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Encourage. Educate. Empower.

You are not alone. Find your voice.

"Damage That Isn't Visible"

8/23/2020

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Another Valentine's Day looms on the calendar, and another Valentine's Day I plan to spend single. Being in my early 30's I spend a lot of time wondering if I'm doomed to be an old maid or if I even care. I spend time wondering why I'm the only one of my friends not married or engaged. A single defining time of my life always seems to be the answer. I often think about how few people know my story and wonder how many others have these stories in their past. I don't think I've ever shared every detail with anyone. I won't, couldn't begin to, share every detail here, but these are the standouts of my story. When I was in my first year of college I met and fell in love with my first truly serious boyfriend. We dated for about 5 years. He was sweet, respectful and smitten with me. He would bring me little gifts, write me sweet notes and drive two hours to see me during summer break. I fell for him, hard. Somewhere in the middle of all the good, there was a hidden undertow of bad. "I don't like when girls wear nail polish." Well if my amazing boyfriend doesn't like nail polish, I should stop wearing nail polish. "I don't like polka dots." Even though it's my favorite pattern, I shouldn't wear something my sweet boyfriend isn't attracted to. "Did you know earrings were a sign of slavery?" "I don't like when you wear makeup, I like you the way you look naturally." In my high school days, most of my closest friends were boys. I vividly remember going with them to some movie opening that summer after the first year of college and my boyfriend saying "I don't like you hanging out with all these boys I don't even know." Of course he never made an effort to know them. Do you see where this is going? It's always easier on the outside of situations like this to see what's going on, but I was young and I loved him. I thought that being in a relationship meant compromising, and meant working on your flaws to be a better person. In some ways, yes, a good relationship is that, but what I didn't recognize was that I was never asking him to make any compromises. I never asked him to correct his flaws. I loved him and all his imperfections. I was a theatre major in college. I started with that major, ended with that major and still do theatre as my career to this day. I had been a certified "theatre kid" since I was about 10. My boyfriend had taken one theatre class as an arts requirement, loved it, and promptly changed his major to theatre right before we started dating. We met because we were scene partners in an acting class (yes, we had to kiss in the scene). There isn't anything wrong with switching your major, of course, or finding a passion later than those around you, but my boyfriend quickly became an expert in theatre. He knew more about it than anyone else, more than me who had been doing theatre constantly for about 10 years at that point. In the beginning, I would introduce him to shows I thought he would like. It was so much fun to share my favorite stories and songs with someone but then he would forget that I was the one that introduced those things to him. Soon he began criticizing my acting work. I didn't use my arms enough. I had a wall up when I was acting that I couldn't break through, and worse, he criticized my singing constantly. Singing was a part of my identity I had always been confident in. My entire life people had told me they loved my voice. He was smart about it. He always couched the critiques like he was helping me. "You sound so good when you sing high. Maybe you should just sing high all the time." Things like that. He always phrased it as wanting to help me be better. One time we were with a friend after a round of auditions at school and he started giving me one of his "lessons." He returned to his dorm and I was walking with my friend to her dorm and she said "I don't like the way he talks to you. You should break up with him." Break up with him? He loved me and was trying to help me be a better singer and actor. Over the years he would criticize my singing so often that I convinced myself I was more a "straight show" actor than a singer. I barely sang. Roommates I had in my later days of college would hear me sing in the shower or goofing around in the car and say, "wait, you can sing?". After an acting performance I was particularly proud of, a bunch of friends were complimenting me and he launched into a masterclass of all the things I could have done differently to make it better. I would later realize he couldn't stand the idea that I might be better than he was. I stopped being friends with those boys from earlier. The love of my life thought they were no good. I stopped hanging out with friends from my Freshman year of college because they partied a lot, and my boyfriend and I didn't need alcohol to have fun. I never drank while we were dating. I put most of my jewelry back in the jewelry box. I donated my polka dot clothes to charities. I hardly ever painted my nails and wore little makeup. I became very insecure in singing and acting, always hoping he'd tell me I was amazing and perfect, and that he was proud of me. He always had notes for me. I can't recall one moment of anything I ever did just being good. If the person who supposedly loved me most always had critiques, so must everyone else. Things got worse before I woke up. He would stay up all night long looking at things on the internet. His religious views changed, and while I don't have a problem with that, I was constantly lectured in why my views were wrong and stupid. At some point during these late night research sessions he found a certain sex advice podcast. He stopped believing in monogamy. He started giving me books and having me listen to podcasts about why humans were not meant to be in one single relationship. I loved him, and I wanted to be with him, and he made his case so strongly that I tried to see where he was coming from. I remember opening one of the books and the opening paragraph describing how a penis was shaped the way it is to scoop out the other men's sperm in a woman to make way for their sperm. I remember slamming the book shut and being sick. I have no problem with people who feel monogamy isn't the lifestyle they want. But I was firmly monogamous. I hadn't even felt attraction to a guy since I started dating my boyfriend. I would have done anything for him, but I knew I wouldn't be able to survive a change to him having multiple partners, and I had no desire to be with anyone but him. We fought about it a lot and ultimately, we broke up. I don't remember much about that time beside watching Tangled on repeat and wondering what I could have done differently. We also worked the same "acting survival" job. It was a weird job that I won't detail here, but I had to call him at least once a day for this job. Another friend we had graduated with and who worked with us told me one day "I went to dinner with him and he started crying. He wants you back." Not long after that he called me asking if we could talk. I think we got back together that night. We had been apart for only two months. He didn't want to be without me, and he would be monogamous if it meant having me back. We lasted just about another year. He moved into my tiny studio within weeks of us getting back together. I hid it from friends and family for at least another month. Spoiler alert, if you are hiding a relationship from your friends and family, it probably isn't a healthy relationship. During that year I discovered he had been cheating on me during the first go around. He also began staying out all night with friends and he wouldn't tell me when he was coming home or where he was. I'd wake up at 3AM picturing him dead in a ditch somewhere. If I texted him or called him, I was jealous, I was insecure, I was crazy. He wasn't cheating, he'd say. I was crazy. I was jealous. It was okay for him to have friends that weren't me, but I just wanted to know when he'd be home, and that he was alive. If I'd ask for us to get together with these friends, the answer was always no. He also began traveling a lot for work. IfI wasn't ready to jump into bed with him before he left or when he got back the fights were unreal. Or sometimes he'd come home at 3/4/5 in the morning after being out all night with friends and want me to have sex. The sex was never good enough for him. I was told to watch porn to get better and learn new positions, and order sex toys so I wouldn't be be so tight, as some positions caused me pain. If I was so bad at sex, why would I want to do it? It would just end in him criticizing me. One day, around Valentine's Day he wanted to have sex and I didn't. This turned into the fight that ended it all. I had apparently never loved him, never appreciated who he was, and made everything about me. I had done everything and anything he ever asked of me but I didn't love him? I couldn't accept him? Because I couldn't accept him not wanting to be monogamous did that mean I didn't accept him or love him? Why couldn't I just do the things he wanted me to do? I was devastated and lost. But, had he ever accepted me? Had he ever tried to give me what I needed? That wasn't a thought I had back then. Back then I shrivelled up and died inside at believing I had treated someone I loved so much so badly. For months I blamed myself. When he came to move his things out of the apartment I had written him a note about how sorry I was, that I had never meant to hurt him, that I didn't know what was wrong with me that I could love someone so much and hurt them, that I was selfish and needed to get help, and that I would always love and care about him. Then he was gone. I spent most of my time when I was not working on the couch binge watching TV. One of my binge shows during this time was "American Horror Story." Why? I have no idea. At the end of the Asylum season, Jessica Lange's character says a line that is something to the effect of "Don't ever let a man tell you who you are or make you feel like you are less than he is." I sat bolt upright on the couch and paused the show. Not long before we had broken up we had fought about something, I no longer remember what, and I had said to him "sometimes you just make me feel like I am so small and so stupid compared to you." In that moment (seriously, thanks Jessica) it was like a veil had been removed and I saw everything for what it was. Emotional abuse. Control. Narcissism. I didn't even know who I was anymore. I began rebuilding my life. I bought polka dots. I began wearing makeup and jewelry. I was cast in a show where I had to sing, and every time a cast mate or audience member complimented my singing, I cried. I'm not the same as I was before I met him. I swore to myself I would never let what happened happen again, and I haven't. I know the signs and I'm wiser and stronger. In most ways I am strong and confident in who I am. I am not willing to change who I am, and I am okay with people not liking that person. I'm fiercely feminist and an advocate for what I want. I still listen to constructive criticism and feedback, but I'm able to determine what I agree with and what I don't. But it has meant it being very hard for me to trust people and very hard for me to be vulnerable with men. I know it's why I'm still single. I know it's why I have had feelings for a guy for almost 6 years and am still afraid to tell him. I don't want to trust my heart to the wrong person again. Like I said before, this isn't a story I tell often, mostly because it's embarrassing. I always prided myself on being fiesty and feminist, and I let a man totally control, change and rule me. It took more time than it should have for me to understand the depths of his master manipulation, narcissism, gaslighting and power. To forgive myself and stop blaming myself for not seeing it. To not care if people that were still friends with him knew my side of the story, and to know that I deserved more than what he gave me. During all the time I dated this guy, it never crossed my mind that I was in an abusive relationship. A lot of people told me they didn't like him or didn't like the way he talked to me sometimes. Some of my friends even had experience with him trying to control them. But they never told me, except that one girl, that I shouldn't be with him, that I deserved more. We often ask "he hasn't hit you, has he?" But we never ask about emotional/mental damage. It's easy to miss damage that isn't visible. I still don't like to say I am an abuse survivor because I was never physically abused. While I can't even imagine the horror of physical or sexual abuse, I can tell you firmly that emotional abuse is real. Watch out for your friends who you suspect are being controlled. Call it out for what it is. Help them get out. No one deserves it. And if you are with someone who makes you feel small or less or wrong all the time, get out. You deserve to be loved for who you are, polka dots, earrings, nail polish and all.
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"To This Day"

