prepare myself? This guy at the mall, it was just crazy because he was very intense. I think my first mistake was making eye contact, because after that, it was hard to focus on anything. And like I said, when I wasn't looking at him, it was like I could feel his eyes burning into my skin. I would be part of my groups conversation for mere seconds before my mind diverted itself back to being aware of the energy I was feeling. When I talked to Jes about it, she said she felt more of an attraction than anything, but my brain was saying "danger" for some reason. He could have very well been a psi vamp for all I know. It's just shocking, that concept. I've never run into anyone who *seemingly* purposely burned their attention into my mind. After they left, I looked around me and took a good look at who was in the food court. Everyone there looked bored or were in normal conversations, and I almost felt like saying to everyone, "You didn't feel that?" *thinks of Freaky Friday and laughs*."

She then said: "His eyes burning seeming as if they burned into your skin is a typical occurance in run-ins with ev's (energy vampires). Average people, if they're targeted or even if they're HSPs or slightly weaker empaths will feel the attraction regardless. You alternating between your group conversation and glancing at the guy seems to lean towards the hypnotic side. But overall you were mezmerized by him. Burning attention into a person's mind is so that ev can infiltrate your mind and mess with it. I've been there and let me tell you it is not fun whatsoever. The annoyance of having their image in your mind is an even bigger distraction for the same purpose. Ev's are manipulative in the mental sense which makes them dangerous when planning psi attacks or just finding a way for you to give them energy. The concept can be shocking at first but I mean if there are healers, there would naturally be those that steal energy and damage others. Speaking of damage, if you let an ev drain you too much, it can cause lightheadedness, fainting, weakness and nausea. I'm not trying to scare you but it's better to be aware of that before it all goes down. As for the others in the cafeteria they wouldn't feel it because ev's tend to focus on an individual, more so the strongest one out of a nearby group of people."

I then replied: "I do have another question. Are psi vamps basically the predators in the empath world? And exactly how harmful and dangerous can they be? Also, are they aware of being psi vamps? I mean, obviously all of us know we are empaths, but we have had to depend our gut and self-discovery and urge to seek knowledge in order to figure it out. Psi vamps must go through the same process, right? I'm picturing these psi vamps as mosquitoes in my mind."

Her final response was, "Yep. Psi vamps are in fact predators that prey not only on empaths if they find them but normal people as well. They can range anywhere from a 1 to a 10 but it depends how strong you are as an empath. The stronger, the more attention you attract from psi vamps. Psi vamps can be anywhere between a small nusiance to a difficult emtional and physical struggle for an empath.
And yes, psi vamps sometimes are not even aware they're psi vamps but some know they are without a doubt. I suppose when they realize they are psi vamps, they begin expanding on the existing knowledge about their kind. Sometimes there are cases where even normal people can drain empaths unconsciously but that doesn't always make them a psi vamp. In addition, some follow rules like empaths by feeding off a donor giving his/her consent while some are called rogue psi vamps because they break the rules and follow no one else's but their own."

I figured that copying and pasting the conversation would be easier than me trying to explain all of this, because it is new info to me. But I realize now that there is a lot more to learn by being what I am, and I even went so far as to research psi vamps and had found a forum on the internet for them. I felt like I was in danger just by being on the website. I do need to practice my shielding (which is shielding myself from outside sources of energy) in order to avoid something like this from happening.

I know that there are a lot of skeptics out there who don't believe in this stuff. But it's a very real reality for me, and I don't want to suppress it in fear of getting myself into trouble and hurting my emotions. So don't try to convince me that this is all in my head, because I won't believe you.

You do have the option to comment on this blog post, but if you do, please comment in a nice manner. I'm always here to try to answer questions, and if there's not something I can answer for you, I can always ask the community. Thanks!

Even though I tear myself down, I always know I can build myself up again.

Well, here I sit, trying to figure out what exactly it is that I want to say. Ever since junior year, my teacher has taught me that the most beautiful thing about writing is the honesty that's put into what you say. And so, I'm going to be completely honest tonight. I think it's important, and maybe it can help someone else like me.

As a lot of you know from reading my blogs or by just being around lately (which is doubtful), I haven't been all that happy. Yes, I have been okay enough to wear a smile and laugh and all. But the past week has been really difficult for me. I didn't know why at first. I thought I was tired one night and went to lay down, but I ended up staring at the ceiling with my eyes wide open. Ever since that night, I've been staying up nights and sleeping during days, and the more I've been doing that, the more I've been crying myself to sleep or just crying in general. It just hit me the other night why I was feeling so down and why my brain was being so loud. My best friend, Shane, went to Cali to see his dad. And without having him around, I began to realize just how lonely I was. There was no one calling me to see how my day was. There were no stories to listen to. He couldn't be there to hang out with me and make me feel like my normal, sane self. With each passing day, the truth became harder to swallow, and my chest hurt more and more. My thoughts began attacking me at night as the loneliness settled in, and I began to realize that the people who mattered most to me and whom I had shared some of my best memories with just weren't around anymore. They didn't come by to say hi. They didn't call or text me. And it was just abnormal. I also felt like some of those friends were keeping secrets from me, and that they weren't being honest. But mostly, the friends that stopped coming around were the friends that were at my house every other day and every weekend hanging out with me. But they're just not around now. And it really hurts.

