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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep fighting. 

Uncontrollable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Chase

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

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

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

Guys...I hate it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DKA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They said I danced on the edge without going over. 

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

There is too much to live for. 

Thoughts in the calm of the night.

It's an early morning where I cannot seem to fall asleep, so instead, I am listening to the sweet voice of David Archuleta and feeling unbelievably at ease. It makes me wish that it could always be this way, where it has not yet reached daylight, but is no longer night, and everything is still asleep while a peaceful silence fills the air. Although, in my case, it is a cover of Angel by Sarah McLachlan that is playing in the background. It reminds me of The Titanic for some reason, I guess because it's such a slow song with a somber tune. And when I think of The Titanic movie, I always tend to wonder what would have happened had Jack lived. Has anyone ever given any thought as to how their relationship would have turned out? Sure, the adventure on the ship must have felt like a fairytale. But keep in mind that they were heading for New York; a state that, in my mind, would have been muggy and dirty and probably nothing they would have expected at all. I can imagine that they would have gotten shacked up in a small, run down apartment with Jack trying to make money off of his artwork while Rose did who knows what for a living. I'm probably putting them in the worst case scenario, where they're struggling to survive, but hey, it probably would have happened anyway. And honestly, I think it was probably better that Jack died in the movie. I'd rather keep the adventure a fairytale rather than have the fairytale/forbidden love story turn into a dull life in New York trying to make ends meet. I kinda wanna watch Titanic now.

Anyway, sometimes I wonder if fairytale stories do happen in real life. I've never really hoped for one to happen to me because, well, I live in Missouri. What kind of fairy tale happens in Missouri? A ghetto one, that's what kind. Haha. I tend to wonder if I'd have a better chance of experiencing all of life's wanted expectations if I were to move out of the states and move somewhere with rolling green hills and fresh air blowing my soft, brown hair around. Somewhere where worries are nonexistent and life hands you flowers instead of lemons. But honestly, if life were that perfect, it wouldn't be life. There always has to be ups and downs in order to be a healthy human being.

I feel like such an alien at times. I look around and see people like me, but their lives are boring and they talk about things that I don't take particular interest in. For awhile, I always thought that I was an outcast because I was weird or that something was wrong with me. But now that I'm getting older, I'm realizing that I was just more intellectually mature than other people were in high school. Even now, growing up in this generation, I feel like my soul is dying bit by bit because this Earth is becoming more materialistic and shallow. For awhile, I was falling into that horrible hell hole that we're creating. I wanted to lose weight and wear makeup and look amazing to win approval from others. But now I'm just tired of trying to keep up with all of it. I don't wake up an hour earlier to straighten/curl my hair anymore. I hate wearing makeup unless it's eye makeup. I've stopped caring about my weight and how I want to lose it. You just get to a point where you have to flip the table over and say SCREW IT! Pleasing people is not my concern, but being a good, dependable person is. I'm finally realizing that as long as I'm myself, and that as long as I'm trying to be the best person that I can be, it shouldn't matter what I look like. It shouldn't matter if I have fancy gadgets or not. Where did the simplicity go? Playing outside and having fun? Drinking from the hose and running barefoot around the neighborhood? Jumping around in the sprinkler water and looking for four leaf clovers at the park? Now that we're getting older, we're losing the careless bliss of being children and having fun. We get in our cars and go to work or school or wherever we have to be, and we no longer have time to do things for our own entertainment. It's always go go go in this society, and I miss being careless and feeling like I was living my life.

Sometimes I wish that life didn't come with all the complications. I guess that's why I like this time of the morning. I don't have to be anywhere. I don't have to go to the store or head to school, and I don't have to worry about finding a job or wondering where my life is going to go. I'm living in the moment of right now, where my thoughts are peaceful and no one is telling me to hurry up and grow older so that I can have more problems to deal with. Just me listening to peaceful music and feeling my eyes gets heavy with the promise of good dreams and a wonderful sleep. What's amazing to me is that as soon as I do close my eyes for the night, when I open them again, the peace will be gone. Instead, there will be the speed of the day with all noises included. It makes me feel sad. Simple as that.