6/6/2020

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Dear victims and supporters I'm an Arabic male 27 Yrs old (at that time), and I'm .. Depressed, my story started when I was 3 I got raped by my neighbor … like regularly and when I was 7 we moved out. We moved out to another city and I was the youngest in my neighborhood so I had no friends so I was hanging out with this guy (25) we used to go to video games shops and one day he invited me at his house and raped me. He called all of his friends (12 or more) and they told the whole town. To this day no one takes me seriously and people mock me, people who get raped aren’t considered men, they do not get jobs, or get married. 20 years later I still think about it every night and sometimes it’s even hard to breath. I don't sleep well most of the time, and every time someone talks about sex or manhood I have a panic attack. I can't have a relationship, every time I have sex I get emotional and tears come out. My life got worse when they kicked me out of the army because I tried to kill my self ..I just .. wish I was born again even as an animal or tree just .. not this life. I'm writing my story with tears and to all who have been raped you're not alone, and I wish you peace. ​
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"Addicted Parent"

5/6/2020

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I wanted to share the story of my mom and her battle against alcoholism. More than 15 million people in the US struggle with alcoholism and less than 8% of these people receive the treatment they need. Alcoholism is a disease that no one really wants to talk about or even simply acknowledge. It can be shameful, scary, overwhelming, and isolating. This subject is really important to me because I lost my mom to this disease recently. My goal in sharing my family’s story is to let as many people as I can know that if you are battling with alcoholism, or have a friend or family member that is, you are not alone.  Growing up my mom was my best friend. I would go to her for advice, if I liked a boy, or even just to talk. My parents supported me and my sister, Makenzie, in our school activities and extracurriculars. I really could not have asked for a better upbringing. Everything changed when my mom decided to get a gastric bypass surgery my senior year of high school. My mom had always struggled with her weight since I can remember. She did not want to be in pictures, and she was almost always the one taking them. She had tried every diet and exercise routine in the book and nothing really worked for her. Finally she decided to get this weight loss surgery as a last resort. Now, me and my sister were completely unaware of the surgery, and we would be until years down the road. I understand that it was her decision to get the surgery, but with my mom being in the medical field, I feel like she should have understood the risks of it. A gastric bypass can result in loss of appetite, malnutrition, increased risk of alcohol abuse, and many more health complications. After my mom received this surgery her behavior and appetite dramatically changed. We would sit at the dinner table and she would eat maybe two bites of her food, and watch us as we ate. She would play it off with different excuses every time. It got to the point where I had a gut feeling about the surgery and I decided to ask her if she had a weight loss surgery. I remember her face to this day. She immediately shut me down and said she didn’t. I could always tell when my mom was lying, but I understood why she wanted to keep this from us so I let it go.  Shortly after the surgery my mom started acting like a completely different person. She was very secretive with her phone and she felt very distant from me. Eventually, my parents ended up getting a divorce. My mom and sister decided to go live with my nana, and I stayed with my dad at the house. It was hard for me to be away from my mom and my sister, but I felt like there was some pressure on both me and Makenzie to take care of our parents during this time. To be completely honest, I look back and I know I was not there enough for my sister and mom. I wish I could have been there for everyone at the same time but it simply was not possible. As my dad and I tried to adjust to the quieter house, my sister and mom decided to get an apartment. After they moved in, I would go and visit every now and then. One day I decided to go to the grocery store with my mom. When we got in the car she set down her yeti cup that she carried with her everywhere. I was really thirsty so I decided to take a sip. It was straight vodka. I looked at her and she already had tears in her eyes. I immediately poured it out and she spent the rest of the day begging me not to tell anyone. She used excuses like “it was a one  time thing” and “ I am just under a lot of stress”. My heart ached for her. I promised not to tell anyone as long as she never did it again, and she made that promise. This was the first of many promises that were broken.  The months to come were so hard. I would spend the night and wake up to bottles clinking in her room as she was getting ready for work. I would go in and she would yell at me to leave and go back to sleep. I ended up telling my nana, and dad about the alcohol, but we all felt really helpless. We would help her get set up at rehabilitation centers just to have her check herself out and uber home. We couldn’t help her get better because she did not want our help. After she would leave for work I would go to all her “hiding spots” and replace her bottles with notes of encouragement. Some would say, “You are so loved. I promise you don’t need it” and others would say “You are stronger than you know. Today is a new day”. She would be livid when she saw her alcohol was gone, but to me it was worth it. I just wanted my mom back and I would have done anything to do that.  My mom continued to drink regardless of my family’s efforts to help her get sober. A bottle thrown away just meant an extra trip to the liquor store. I tried tough love, and I tried comforting and understanding. I felt completely helpless. There was a long time that I was not sure how to cope, or who to talk to. My mom would call me drunk and crying at work and I would talk her down. In the coming months, she lost a number of jobs and ended up in two car accidents, one being where they had to pry the car open to get her out. She also got arrested and charged with a DUI. After all of these traumatic events, my mom always turned back to what made her the most comfortable, alcohol.  All of this started while I was a senior in high school. However, not very many people would know this. I went to school like everything was normal and did not open up much about my home life. The only people I told were my closest friends and I always presented it as a joke. I did this in an effort to hide my pain and loneliness. I spent most nights crying myself to sleep and others not being able to sleep at all. I wanted desperately to have someone to confide in but I felt like I couldn’t. I was ashamed.  Eventually, my mom decided to move to San Antonio with her new (racist) boyfriend. This ultimately made the situation even worse. He constantly enabled her and let her drink as much as she wanted whenever she wanted. This was a time when my mom only called me to cry or yell about something. She never asked how I was or how I was doing with my transition to college. At this point it felt like I was the one being the parent. It was hard. I knew that being there for her would be hard and would take a toll on my mental health, but I was willing to make that sacrifice for her. However, there came a day where I couldn’t anymore. It was the day she told me “if I died tomorrow, you are going to wish you were nicer to me.” She said this because I knew she was drinking and confronted her about it. After she said that, I had to take a step back and worry about my own mental health. As a student at the University of Texas at Austin I decided to go to the Counseling and Mental Health Center. I did not have health insurance because I used to get it through my mom’s work and she was unemployed at the time. Because of this, the only thing I could afford was the 3 free sessions available at the Counseling and Mental Health Center. These sessions really helped me get insight on the whole situation. I spent so much time being there for my family and being everyone’s rock, that I was sacrificing my own wellbeing. The best piece of advice I got was that I needed to let someone be there for  me. I wanted to keep going to these sessions but I had to pay for my own groceries, rent, gas, and electricity so it really wasn’t feasible.  After going to therapy I decided to finally open up to my closest friends. This took so much weight off of my shoulders. I even found out I had a friend that was going through something very similar. I realized that talking about what I was going through gave it less power over me. My boyfriend and his family also helped me understand that my mom’s addiction was not my fault. My boyfriend’s mom is a sponsor for Alcohol Anonymous and she helped me learn more about addiction and it helped me work through a lot of the feelings I had towards my mom. I spent a lot of time blaming myself for her addiction so having someone help to guide me through such a dark time helped me tremendously.  Eventually my mom and her boyfriend broke up and it led my mom even deeper into addiction. It got to the point where my dad had to drive up to San Antonio and move her back into the house. Soon after, it seemed like things were going well. I went to AA with her, and went to lunch with her as much as I could while still trying to manage school and work. She finally got a job again as a cardiac sonographer and things were going well, until they weren’t. After some time, she was back in and out of hospitals detoxing over and over again. Towards the end of my mom's life she started fainting. In one instance, she fainted and hit her jaw on the fireplace. My dad woke up and saw her laying in a pool of blood. She was taken in an ambulance to the hospital. This was almost the norm for me and my family now. She would go to the hospital, she would decide to get treatment, we would all support her in this decision, and then she would check herself out and start the cycle of drinking again. This time they stitched her chin up and sent her on her way. Little did I know that the next time she would go to the hospital it would be her last.  A few weeks later I got a call from my nana that I needed to come to the hospital because my mom was not doing well. My nana, sister, aunt, and cousin had to go get my mom from the house and bring her to the hospital. When I got there my mom’s eyes and skin were completely yellow. We were told that my mom had jaundice and that her liver was failing. She was really out of it. I tried to talk to her as much as I could. I told her that I forgive her and that I loved her. I prayed over her and told her that God forgives her. I talked to her all day that day. Before I left I told her I loved her one last time and she whispered “I love you” back. That was the last thing she would ever say.  That night my mom took a toll for the worst. As soon as I saw her for some reason I knew it was the beginning of the end. The doctors came and took us into the room where they tell you that your loved one is going to die. He asked us what we were hoping the future would hold. I said I just want my mom back. My nana said she found a treatment center that can help her with her addiction and that she can’t check out of. My sister said she just wanted her to live. With grief in his face, the doctor said that our hopes were unrealistic. My mom had to be intubated over night. She had complete liver failure and her kidneys were starting to fail as well. He said that she was probably not going to make it. Everything after that happened so fast. Since my mom was divorced it was up to my sister and I to make all of the medical decisions. We stayed with her for the next couple of days to see if she would make any progress. We watched our relatives and friends come and say their goodbyes. We talked to her, held her, and gave her as much love as we could. Eventually my mom started seizing and we knew it was  time. This is when my sister and I had to sign the DNR. I signed my name and my sister dated it. I had to watch my dad say goodbye to the love of his life. I watched my nana lose her only daughter. My sister and I had to lose our mom.  My mom was so much more than her addiction. She was loving, caring, giving and so much more. She was my best friend. You may know someone who is struggling with alcoholism and not even know it. I know that my mom deep down really wanted to get better but she thought she needed alcohol to survive. She was ashamed. She would hide it as much as she could whether it be on social media or in person. Alcoholism has a stigma that can be very embarrassing. This stigma is preventing so many people from getting the treatment they need. This disease is something that needs to be acknowledged and talked about.  If there is anything I learned from my experience it is to hold your friends and family as close as possible. If you have a family member struggling with addiction, open up about it. It is more common than you think. Know that all of your emotions are valid. A great resource for family members of alcoholics is Al-Anon. Al-Anon is a place for people who are worried about someone who has a drinking problem. I went once a few weeks before my mom passed but I wish I had gone more. It is hard to accept that addiction is a disease. It was difficult for me to navigate being there for her without enabling and giving her tough love without abandoning her. There is no right answer. I had to realize that it was her decision to drink and I couldn’t make her stop. She had to make that decision. I do know that God stopped my mom's suffering. I know that she loved him fiercely. I have to remind myself of these things daily. It has been hard since my mom passed but I am hoping that our story will reach someone that needs it. I promise you, you are not alone. 
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"There is More"