I think Monday was when it really started getting to me. I had stayed up the previous night and was running on very little sleep. The little sleep I did get didn't add up to too much. So by the time I got up, it was 3:30 in the afternoon. Shane had told me the day before that he was coming over, but when I checked my phone, I had no texts or calls. I texted and called him but he didn't answer, and after a few hours he finally texted me and said he couldn't come over because he had to get his hair cut and had been at the mall. He asked if I was mad and I said no. But really, I think that because I was feeling so down Monday, him saying he wasn't coming by just added to the depression. So I didn't text him after that. I just wanted to go to bed and forget that I had ever woken up that day. My aunt was at my house though, so I couldn't. I had to stay up and eat and hang out, and when she left, I went to my neighbor's house with my mom to see her relatives. It was then that Shane texted me and said he was coming over Tuesday, and that he didn't want me to think he didn't want to see me and that he wasn't like my other friends who didn't wanna come over. So I felt better and fell asleep at midnight. But at four in the morning, my brain woke me up. So I got on Tumblr and reblogged a bunch of things, and then I tried to go to bed at six. But like most nights, my thoughts attacked me again and I began crying. After I got done with my tear fest, I fell asleep. It took two hours, but I did it.

Shane called at twelve yesterday afternoon and I got up and answered. He said he was on his way, and I was like "What time is it?" He said noon and I was like, "Oh my God," to which he replied, "Don't worry. I didn't shower either." Now, I just had to take the time to appreciate this comment to something that I had not even brought up in the conversation. He just casually threw it in there, like he meant to say, It's okay if you look like a hobo. It was my fault that I didn't tell you I was coming over beforehand and I'm totally fine with you having bed head and looking like crap. So, after a little internal laughter, he said that he was almost to my house, so I hung up and ran upstairs. He wasn't kidding. About a minute after I had made it up, the doorbell rang, and he walked inside with a smile and hugged me. We spent two and a half hours talking and laughing like we normally do, and sadly, we had to take him home at 2:30. After dropping him off, I began to talk to my mom about picking my friends up on Friday so we could have a girls day. She then began to talk about how she didn't want to drive out that far and that she was tired of always picking my friends up. I probably took it more personally than I should have, and the little happiness that I had, shattered. So I came home and went back to sleep. I had not eaten that day, and I was hungry, but I was so miserable that I didn't care. I cried myself to sleep again, this time crying more than I had that past week, and by the time I woke up, it was nearly five thirty. I got up to go upstairs and realized how weak I felt. I was dizzy and had stumbled around for a minute before catching my balance again, and the pain of the emptiness ripped through my stomach. I went upstairs and tried to eat food from every food group. Eggs. Shrimp. Cheese. Milk. Soup. A pb&j. By the time I finished those items, I was full. I came back downstairs and got online, and then began thinking about what I had just done to myself. I had deprived my body of food because I let my feelings take over. I let the loneliness eat me inside, and I suddenly realized what anorexia felt like. Ladies and gents, it hurts. And with my diabetes, starving myself was not a good thing to do.

I got into the shower around eight and began to really think to myself, because all thoughts involving the meaning of life either arise whilst in the shower, or on the toilet. As I let the hot water run down my back, I thought to myself, When have I ever given up? Why am I letting someone else control my well-being? And why in the hell am I depriving my body of its necessities? Depriving myself won't make me happy. I know that it won't because I've dealt with this before. What's wrong with me? So, after I got out of the shower, I did dishes and baked brownies, and now I'm sitting here realizing that life is going to go on whether I want it to or not. I always preach about how society can't have me, and here I am, letting society take its grip on me. I can't be the one to not practice what I believe in, because I have people who need me and who look up to me. If I let myself fall apart like this, and I let people see me fall apart like I let myself do, who are they going to believe in? And what will I stand for if I just decide to curl up and be miserable?

So, yes, I do have depression. It runs in my family. Will I take meds for it? No. I will beat it on my own. I need to keep myself busy with things that matter the most to me, and I need to accept the fact that I am going to start losing things that I'm used to having around. That's life. The good Lord giveth, and the good Lord taketh away. But it's not out of cruelty that these things go away. I think that people in our lives walk out of them because new people have to come in and give us a new chapter to start. It doesn't mean we can't learn something from the ones who are just too busy for us anymore. And it certainly doesn't mean to give up on everything completely. It just means that we have to grow used to change. If we don't, we will fall apart.

My "wife" Dani told me tonight that if we didn't have sadness, we wouldn't know what happiness is. And she's right. I recognize my emotional states because I've experienced them before. I've had depression this bad. And I've beaten it twice because I wouldn't let myself go down. This is just another battle for me, and I don't think it's bad to let yourself be unhappy and depressed sometimes. I hear so many people tell me, "Don't be sad! Be happy!" Why can't I feel sad? Why can't I be harsh to myself sometimes? What's wrong with having self-pity every now and then? Isn't that a healthy way to be? Both happy and sad? We tell people not to be down, but sometimes that's really all you can be, because things have to get worse before they can get better.

I'm still deeply depressed inside. But tonight, I feel like I'll be able to sleep easier. I feel like I've let myself hit rock bottom as far as being depressed goes, and like they say in the movie Bridesmaids, "Hitting bottom is a good thing, because there's nowhere to go but up." I'm beginning to climb back out of that emotionally depressed hole I dug for myself, and there's really no other choice for me, because I have to inspire this world. I can't do that if I don't let myself see the light in my life, and there's plenty of it. I'm just choosing to hide away.

Shane is here for me. Kristin is here for me. Dani is here for me. Katie is here for me. Emily is here for me. Kelly is here for me. Kellie is here for me. Taelor is here for me. And I know there are a lot of other people who are.

The one thing I've come to learn about myself is this: Even though I tear myself down, I always know I can build myself up again. There's always someone there worth doing it for, and as long as I know I can change the world, that's enough to motivate me to not give up.

There's only one Stephanie Michelle Pabst, and she has a job to do.