I don't know how much longer I can fight the sandman, but my eyes are telling me that I'm not going to last much longer. So, before I end this, I just want to say to you all that you need to just take a day to be free again. You might try to tell me that it isn't possible, but I'm telling you to shut up just for a minute. We only have one life to live. 100 years if you're really lucky. But on average, we last around 80-85. So, with that being said, stop growing up for a day. Stop rushing. Life can give you one day to slow things down and watch your favorite movie, or read that book that's been collecting dust on the shelf. Take a day to be a child again and to do something that you love doing. Put on some music and enjoy the peace and quiet. Just breathe. Society can wait.

Well, I am off to bed. Goodnight, world that I am beginning to grow disappointed in. Maybe in the next life, things will be better.

♫♪No, I won't give up♪♫

The past few days have been days of reflection. You know how it is when you're just sick and tired of being sick and tired? That's me right now. I'm just so done with being sad and weepy! I think that if it wasn't for theatre or for Jes, I may not be turning to the positives right now.

The other night when Jessica came over, we went to McDonalds to get fries and then hit QT to get sodas. After that, we headed up to the park by SCC and just ate and talked under the pavilion. It was one of those quality nights where we talked about our lives and about being different from the people around us, which is usually where our conversations regularly go anyway. But it was interesting the way we talked about moving on in life and about believing that our souls live on even though our bodies don't. I never used to believe in past lives and living as different people because I always thought that you'd be able to remember if you were someone else. But the more I learn about it, the more it all makes sense. Jes told me that in each life, karma teaches us different lessons, and I think that right now, my biggest lesson to learn is patience. She also told me that from what she learned, the reason why we can't remember our past lives is because (if I remember correctly) we meet so many people that it would be like information overload. But we tend to meet people that are more familiar to us because we knew their souls in a past life. I told her how my life just seems frustrating right now because there are a lot of people who frustrate me. They don't seem to click like I do as far as thoughts go, and reasons for why things happen. I have the feeling that I'm an old soul that doesn't understand all these new souls, and so our ways of thinking are very different.

In the musical, I feel like the character I can connect to the most is Madame Armfeldt. She has a very strong mindset and sees the fools as they really are. Their conversations at dinner don't really interest her because it's everyone wanting to sound smart and witty and brilliant all at one time, so she just zones out. I feel like I do that a lot of the time, especially in a classroom setting. The conversations around me are so uninteresting that I wonder how they can stand talking about it. It just occurred to me that the reason why I was shy and quiet in high school may not have been because I was odd and scarred at all, but because the conversations that my classmates had didn't interest me in the least bit. I know that by senior year, when I realized I was an empath, I would sit through some classes and think, My God, get me out of here. I am surrounded by babbling idiots. I didn't care who was throwing the party or who got drunk or who slept with who. I didn't care what kind of cigarettes everyone smoked or why her boyfriend was such a jerk for God only knows what small, insignificant thing the poor guy didn't do to make her happy. In fact, if a person talked about that stuff, I would lose the interest to be friends with that person at all. I needed stimulating conversation that was thoughtful and analytic, and at times, non-understandable, but engaging all the same.

I know it's only been a week since I've been lost in myself, but it has been a very good week after getting through the breaking points. I'm reaching that point of acceptance once again, feeling as though things are what they're going to be. I don't have control over what has happened and what is to come, and all I can do is be graceful about it and greet it as it may arrive. Last night was one of those nights where, although I was bored to tears and tired, I realized that being in theatre really does make me happy. There are those who do frustrate me when I'm there sometimes, but I'm learning to shrug it off and to keep having fun with it. It's one of those volunteer jobs where I get to do a useful job and be good at it, but I can also have my immature, childish moments and laugh about them with my friends. I've already made a few inside jokes with some of the "technicians" helping me, and I've gotten kiss attacked by Britney several times. Carl even gave me a braid last night using my bangs, and I absolutely loved it! I'm starting to think that even though I have people who are walking out of my life, I have new people who are going to be just as great, if not greater, than my past friends. We're all starting to reach those cross roads, and it makes sense that we're going to have to branch off in different directions to achieve what we want. I'm beginning to really take a look around and appreciate the people I'm meeting. I'm glad that I'm surrounded by people who care about me so much, and I'm one lucky girl to be able to meet them. I jumped into theatre not knowing what would be in store for me, and now, I'm glad that I did. It makes me want to jump more often just to see where I'll end up, even if it is a little scary at first.