3/1/2020

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This is a story of inner turmoil. How I felt before entering recovery. How I felt during the beginning of recovery. How I feel now that I’m a few years into this journey. 


Before:
​I’m so tired of being crazy. I'm so tired of being out of control. I'm so tired of not being able to say how I feel out loud because I sound insane. I don't want to. I'm tired of being controlled by these things. I so tired of taking handfuls of depression pills in hope that they'll make me better. I'm so tired of destroying my body to satisfy my mind. I'm so tired of looking in the mirror and being so disgusted by what I see that I look away. I'm so tired of avoiding mirrors while I'm naked. I'm tired of thinking of thinking oh what the hell why does it matter if I live anyway. I'm so tired of needing to please other people to convince myself that I deserve to keep breathing. I'm tired of not being able to handle the feeling of full. I'm tired of every person I walk pass looking at me like I'm disgusting. I'm tired of being a disappointment. I'm tired of wanting to eat and drink myself past full just so I can throw it back up. I'm tired of that being the only way to find comfort. I'm tired of my brain telling me that's what I deserve. I'm tired of hating myself. I'm tired of trying to convince myself I deserve to live. I'm tired of wanting to die. I'm tired of day dreaming of when it's all going to end. I'm tired of the people that love me worrying. I'm tired of knowing the risks I take and the damage I'm doing to my body and not being able to stop. But what's worse is that when I do all of this and it doesn't work. 


At this time I was spinning out. Free falling. I felt nothing but self hatred. I was deep in my eating disorder that was rooted in not being enough. I was desperate to shrink myself as much as possible to take up as little space of the world around me. I knew that my eating disorder was destroying my body and that all the purging was hurting my teeth, throat, stomach, but it would not let me stop. I had absolutely no control and could not stop. 


I hate this. I just keeping getting bigger and bigger like a ballon. I don’t know why or what causing it’s but I know it’s happening. I can feel myself getting heavier slowly by steady. I feel disgusting and I just want it to stop so bad. I don’t know why I keep getting bigger!!! I don’t know if it’s numbers and at this point whatever fuck the scale but I am physically getting larger and larger. I don’t know why, I feel like my weight should be stable. Why do I keep getting fatter!!! I don’t know if it’s what I’m eating now or a month ago or 2 weeks ago. What’s causing this? I am on a strict meal plan and it was suppose to make my weight stabilize, but this is NOT stable. ahhhhh SAVE ME. I am desperate to go back to my eating disorder, I know it was killing me. But, this fatness makes me want to die so much more. 


My brain screams:
I hate my body. I hate my body I hate my body I hate my body I hate my body I hate my body I hate my body I hate my body 


I fight to reframe it:
I have my body I have my body I have my body I have my body I have my body I have my body I have my body I have my body 


I don’t want to get any bigger. I don’t even understand why I keep getting bigger. It’s not like I’m overeating.. so why do I keep getting fatter. Ughhhhhh. I’m freaking out. And I hate this. I feel helpless. I feel gross and nasty and fat and repulsive and no matter what I can’t shake the feeling. I try to accept it or at least stop hating my body. If it would just pick a size I could get use to that. But because it keeps GETTING BIGGER it gets harder and harder to accept. Ugh I just feel like a whale now. Like a ballon. I think this is the biggest I’ve ever been. And I hate it. I hate it so so much. I just want it to stop. I want to get rid of this shit. But the only way to get through it is to keep doing what I’m doing I guess... and that seems helpless.


This was earlier on in my recovery. I had committed to not using ED behaviors and fighting for a life where I was free from food. Free from the screaming voices in my head, free from counting calories obsessively and not stopping until it was perfectly calculated to satisfy my ED. There had to be something better. The doctors and therapist and dietitians promised me that there was something more, that there was a life without the ED making every decision. I didn’t believe them there was no way, but I committed to blindly following because they had being doing this for years- they had to know something. I hated it. It was so so hard. To eat the food even when every single fiber of my being was screaming for me to stop. To go the appointments and feel all the hard stuff that my eating disorder had been surpassing over the years. 


Now that I am further into my recovery I see that they were right. It’s not always better, there are still nights I cry myself to sleep thinking about the extra inches on my body, pinching them and wishing they could be sucked away. But there are also times where I am shocked. That I can go weeks without counting calories, I can not exercise with the intent of getting rid of the food I ate that day but because I’m having fun. That I can go out with friends to eat and order whatever I want off the menu, not only looking at the low calorie section. I wanted to tell you the truth about recovery. If there is someone out there reading this considering trying to recover from any mental illness, there IS something out there that is more than what you are feeling right now. It will be hard to get to. There will be days where you want to go back to the bad coping skills that numb all the emotions. But you have used those coping skills for years, and they’ve taken so much away from you. Recovery is not easy, I won’t lie to you. But, it is worth it. It is worth getting back all the things you mental illness has taken from you and you can do it. If I can do it, and I got this far, anyone can. I thought I was a lost cause and that I was going to die. But, even I came back and you will too.
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"It Is Hard"

2/10/2020

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I went through an awful divorce. I had never been so emotional in my life. My ex husband refuses to leave me in peace. I’m going through chemotherapy. I lost my job, and now I am about to lose my home. The pain, hurt, and feelings are a lot. I have nothing to offer my son and nowhere to go, but everyday I smile and cry but try to stay positive. I am keeping so much inside to look in my child eyes and say I don't know where we are going. At this point we sleep in the car. Pray and wait. I know God is able. It is hard. 

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"Aftermath"

1/21/2020

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So basically I was 16 when I was raped. I was celebrating my 16th birthday by hosting a pool party at my friend's house. Everyone from school came and we all got drunk and wild. I remember talking to him before I went into my friend's house to use the bathroom. I felt his gaze linger on me until I felt a harsh tug against my dress. He turned me around and started to make-out with me. Not gonna lie, I quite enjoyed it. I wasn't ready to have sex yet, so I only wanted to probably make-out and end the party then and there, but he had different plans. My friend's bed was right beside her bathroom, and he did not waste any time to fling my body onto the bed and get on top of me. Me being naive and drunk didn't resist until he pulled down my pants. I finally got to my senses and pleaded him to stop and leave. He didn't answer and continued to strip me off my clothes. He fingered me first which was quite painful and I passed out due to the shock. Minutes later, I woke up with him shoving himself inside me and my whole body convulsing in pain. I cried stop but he continued even harder until he was finished. I started to cry even more which scared him enough to leave the room with his belongings. My friend found me a few hours later on her bed and I told her what happened. We both cried ourselves to sleep and the next morning the pain was excruciating. I couldn't muster the courage to tell my parents and only my close friend knows about this. He still walks in the hallway but we never make eye contact. I plan to switch schools which would hopefully ease the pain of the aftermath.

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"Boiling Water"

12/13/2019

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My dad is abusive. Since I was a young child he has been abusive to myself and my mother, my sister getting his good side. Today my mom told me something about when I was a young child. We had to go live with my uncle because my dad had thrown boiling water on my mom and tried to kill her, and the next day I had to go do a carol service at school. I had no clothes and while everyone came in their beautiful costumes I came in a white tshirt with holes. My dad’s brothers (my uncles) are all the same. They all have a child that they pick on and abuse and the same goes for their wives. My one aunt has had to go on cancer treatment for the illness caused by the emotional abuse my uncle has given her. I want to do something to stop them, to bring justice to my family, but I know the only way that will ever happen is they go to jail. I wish I knew how to fix this.

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"I am Brave"

11/27/2019

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I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that I didn’t believe her. I sat back and I watched her wonderful spark fade. I sat there and I watched as her eyes dulled, her tears evaporated, and her smile stiffened. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything, I didn’t say stop, I didn’t even show her any understanding. I just let the hurt wrap around her, like a shameful blanket smothering her efforts to speak out. I let her down, I let her lose hope. I allowed her to lose her sanity and I watched her continue to mask her despair and apparent loneliness. I began to question myself, there had to be a reason why I was so unwilling to help her. She must deserve it, right? These things do not happen to the innocent. Girls who live a good life are treated well. She really must be a complete bitch, just like he says she is. I’m not 100% convinced yet though, she has always been kind to me in the past, but I suppose you never really know someone’s true colours. I saw her again today and I watched her with him. It can’t be as bad as she makes it out to be. She clearly eats! He doesn’t let her starve, that’s for sure. If anything, she perhaps could do with eating a bit less, he has warned her, that she is getting tubby. Maybe she should feel ashamed of the way she looks, after all, he is so handsome and charming. He is looking out for her when he tells her to watch what she is eating. It’s a kindness. Wow, she really must be crazy. He told me today that she is nuts and she makes up situations in her head and tries to blame him. Maybe he is the real victim here. He seems a lot more convincing than she does. He is so articulate and able to express himself clearly, while she is just a blubbering mess most of the time, she does not make any sense. I want to laugh at her sometimes, with him, she is bonkers. Ok, I’m starting to feel sorry for him now. He really does put up with so much of her shit. She is so controlling, she asks him so many questions. He is so patient when he answers her and then she has the nerve to say he told her something different earlier. Why is she asking him the same question again then? She is mental! She has even started refusing to leave the flat, he says she will not go anywhere unless he goes with her. Like she’s scared of him cheating, so he told me. Although, by the sound of it, this all stems from her guilty conscience. Last week, on her way back from lecture, he saw her flirting with another guy. She of course denied it all, he had to tell her several times, that he saw her with his own eyes. She eventually apologised and said it would never happen again. She really is a nightmare. He’s had to start monitoring the way she dresses. She is such a tart. She wanted to go out with a face full of makeup and a short skirt the other night. He told her straight, you look like a cheap tart. He said that nobody would want to see her make a fool of herself. She eventually got changed into something more respectable and toned down the make-up. She probably wanted other men to look at her, she seems to like the attention. She’s lucky to have him, most men would have run a mile by now. I don’t know how she dares! She tried to tell me a pack of nasty lies today. She showed me some bruises on her thighs and some red marks too. She had clearly done them to herself for attention. He had already warned me that she was crazy enough to make stuff up. I was a bit scared that she was going to freak out on me. He told me in confidence, that he once had to physically restrain her for her own safety, that’s why she had read marks on her wrists once. She is properly deluded. He is a total saint. I’ve completely stopped listening to her now. He was right all along, she just needed a bit of guidance in how to behave in front of people. There has been a significant improvement in her behaviour. She seems much less mental now. She has stopped making things up, she’s dressing in clothes that cover up her flaws and she is so much quieter now. She never causes a stir, she just needed to stop attention seeking. He said, as soon as people stop giving her attention, she will calm down and realise that she doesn’t need attention from others, she has everything she needs from him. So, she kept her mouth shut, she dressed how he liked her to dress. She got fatter, she stopped wearing make-up. She stopped going out with her inappropriate friends, they found her boring now she was in a relationship now anyway. She closed herself off from the world, she stopped going back home to visit her family, she accepted it was not cost effective. He continued to fuel her, until one day the light finally ran out of gas and he was left in darkness. Once again, I started to feel sorry for not believing her. I felt a dull ache inside, I think it was guilt from not standing up for her. I felt stupid, that I had been fooled by a false sincerity and that I had abandoned the woman stood looking back at me in the mirror. I saw her dulled eyes staring back at me and I knew that I was wrong to have believed she was mental. I looked at her stiffened smile and felt her blanket of shame start to suffocate and smother me. I’d trusted the wrong person. I looked down at the body I had been conditioned to hate. I touched my thighs, that were once bruised and burned. I felt disgust. Even though I was free of that human prison cell, I was not yet free from the shackles in my mind. The ones that held me back and stopped me from trusting. The torture chamber in my head that would not allow me to make a decision without first, looking for approval or permission from someone else, who I believed to be better qualified or smarter than me. I now look at me. I do not know who I am yet. I have lots of jigsaw pieces. I am a mother, wife, daughter, teacher, survivor. I am all those things, but I am also many more I am brave, I am compassionate, and I am strong. I am a person who deserves to live in peace. So, I will.

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"Size Zero"

10/18/2018

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​Entering my freshmen year of High School, I felt an overwhelming pressure to be skinny. What started as a small thought that crossed my brain - needing to lose some weight - turned into two years of anorexia and complete misery. The summer leading up to freshmen year is when it all began. I started working out for hours at a time. I slowly cut my calories down more and more every day, counting them religiously, never failing to forget even one chip. All day long, all I could think about was how overweight I was (even though I was only 120 pounds). I would look into the mirror and feed myself lies- If I wasn’t skinny, no one would like me. If I didn’t have the perfect body, no guy would ever find me attractive. If I was even slightly chubby, I was worthless. Naturally, my weight began to plummet. At the start of freshmen year, I was playing volleyball and basketball, both of which required intense daily workouts. On top of that, I was working out alone, sometimes running 6-8 miles at a time. Given this insane workout regiment, I should have been in-taking about 2,200-2,400 calories a day. I was eating no more than 700 calories every day. If I went even 20 calories over this limit, I would berate myself for hours, sometimes even resorting to self harm. Not only were these patterns consuming and destroying my physical and mental health, but they were also wreaking havoc on my social and family life. To avoid any situations with food, I entirely stopped hanging out with my friends outside of school. I spent all of my free time in solitude, becoming extremely lonely and depressed. Because I didn’t see my eating disorder as a mental health issue, I did not confide in anyone about my slow deterioration. However, my family realized what was happening and became worried sick. Every single day, I would have raging, yelling fights with my parents. They wanted me to eat more or go see a therapist and I screamed rejection at both ideas. It tore my family apart and created a constant tension, especially regarding the topic of food. I would cry myself to sleep almost every night. Over the course of two years, as I continued to whither into nothing, I consistently had to go to the doctor to get blood work done, for I was deficient in everything. Two years before, I was full of life, joy, and energy. Now, I didn’t even recognize myself. I was constantly lethargic, pessimistic, irritable, and depressed. But, I would tell myself, at least I was 5’5’’ and 90 pounds. It wasn’t until a day during my Sophomore year of high school, when I was laying on the floor doing my daily 20-minute ab workout, that I reached my breaking point. As I laid on the floor with a sports bra on, my mom walked in and immediately broke into sobs. My hip bones were protruding more than they ever had, out of what was left of my body. I vividly remember my mom saying through tears, “I am so afraid you are going to disappear into thin air”. She was afraid I was going to die. To starve myself to death. And, honestly, so was I. And all for what? To be stick thin? Suddenly, it all seemed so absurd. It seemed insane that I would sacrifice my friends, my family, my joy, my peace, my experiences, my entire life- all just to fit inside of those size 0 jeans. That day changed a lot for me. While the journey to recovery was a long, difficult one, it all began on that day when my mother had to fear for her daughter’s dwindling life. Every day after that, I got a little better. Slowly raising my caloric intake, I slowly let go of my fear of food. I gave my body some rest. And I watched my life transform. I learned that food can be used as fuel. That our bodies can do amazing things for us when we take care of them. I realized that it is so much more attractive to be fit, healthy, happy, and strong, than it is to be skinny, grumpy, weak, and depressed. Most importantly, I learned to love myself. Flash forward four years, and I am incredibly grateful for everything my eating disorder taught me. Since having anorexia, I developed an unbridled passion for nutrition and healthy living. I now take care of my body by listening to it, feeding it the nutrients it needs to thrive, doing workouts that make me feel good and energized, splurging on dark chocolate when I want to, and looking in the mirror with thoughts of love, appreciation, and grace. Through doing so, I have been able to focus more of my energy on being optimistic, hanging out with friends, and pursuing my dreams. I now have a zeal for promoting and helping others achieve self love and body confidence.
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"A Temple."