Well, I'm getting really sleepy now. My eyes are getting heavier with each word I type, but I have a smile on my face because I know things will be okay. I have my family, friends, music, and most of all, love and acceptance. I'm in a good place, and I'm finally believing that I can accomplish whatever I want as long as I'm brave enough to pursue it. I keep telling myself to be patient, because I know there's something I'm waiting for. No need in rushing it, because I want to enjoy the ride.


Also, please take some time to enjoy this song (: It makes me happy!

Finding myself through fictional characters.

It is once again the wee hours of the morning... a morning where I should be asleep, dreaming of shit. Not literally, but you know what I mean. However, when I slept yesterday, I remembered a few dreams that I wasn't very fond of. So here I am. Not dreaming. Haha.

I know that my past few blogs haven't been very cheery. But tonight, I don't feel depressed. I feel neutral. I think that because I decided to pull my story up and start writing again, I'm actually going through some therapy right now. My characters are so messed up, and when I write about them, I'm taking all of my frustration out on them. There was also a moment tonight where I looked at the closing sentence for one of my characters, and I thought to myself, six pages doesn't seem very long for a chapter. But the more I read through it, the more I thought, if I add anything else, it'll ruin it. So I settled for a chapter consisting of six pages and thought, what now? I began to really ask myself what was going to happen next, and what should happen next. Then I realized that there was one character I had been completely ignoring all this time. You see, when I made my eight characters, one of them was a cutter. I decided early on that he needed a younger brother who was growing up just as broken as he was, all innocence lost. At that time, he was just a brother, and I asked myself, "How is he going to play out in this story at all?" And then, one day, I realized that I was stuck. There was a huge gap between the beginning and the climax, and so I shoved the story aside. When I finally pulled it out about two weeks ago, I thought, go out of order. Something is bound to hit you. So I started writing what I knew I wanted in the story for sure. Of course, the idea hit me out of the blue, and now I know how this entire thing is going to play out. So tonight, when I was asking myself what the next step would be, I realized that I actually have nine characters. The young brother of this cutter needs a chapter of his own; a focus of his own. Sure, the teenagers in this story are important for our generation, but I think the reason why I decided a young boy needed to be added early on is because I need someone to represent how scary it is for children to grow up, especially when they have to go through tough situations that no child should ever have to go through.

It's really difficult for me to get into the mind of this little boy. Although I had grown up being the weird, awkward, bullied kid, I always had a great home life. And now I have to pity this young boy, and love him, and figure out what in the hell he's going through both mentally and emotionally. Maybe that's why I'm feeling neutral now. I'm trying to figure things out for myself through this character, and I don't seem to have it all together yet. I'm hoping that after I spend some time with him, I can finally get things down the way I'm trying to make sense of them in my head.

I learn a lot about myself through the people I create. I may not always understand their actions, but I understand where they're coming from. It's a constant game of asking, answering, deleting, asking, answering, and moving on. I have to be careful not to allow my characters to run together, because the whole point of this book is to express exactly how different they all are from each other, but to see that the reasons for their differences are ultimately the same. It's not a story that makes complete sense to me right now, and it's not something that's going to be written quickly. I know there are still characters that I have to work on and spend some time with. Once I do that, and once I complete this thing, I'm really hoping that I have a huge audience who can relate to everything these people are going through. I'm trying to make it so that each person who reads this book can attach themselves to a certain character and say, "That's me," while at the same time, loving all the other characters they read about.

I think writing is something I need to be focusing on now. Maybe I'll feel less confused this way and make more sense of who I am and what I'm going through, but through other people. It's a joy all of its own, and I'm surprised my mind is able to handle everything I want to express by giving these characters life and making them who they are.

They will all come out stronger than they expected, just as I do. It's going to be beautiful.