7/16/2018

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young, dumb, and in “love” It all started in 8th grade, a big Halloween party was coming up, but according to the hostess you ‘needed’ a date in order to go. Me being my 8th grade self thought this was absolutely the end of the world because I didn’t really have any boy friends at the time that I could go with. It wasn’t until a friend of mine helped me brainstorm and we came up with a boy that I’d met the year before in biology, we will call him Kevin. Long story short I texted Kevin and asked if he was going to the party and if he had a date, he said no. He went on to ask me if I was going to go and if I had a date, and I also said no. So the two of us decided we should go together as Mickey and Minnie Mouse. Long story short the party never ended up happening but Kevin and I began getting to know eachother over text more and more. After a month or two Kevin and I started dating... however there was a lot of pressure surrounding our relationship, considering it was 8th grade and everyone had already had their first kisses and first real ‘relationships’. After a few weeks we had our first kiss under a tree at a football game which I thought was pretty crazy considering we hadn’t known eachother very long but of course I kept my cool and went with it because I wanted to be cool. Moving forward... Kevin and I had been dating for all of 8th grade and had become absolutely obsessed with eachother. Not knowing any different this obsession is what I thought love was. We would text eachother non stop all day everyday and we hung out a lot too. Kevin and I started to experiment with other things such as making out and touching around the pants. Still being in 8th grade I knew in my mind I wasn’t ready for this. I knew I didn’t want to start doing stuff like this but I didn’t know how to say no. I didn’t want to say no. I had a fear that if I said no Kevin would lose interest in me, or that Kevin wouldn’t ‘love me’ the same. I wish I wouldn’t have been like this. I wish I could have been stronger. Kevin and I started getting into a routine of sorts and preforming sexual acts on Kevin became a normal occurrence in our relationship. I knew what I was doing was wrong but I did it because I wanted Kevin to love me. Being a love obsessed 14 year old I wanted to do anything to make Kevin happy. I began battling with myself in my head saying “ why are you doing this ? You don’t even like doing this ?” But I couldn’t say no to him. Kevin and I’s relationship began to take a turn... We started having arguments over silly and meaningless things however, they would turn into abusive fights. Kevin would tell me all the things I would be doing wrong and make me feel like I wasn’t doing anything right. This really got into my head and this is one of the reasons that I felt I needed to do what Kevin told me to because I didn’t want him to break up with me and I just wanted to do something right. Our arguments began to occur more and more often and each one broke me down more and more inside causing me to be extremely self conscious. I didn’t realize what a toxic relationship this was turning into. This was my first ever real boyfriend and so I thought this is just what a relationship was like. I was so wrong. Kevin and I had been together for about a year at this point and he started wanting more from me and was becoming more and more curious. One afternoon Kevin and I were watching a movie downstairs on my couch when we started kissing. The kissing lead to touching... but then Kevin wanted to try something new. He wanted me to lower my shorts because he wanted to see. I wasn’t comfortable with this but Kevin insisted I do it and begged saying ‘please baby, it’s okay. Don’t you love me?’ Kevin was relentless and I didn’t know what to do. He began tugging at my shorts and I couldn’t get him to stop. I gave in. I let go. I couldn’t take the pressure and he wouldn’t stop. Kevin got his way and I began to cry. Immediately, Kevin stopped and realized what he had done. His mom was on her way to get him anyways and he apologized profusely but the internal damage was done. Kevin promised he would never do this to me again and I believed him, and forgave him... this was not an okay behavior and it should have been a red flag... I wish I wasn’t so blind. Our relationship went on, we had our good and bad days and one night Kevin’s parents had been out of town and were coming home that night at 3am. Kevin lived in a large house and didn’t want to be there alone so my parents offered to let him stay over until his parents could come get him on the way home from the airport. This was so cool for us because he got to stay over at my house super late ! We watched movies all night until I fell asleep on the couch. Kevin kept waking me up over and over and I didn’t understand why, I was half asleep and he wouldn’t stop nudging me and telling me to get up. I was so tired and I just wanted to sleep. Kevin finally woke me up fully and I sat up and he grabbed me and began kissing me. Kevin looked at me and said please baby? And unbuttoned his pants and looked down. Kevin had woken me up numerous times to get me to preform a sexual act on him. He wouldn’t let me go back to sleep because he wanted me. I said “no I’m tired” and he made me feel so guilty for not giving in this time. This was one of the worst nights of my life because I felt like this whole time I was just being used. I felt so stupid and so sick... Kevin and I continued to fight and our relationship became too toxic to handle. Kevin ended up breaking up with me and I couldn’t handle myself. I was overcome with sadness and felt I was worth nothing without him. 3 years later I can say that I have recovered fully from this toxic part of my life and I have learned to remove toxic people from my life immediately. I feel so much happier, healthier and more confident. I have had plenty of time to reflect on this part of my life and understand that what Kevin was doing to me was not okay and should never be tolerated. I also learned what an emotionally abusive relationship looks like. Never let someone tell you that you are less than amazing, and your body is a temple, don’t let stupid boys in. Hope this helps and educates someone out there. Thanks for reading.
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"When the Words Won't Come Out."

1/23/2018

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On september 22 this year i attended a women entrepreneurs conference in the neighboring town.This skinny really short 5 ft 3’ gray-haired masculine woman in her late 50s approached me and introduced herself. She said that she was a local bookstore owner. I was wearing my pink satin short sleeve bow blouse, my black satin pencil skirt and my pink 6 inch high heels shoes.Then she said that she likes to caress satin fabric and that silk and satin is so smooth to the touch when rubbing.Then she started rubbing my back with her right hand while talking to me about the conference.Then i sat on the chair the conference started and she sat on the chair behind me and began rubbing my back. I felt awkward. She then began furthering her reach and casually brushed across my rib cage/chest. I thought it was an accident, then she did it again and left her hand there and leaned in to whisper something about the conference. She kept rubbing my back then leaned in and stopped at the same spot and said something else. And that happened a few times. She began fully brushing the sides of my breasts. While she was standing talking her hands were resting on my shoulders. Her hands were practically constantly on me during the conference.The conference ended and while i was talking to two other women she walked up to me and said ”uuuu i love your blouse”and she started rubbing my back with her left hand and with her right hand rubbing my whole front side concentrating on my breasts. She was explaining to the other women that she just can’t resist touching and stroking satin fabric.They were totally weirded out. Then she said to me “You are so tall and big and soft”I was literally frozen. I just stood there not saying a word.Later while i was talking to one panelist she was behind me rubbing and caressing my backside with her right hand. Later in the hallway she hugged me from behind placing her hands on my breasts and cupped my breasts, squeezing gently for like 5 minutes. While i was walking to my car she was walking behind me with her hands on my backside talking to me about the conference.She was resting her hands on my butt. She had her arm around me from behind and was just cupping one of my breasts. I tried to walk fast but i was on 6 inch high heels.I was just standing and sitting there letting it happen. i was like frozen to the ground and paralyzed. Suddenly, i was unable to speak coherently. I was going “ummmmm” ” errrrrrrrrr for ages and ages. That happened to me three months ago but i am still so embarrassed by the whole thing. I’m embarrassed that this weird stranger woman was touching me and groping me so intimately in front of more than 50 other women and I did nothing about it. I am physically stronger than her. I am 5 ft 10 tall well built well endowed and curvy. She was 5 ft 3 tall and skinny. I was on 6 inch high heels she was in sneakers.I am a 41-year-old woman what is wrong with me? I am a weak spineless person. Why would I scream my head off if a man did it but I can’t verbalize a succinct “NO” to this woman.I didn’t say anything or tell her to stop. I couldn’t talk normal.I couldn’t get words out of my mouth.I was totally paralyzed while she was touching me and groping me. Mouth was open but no words came out of it. I am so confused about what happened to me! Whether or not it was my fault or not!I feel so ashamed.I feel so foolish and used by a total stranger woman. Other women at the conference were weirded out but they ignored that and said/did nothing as if nothing was happening. I think that the women were in shock themselves, maybe they thought we knew each other? Unfortunately some people don’t like to get involved if they feel uncomfortable or threatened or not sure what is going on.I am physically stronger than this woman, but i was totally paralyzed while she was touching me, rubbing me, and groping me.It was like i went into ‘freeze’ mode when she started touching me.I just was in shock. What happened I feel has traumatized me so much. Please tell me I am overreacting? I was totally paralyzed and numb while she was touching me and groping me. I was just sitting and standing there kind of awkwardly. I was like frozen, detached and numb while she was touching me and rubbing me. Afterwards when i got home I started breathing hard, my legs got weak, and my heart started to race really fast. I have never felt such shame or degradation like this in my life. I am so consumed with guilt. I didn’t tell my husband about this. I was to ashamed. Also I can’t talk to my husband about this because he is extremely jealous and possessive. He is going to blame me.
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"Always Hope on the Other Side."

1/13/2018

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When I started high school at the age of 11 I made friends with some very controlling people. It was all going well until year 8 when they became very controlling and by the end of year 9 I was beginning to get ignored. This made me feel very isolated and alone and so when I got home I would just stay in my room and listen to little mix as I didn’t want my family to ask me how school was going. I started to feel suicidal and depressed I started self harming as a way to cope as I felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to. When my parents found out they began to help. I was given counseling and I was separated from them. I made new friends and they helped me to move on and recover. I wish that I’d have known that there would be an end to the way I felt if I only asked. I think I would tell someone that they can do it and to always talk to someone when you are feeling down or going back to old thoughts if not a friend then a family member or someone you trust maybe. Also remember that there is always hope on the other side xx
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"You Can Be Anything!"

11/14/2017

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Living with Asperger's is not an easy feat. It never is. imagine yourself in a room full of people. All of those people are laughing and mingling. Meanwhile, you aren’t. You’re sitting there in the corner all alone, watching everyone make nice with each other. Nobody doesn’t even acknowledge that you’re there. You just sit there, crushed from the inside. You have trouble expressing yourself because you don’t know how to. Your fear of being rejected eats you up. Your fear or feeling inadequate to others eats you up. As you’re living with this disorder, those whom you’re around can’t understand your pain. You’re constantly feeling glum and angry. You feel as if this condition drags you into an abyss, an abyss that leads you to a point of no return. I have this feeling. Growing up, I could never fit in with others. As a kid, I couldn’t look an adult in the eye. I never had the capacity to. There was just something about looking at another person that made me feel very uncomfortable. In social situations, my heart would pound very fast. I would tend to get nervous. I would always be the one that got left out because I couldn’t relate to the other children. Being bullied didn’t help curb my condition, it only worsened it. Every day, I would walk around and get laughed at. I would be humiliated every day. I would be made fun of because of the way I talked, walked, and looked. Imagine trying to answer a question in class and the kids would mock you. Every word you would say, they’d make this expression, trying to take the words from out of your mouth. As I was around my family, they couldn’t relate to my condition either. I constantly sent them cries for help and they just rejected me. Nobody listened. This only made me feel even more depressed. The bullying in school got so bad that I nearly tried to kill myself at the age of eleven. I was going to leap from out of my bedroom window, but my mom stopped me in the process. I would use writing as my means to communicate. I loved to write. Whenever I was in class, I would be the first person to get up and share what I’ve written with the class. I impressed my teachers with my impeccable writing abilities. My creativity was amplified. There was nothing limiting it. But, that didn’t mean my issues with my low self-esteem and my inability to become proactive in social situations waned. The kids would call me all sorts of demeaning names, such as retarded, stupid, and many more. I lost my father when I was just a year old, and his loss alone has had a grave impact on how I grew up. As a black man, growing up without a father—that’s not easy. My father was a very outgoing guy. Everyone loved him. You would never be able to tell if he was sad. He was so resilient. Everyone tells me I look like him so much, but I’m his complete opposite. I’m not as outgoing as he was. I’m reclusive and shy. I don’t open up too much. These issues with bullying and my bout with Asperger’s did not cease. At the age of fourteen, I was booked into a mental hospital. They had me on medications for a while. I ceased taking them in 2013. None of that helped. Once I got to high school, I began to give up hope. I felt like there was no haven for a guy like me. I carried all this baggage. I bared all these wounds. Nobody could understand what I had to go through. But, I didn’t stop writing. I let my talent weather the storm. I let the arts influence me. Writing was my only escape. It was the only place I could go and not be judged or harassed. Little did I know—this escape pushed me to write my first book at the age of fifteen. On October 26th 2014, I published The Ballad of Sidney Hill. That book marked my coming of age and how much I’ve matured. That was living proof that I wasn’t going to let a mental disorder define me. They told me that I wouldn’t be able to function once I got to high school. All these specialists who remained doubtful of my growth, because of my condition—I proved them wrong. Fast forward to now, I have written forty books. I am now attending Berkeley College in Newark, New Jersey. I have a message for you all. Never let your circumstances define who you are. You can be anything!
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"I Didn't Give In."

10/24/2017

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In seventh grade, I had my first crush. I started to develop feelings for a boy (we'll call him Phil), but it was just my hormones. I wish that I’d spent more time figuring out my sexuality before having my first relationship. It all started on valentine's day when I decided to confess my feelings for him. He accepted my feelings, and we decided to be together. The relationship lasted for about two weeks, but it felt like months. He would show aggression if I didn’t text him 24/7. This caused a lot of anxiety, because I had no Idea what he would do if I didn’t talk to him. He started sending me really strange texts. He would say things like “tell me all about your beautiful body ;)” or “I can see us being together for several years. I look forward to when we’re 17” (Seventeen years old is the age of consent in Texas.) In school he would grab my hand to hold it. He would just lean on me at times. It made me really uncomfortable. It was obvious that sex was the only thing on his mind but I didn't leave because I was intimidated. One day at lunch he sat next to me. He sat next to me everyday, but then, he started running his hands down my body and squeezed my thigh. He really wanted to get sexual with me, when I wasn't ready, and under-aged. I cut him off from that point forward, and he did not like that at all. His messages went from “baby what’s wrong” to “Are you enjoying your break from me?” The stress was too much and eventually I had my first panic attack. My ex-friend (we'll call her Brick) punched Phil while walking down the hallway, and I took the blame for it. While this ended my relationship with Phil, my relationship with Brick was just beginning. About of month later, I started experiencing sleep paralysis. Sleep paralysis is when you wake up, but your body is still paralyzed, and it can occur when you have high amounts of anxiety. I would see shadowy demonic figures and they were extremely realistic every night, until I was medicated for it. Anyway, at the end of the school year, Brick gave me an invitation to her birthday party, and to another friend. I wish I hadn't gone. I went to her party on August 9, 2014. It started out really cheerful, and innocent. We started off by watching videos on youtube, then went to a rollerskating rink. I had the best time.I remember going around in circles and feeling so free on the rink. We took pictures on my cellphone, played in the mini arcade, then headed back to her house. We watched netflix, were fed dinner, then her parents went to bed. We sat and talked in the kitchen until midnight, when things spiraled out of control. Brick started acting like a different person, as if she had been possessed. She started talking up a hypothetical situation. “What if a man were to break in, and it was only us? How would we defend ourselves?” she spoke. We thought she was joking, so we gave some silly responses. Hers was: “I would stab him...with a knife.” Our laughter was cut off when she walked to the utensil drawer. “Like this one,” She said as she pulled out a long knife. “This one would do very nicely.” We fell silent. “As for you two...(Other friend)...I could imagine that he would kill you very easily, you’d be found dead.” she stated as she pointed the knife at her. She then turned to me. “You would be found dead as well...(My name)...the girl who was raped.” That was the worst thing anyone has said to me. Brick turned off the lights, then ordered us to walk to the living room. With her being armed, we did so without question. We stood in the middle of the room I gripped onto my friend, we huddled in terror. Brick walked around the house for what felt like forever, I thought I was going to die. She ordered us to sit on the couch, turned the TV on and pulled up netflix again. “The first one to fall asleep will have their face drawn on!” Just like that-she was back to her normal self. She acted like nothing was wrong, as if nothing happened. That was the first night of my life I didn’t sleep, because I knew she'd do worse than draw a sharpie mustache on my face. I wanted to text my parents to take me home, but my phone was out of reach. Brick laid across my lap to make sure I didn’t go anywhere. My dad finally came to pick me up at 10:00 am. I didn’t speak of what had happened that night. I was in such a state of shock that I couldn’t speak .I stayed awake until about 3:00 pm, then I passed out. I wanted to report it, but I didn't want Brick to get arrested, and I didn't even know if I could report someone for simply carrying a knife, and a kid at that. The rest of the school year, Brick was not the friend I thought I knew. Brick kept the experience with Phil in mind. For example, if I didn't do what she wanted, she would bring it up and say that she'd do the same to me if I didn't comply. She carried out those threats. She did this until I had another panic attack. First I tried avoiding her. This made her very upset and she would say things like "If you want to hurt me so bad, then why don't you just hit me?" and "If you don't start talking to me right now, I will hurt/kill myself. Do you want me to do that?" I knew that I couldn't handle the weight of this situation much longer, so I decided to go to the counselor. I finally told someone what I had been through, and there's no rush of relief like that anywhere else. My counselor sent me back to class, then brought in Brick to talk. Brick did not confirm or deny any of the accusations. However, she was asked to write an apology letter. In the letter, she confessed to what she had done, and a restraining order was placed on her for the rest of the year. Fortunately, Brick has moved away, but the pain is still here. I am now medicated, received therapy, and have special education for my mental illness. I get straight A's, earned my learner's permit for driving, got a job, and have a new group of friends who love and support me with all that I've been through. I'm still trying to find ways to cope that don't include self harm, and haven't had any suicidal thoughts for 3 months. I'm still learning how to process my emotions, but I have to keep reminding myself: Brick did not break me. I didn't give in to her. I broke away and I do not need her to be happy. Abuse is never your fault, and there is always a way out.
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"I Want to Teach Others."

9/28/2017

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​I’m not supposed to be anxious. I’m a straight A student, an elite athlete, and a happy kid. To me, anxiety was for people with hard home lives or depression. I never dreamed that this could happen to me. Until it did. 

My anxiety began on a plane ride to San Francisco for a family vacation. My chest felt tight, and my breathing quickened. I remember leaning to my dad and telling him I couldn’t breathe. I was 12 years old. Since that day, I have suffered upwards of 200 panic attacks. 

My panic attacks may have been caused by different things, but they were almost always the same. My breathing would get quick, my chest would heave in and out, and I could feel my pulse racing in my head. I would scream that I couldn’t breathe and often run around my house like a chicken with its head cut off. My body would tremble and shake as I calmed back down. My dad would get angry, telling me to pull myself together, but he was scared and didn’t understand. My mom would hold me and tell me everything would be okay, because she knew exactly what I was experiencing. My panic attacks were, for lack of a better term, “textbook”. 

To make matters worse, I began to feel a huge lump in my throat when eating. I began obsessing over my health, inventing new and worse cancers and diseases that I could have. After experiencing that for a couple months, I finally went to the doctor. Turns out, I have a vocal chord dysfunction. This causes breathing to quicken and for eating to be difficult, which is not the best situation for any anxious person, especially a hypochondriac like myself. I began to obsess over my throat and my breathing. I would constantly pull my shirt collar away from my neck because I felt choked. I couldn’t eat, which was almost debilitating due to my athletic lifestyle. In the months after my diagnosis, I lost close to 15 pounds. My eating was so bad, that it took me two hours to eat a single sausage patty. I felt like my life was slipping through my fingers like sand. 

It took some tough love from my parents to realize that something had to change. My father threatened to pull me out of basketball because my body couldn’t handle the constant blowing and going of elite sports anymore. I caught my mother crying to my father that she didn’t want me to suffer anymore and that she felt helpless. So, like the student I am, I picked up a book. 

I began researching anxiety and OCD and all sorts of mental illnesses. I learned about the cortex and the amygdala and how they played a part in my anxiety. I started developing coping mechanisms and breathing exercises. I figured that as long as I could understand that anxiety wasn’t just me being crazy, I would be okay. I also researched medicines and relaxation techniques and ways to help alleviate my panic. I started seeing a speech pathologist for my vocal chord dysfunction and finally, I found a psychiatrist who spoke to me about my issues and gave me medicine to help. 

Now, I am nearly a month on medication, and feeling better than I have in 4 years. I haven’t panicked in weeks, and my days are no longer spent constantly worrying about my health. I’ve started enjoying food again, and am actually appreciating the little victories in life. I have gained 10 pounds, and am continuing to gain muscle for basketball that I didn’t think was possible.

That’s not to say that my story is over. I still have trouble eating sometimes, and I still work through anxiety every day, but I want people my age to know that it does get better. I want to tell people who are suffering like me that anxiety does not define you, but how you handle it does. I want to teach others about the neuroscience and psychology behind their illnesses, to offer them a new perspective. But most of all, if I can prevent just one person from going through what I have, I will feel like my experience was worth it. 
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"Always a Way to Get Better."

7/13/2017

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I'm sure my mom and dad had been having problems before I noticed but the time I remember everything starting was Halloween of 2008. I was in the 4th grade and my mom picked me up early so we could decorate the house. When we got home, my mom was really upset and my dad was home early from work. When I asked them what was wrong, my dad told me he had lost his job. Being so young I didn't realize what his meant for us. My mom had been a stay at home mom since I was born so now that I'm older I realize this moment meant we had no money. At the time the stock market was down so it was really hard for my dad to find a new job. Because of his frustration and anger he began to drink. As time went on he became an alcoholic and this is where things started to get bad. My parents started to fight and to keep it away from me and my brother they would only fight at night. Their screaming and yelling woke me up almost every time and I would sit at the edge of my bed right by my door and just listen. My dad would be in the kitchen breaking glasses demanding my mom to give him her purse, keys and phone. I remember she would hide it in the oven so he wouldn't find it. I never really understood what they were fighting about, I just knew it was marital problems between them. One night I got so scared that my dad was going to hurt my mom I ran out of my room crying begging them to stop fighting. When they realized I had been watching they went to be and ended it for the night. That didn't last long. The same cycle started happening over and over. As my mom grew tired of being screamed at she started taking trips to her hometown of Corpus Christi to get away. This left me and my brother with my dad. My mom leaving brought up a new feeling of abandonment. She was the one that made us feel safe and she just left us behind.. this made my dad even more angry and gave them a whole new reason to fight. My parent began to live in separate bedrooms but still that didn't help the fighting. On my 10th birthday I had a group of friends over to celebrate with me. At first only my mom was home because my dad was out at the bar. Eventually he came home drunk and automatically began fighting with my mom in front of all my friends. My dad took my moms phone and broke it. One of my friends phones had disappeared and my mom had later told me she had taken it because she needed something to call the police with if she needed it. They took their fighting to their bedroom but you could still hear them screaming. I spent most of that time crying in my friends lap. Suddenly we heard a loud hit and I ran into their bedroom. When I walked in I saw my dad and mom sitting on the floor and a piece of the bathroom door frame broken off. It turns out that my mom had locked herself in the bathroom to protect herself from my dad and my dad decided to punch the door in and ended up breaking it. I had finally had enough and screamed at them to stop and that they had already ruined my birthday. My dad went to his room and my friends and I went to the living room to watch a movie. It was about 11 and there was a knock at the door. It was the police. The pulled me outside and asked me a few questions about my parents fighting. Apparently my dad had sent a picture of his hand to my aunt accusing my mom of hitting my dad and breaking his hand. My aunt then proceeded to call the police on her. They said because it was so late and my mom was in charge of my friends that they had to ask my dad to leave. I was actually glad for one night I wouldn't have to be in the middle of them fighting. A few days later everything was fine we were all having a good time watching tv and then my dad snapped. He started arguing with my mom and eventually went into his room. I went in there to check on him and he was laying on his bed with a bat In his hand. I asked him why he had it and his reply was “Your mom has hired someone to kill me and I need this to protect myself” I ran out of the room and started crying in my mom's arms. A few minutes later my dad came out of the room with the bat in his hand and held it over my mom's head. My brother and I hid under her arms as my dad said “if you ever talk to me like that again I'll crush you skull in with this bat” and then walked away. One Saturday morning a few days after that, my dad got us up really early and told us we had to help him move out. We then helped my dad pack up his stuff and move it into his mom's house. This began the new journey of split custody. They decided that we would spend one week with each parent to try and make it easier on us. Although the fighting at night had stopped the going back and forth between houses really took a toll on both me and my brother. I began to get really angry at my parents and I started being a really mean person. My brother once asked me “why are you so mean all the time?” He was too young to understand the situation so he was too young to know why I was so angry. Soon after that my parents got a divorce and for the first time ever I had to move out of the house I had lived in since I was born. The new argument was who we would live with. The one memory I have is of both my parents crying asking me and my 7 year old brother which parent we wanted to live with more. We didn't understand why we had to chose and the choice shouldn't have been put on us. The next few years things calmed down a bit but my parents decided to get remarried because they didn't want us to grow up in a “broken home.” This was the worst decision they could of made. Not too long after they got remarried the fighting started again. And it was like nothing had ever changed. I was in the middle of their arguments passing messages back and forth from one another's bedrooms because they were too childish and stubborn to talk to each other. The drinking was still going so my dad was even more abusive to my mom. She was living in our study and my mom had a hunting knife in her stuff to protect herself. My dad found it one night and as I stood in the doorway of my room I watched him hold it up to her throats and say “if I wanted to kill you I could” that night I had completely lost all faith I had left in my dad. They had tried marital counseling and every other possibility but nothing helped. Not to long after my parents got a divorce for the second and final time. Again the custody battles started up. I remember one night my dad had agreed to let us stay with our mom but later decided he wanted us. My dad came over to our house and was banging on the door demanding my mom to give us to him. Our neighbors ended up calling the police and the officer made my dad go home and let us stay with our mom cause it was 11:30 on a school night. Soon after I went into a really deep state of depression and I developed severe anxiety. I lost a lot of weight and spent most of my night in bed alone crying and I began to self harm. My parent never realized how much I knew about their fighting so they didn't realize why I was so depressed and why I would have sudden breakdowns and still to this day don't know about my scars. We still to this day live out of bags going back and forth between houses and I personally never feel at home anywhere. I was in middle school at the time so things were extra hard on me. It wasn't until 8th grade when I became close to one of my teachers that things started to change for me. She became a personal counselor to me but mostly so was a grown up I could look up to. I came to her when I was feeling down and she was always there to support me. With her support and my determination to have a better future for myself and eventually for my kids I pulled myself out of my depression by surrounding myself with the things I loved like softball. Softball helped me take my mind off things while getting some anger out. Because of that support I had and because of softball I was able to overcome my depression and I vowed to myself that I would never let a man treat me like that and that I would have a better home for my children than I did. Although things are still not perfect with my parents and I don't really have a good relationship with them, all that truly matters to me is that I have changed my life for the better and that I've learned how to deal with those negative situations. I do still have some anxiety from the memories that are still there and I have developed a few insecurities and fears but now I know that I have people there to support me and that there is always a way to help myself get better. It may be hard but there is always a way to get better. ​
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"It Just Takes Time."

6/1/2017

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I was three months away from turning 14. I met a guy at my church. I thought he was cute, and he was nice to me. He was about 14 1/2 years old at this time which was good because it wasn't a huge age difference between the two of us. 4 nights after we met, he messaged me on my instagram saying "hey, so I'm sure you like me. And I have feelings for you too. We're gunna date :)" I never said yes or no. He assumed we were dating, and I liked that. I liked him. I still have a screenshot of that message to this day as a reminder of the night of my first relationship ever. Well, my first "real" relationship. Everything was normal as we dated. We went to see a couple movies,we hung out at the park, and talked on the phone all the time. It was an amazing experience until we were about 2 months in. We met at the park to walk around for a little bit and hang out. He wanted to walk back to his house because his mom was at work (he had no father)... apparently "no" isn't a word in his vocabulary. I told him I didn't want to because I didn't want to get in trouble by my dad for going to my boyfriends house without permission. The guy I was dating (I'm not going to say his real name. I'll substitute it for john) got very upset at me and started yelling. No, I don't remember what he said when he yelled, but When I said "I'm going home", he got so red in the face, pulled back his hand, and slapped me as hard as he could. It didn't hurt AS much because he wasn't that strong, but it stung real bad. That's all I can remember from that time of our relationship because it really scarred me. In the next few months was my birthday, I turned 14 years old. Not going into detail, but no one out of 17 invitations came to my birthday, and one of those invitations was to ~john~. It didn't bother me. I remember he said he didn't like parties. But maybe it was an excuse. A little while later while we dated, he asked if I could give him a blowjob while we hung out at his house. I told him I didn't feel like it. (Me and him have never gotten farther than kissing before this because I wasn't comfortable, so this was weird for him to ask me.) again, he was mad, but didn't say anything. Somehow he convinced my dad to let me spend the night at his house and his mom let me stay, too. His mom had gone out for the night to god knows where, and we were alone. That was the night I had smoked weed and drank for the first time, and I did them both at once. I guess his goal was to hurt me seeing as How That's what ended up going down. Apparently my alcohol poisoning meant nothing to him as he forced a blowjob and sex from me. Obviously looking back at it now, I feel stupid that I didn't see the signs that something was going on, but then again, I was drunk and high. My dad says that is when I 'lost my virginity', and I'm sorry to whoever I offend, but RAPE IS NOT SEX! IF YOURE A 14 YEAR OLD GIRL WHO SAID NO TO ANY SEXUAL ACTIONS, YET THEY WERE FORCED- THAT IS RAPE! Man. I wanted to leave him so bad, but when I brought it up I was either threatened or abused. I hated it. We dated for 2 1/2 years. I'm now 4 months from turning 16 years old. I was raped 3 times, Abused hundreds of times, cheated on about 5 or 6 times, and treated like a piece of shit. Thanks to ~john~ My real thank you, however, goes out to my current boyfriend. We met on Snapchat, and we go to the same school. He got me out of such a bad situation and he takes such good care of me like nobody knows. Being with him made me realize that guys like ~john~ are the scum of the earth and the lowest people you can date. I love my boyfriend so much, and I don't see my future without him. PSA to every girl- I can promise there is a man waiting to treat you like the princess you are, it just takes time. It took me 15 1/2 years, but I can finally say it was worth the wait. ♥️
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"Twists and Turns."

4/30/2017

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 My life has been a series of twists and turns, and as a whole has been affected by a lot of obstacles. I started to notice around elementary school that I got a lot more "nervous" for things than my peers, and school was always a bit more stressful. My parents divorced and my world didn't seem to stop, but things immediately began to spiral. I would panic about having to pack in between houses and worry that something would go wrong once I got there, but it wasn't until around middle school that I began noticing my lack of interest in things I'd once loved. I quit the swim team, which used to be my favorite part of every day. My grades plummeted and my motivation to get anything done was barely there. I was afraid to express any of this with the fear that my parents would think something was wrong with me, so I kept it under wraps for a while. But around 8th grade, I got involved in a bad crowd of some older guys I met. My best friend and I started drinking, smoking, and partying at such a young age. The affect of that was massive on the next couple of years, as I was diagnosed with depression and severe anxiety disorders my freshman year. I turned to alcohol and drugs to try and fix my problems, because my psychiatrist thought that my problems could've been female hormones, and not much was done. The real turning point in that year though, was thanksgiving break.  I attended a small party with some people I considered my closest friends, and was slipped something by the guy I'd been talking to at the time, and sexually assaulted. I kept this a secret for months, and didn't let anyone see how much it affected me, but my PTSD still hasn't slowed. Around the end of the year, I made the decision to end it all, and ended up in the hospital. I spent some time at a safe place, working on my recovery, and knew my life needed to change. I've been sober since then, and have reached out for help when I know I need it. I knew I couldn't rush my healing, and I still can't. Things are still hard sometimes but my life has color again, and becoming sober was the best decision I ever made. Next year I'm planning to be homeschooled and work on myself and my wellbeing, but I know none of this is the end of my world, and I'm strong enough to come out the other end of the dark tunnel I seem to be in. 
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"Seeing Passed My Anxiety."

3/19/2017

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I've struggled with anxiety all my life. I didn't know until about a year ago that this feeling---feeling overwhelmed in social settings, drowning in school, and longing to just be alone---was unnatural. Life isn't supposed to be like this. And I'm still struggling. I've found ways to handle it publicly but I'm still coming to terms with it all. Being open about it with my parents and best friends have helped me so much. They understand what I mean when I say "I don't feel like going out tonight" while at the same time encouraging me to come out of my shell. To everyone out there battling anxiety and depression: don't be afraid to tell people. Whether it's the whole school or just one person, all you need is someone to discuss your struggles with. A fresh perspective helped me see life like it is, not how I'm used to seeing it. Drowning isn't part of life. Accepting that there is so much goodness to discover gave me hope and helps me see past my anxiety.
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"My Own Life."

3/15/2017

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In February of 2015 I met a beautiful boy. He was sweet and charming and he knew exactly how to make me smile. After a few weeks we started daiting. After about 2 months of being exclusively together he started making comments like "hey baby maybe you should go to the gym" or "babe your weight is to much for me" and slowly but surely I started feeling self conscience and I depended on him for reassurance. I needed him to make me feel good about myself. Everytime we would get into an argument I would go in the bathroom and cut my arms and legs with a razor blade, so deep that the scars now make texture on my skin. Once we reached 6 months together I was completely dependant on him. Anytime he was at all upset I would be distressed and do anything to make it up to him. One incident in particular pushed me over the edge. My uncle had taken us to a baseball game and I had a beer. When we got home he grabbed my face on either side screamed at me and then shoved me away. I forgave him for that but I never forgot. 2 months later we got into another fight. That's when we decided that we weren't going to make it. That we needed to break up. I was so distraught over the break up I drank and I popped pills and I was cutting even worse. I attempted Suicide and was hospitalized twice in a week. I was committed to a psychiatric hospital. I stayed there for 6 days. After my treatments and 15 weeks of out patient therapy. I finally gained control of my own life. Ever since I have had relapses but I have been able to recover.
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