An Unnecessarily Long Entry Mostly Because I Had Nothing Better To Do Than Talk About Myself

I've been feeling better. I have lots of energy that I'm putting to good use. I did schoolwork most of the day yesterday. I'm caught up on school work that I've missed now. I feel a little overwhelmed by all the assignments I have coming up. My planner is a stocked closet of assignments and due dates. But, if this productive energy stays, I'll be able to do it. Even if it doesn't, I have to do it. I'm so close to graduating. 3 more semesters.

This energy. It feels. Strange.

I have been in a really good mood for several days now. Is this what normal feels like? I'm not on cloud nine. I just have a lot of mental and physical energy that I can put towards being productive and feeling good. I have the energy right now to feel good.

Once my meds were adjusted two weeks ago, I slept through the night for about a week, but I'm back to restless nights again. It doesn't seem to affect my day time activities, though. I have enough energy to spare.

For example, I woke up about 5am this morning and didn't sleep again until 6am. Usually, even losing an hour of sleep would totally mess me up. I'd be exhausted and have A LOT of trouble getting up and out of bed. This morning, my alarm went off right at 7:30am and I got up fine. I took all 3 of my 5 minute snoozes from my alarm, but that was more because I knew I had time to spare and wanted to check my email and all that. I got up this morning and stayed awake. Under normal circumstances, when I get up early, usually I crash around 10am or 11. But not today. I stayed perfectly attentive through my entire nearly 4 hour class. We took a 10 minute break while we were there, but I didn't need it. I could have kept going for hours.

Is this Normal Amy? Have I been so far gone from normal for so long that normal feels.....wrong?

Don't get me wrong; I like having all this energy. I'm doing a lot with it.

But I feel like something's wrong. Maybe I'm just making a big deal out of nothing. I can't trust my own instincts and perceptions, after all. I have a warped perception of myself and the world I live in, so maybe that's all this is.

I'm still hallucinating every day. Today, the little lights I see flickering in my vision have been a lot worse than they usually are. I usually see little lights daily (this has been happening for several months now) and they come in and out randomly, but today I've been seeing them almost constantly. It's been really distracting.

I was in class taking notes, so when I looked up I noticed that there was a person in the corner of the classroom that I hadn't seen or heard walk in the room. I started freaking out because, "Is she real? Can I trust her? What if she tries to talk to me and she's not real? What if she is real?" I took a breath and turned to the girl next to me, quietly asking if there was a person in the corner. She said that there was, so I calmed down a little, but was still suspicious. What if she just meant the professor, who was also over there? I calmed down a little more once my professor gave us a 10 minute break and started talking to the girl in the corner, then I fully calmed down once the girl came over to my table after the break and started talking to us about the assignment.

"Okay. She is real. False alarm." 

I'm scared I will see someone like that one day that looks completely real. But isn't. I haven't had any really bad hallucinations as of yet (mostly just the lights thing; sometimes there's a cat in my house; sometimes I see people for a few seconds then they disappear), but I can usually tell that those aren't real. I'm scared this will keep getting worse. It's gotten progressively worse the older I get. Will it ever get to a stopping point?

Please stop.

Something of a Spiritual Update?

I want to talk about God. But there's not much new to say.

I haven't been spending a lot of time thinking about him because I've been struggling, but I'm getting better now, so time to focus on finding him again, right?

It's hard to see him in places where I keep seeing shadows and demons and ghosts and generally negative things. It's hard to feel at peace when I know that my life is not peaceful. There are parts of my life that are very scary. Where has God been for me in all of this? Has he been there at all?

I feel uncomfortable praying, because every time I try I start hearing him or Mary or angels speaking to me and I know they're not real. My prayers and intentions may very well be real, but the responses cannot be. They are often not kind responses. I try to search for him within the madness, but I find only ashes.

I started a journal, a sort of lectio divina. I read the readings for today on the Laudate app and write about how it makes me feel or what I think about it.

I've only written once, but it was nice. I felt like I was on the right track. One of these days I will type up what I wrote about and post it, but not tonight. I'm too tired. It's probably not that revolutionary, anyway.

My aunt and I are going to start reading a book about prayer together and discuss it. I need to order it tonight. My goal is to make a little bit of time every day, or every other day, if need be, to read and think. Perhaps I should start a reading journal. I'm so forgetful nowadays.

Perhaps one day I will find God in the ashes of my life and maybe one day we will fall in love with each other again.

Something of an Update?

Things have been getting better. They're not falling apart as much. It gets a little better every day. 

I've had several doctors and therapists tell me over the last few years that I may never be symptom free. I could be on the best meds possible and still hallucinate. As long as it's manageable and doesn't affect my day to day life, I'm fine. 

I'm fine. 

I can deal with the demons that patrol my room at night, The Woman, who waits in my room to scream in my face when I open the door. The shadows. The monsters that peek around doorways and stare. The distant screaming. 

I'm fine. 

I can handle this. 

It's not that bad. It's really not that bad at all. I have dealt with much worse. 

I'm feeling a lot better than I was, trust me. It almost had me again. But, again, I prevailed. 

And I will keep prevailing. 

Mentally Ill Presents: Some Kind of Week

I've had kind of a week. It wasn't decidedly bad or good or even weird. It was just a week with a mix of those things.

My medication situation isn't where it should be right now. I ran out of refills for one of my medicines a few weeks ago (I haven't had it since August 23rd). My doctor's office doesn't accept patients calling about refills; it has to be their pharmacy. They are very adamant about this. I have contacted my pharmacy several times about the matter, but still no refill. I have an appointment to see my doctor in a week and a half, but that's another week and a half without my medicine.

I'm doing okay. I'm having nightly nightmares again and am more anxious and paranoid than usual, plus some hallucinations. However, it's nothing I can't handle. I've dealt with much worse.

My general mood is a little shaky. Sometimes I'm fine, but then the next minute I'm not.

I almost had a panic attack two days ago. I was sitting on the couch and suddenly I couldn't breathe and it felt like my chest was crushing my lungs, it was so tight. I went to the bathroom and sat in the bathtub for a few minutes. Ryan came to check on me and I just started crying. I had been all over the place all day; one minute I was fine, the next I was about ready to kill myself.

I have to refill my other medicines soon, too.

I hate living a life dependent on the cooperation of money, pharmacies, doctors, therapists, and medicine. But I need it right now, so I'll just have to deal with it.

Dreaming Presents: Something A Little Too Close To Home

I was dreaming. Obviously.

I was trying to sleep. Desi was whining from the living room. I slept and dreamed about someone close to me explaining to me why rape was okay and trying to convince me that I had "come so far" and that I shouldn't let this set me back.

I woke up from my dream in my dream. Ryan was at work. I felt terrible. I started hallucinating The Woman. I walked down to the leasing office in my apartment complex that, in my dream, was the K-8 school I'm currently placed at for field experience. I tried to eat an apple because I was hungry, but I couldn't force myself to eat. I threw the apple away. There were kids everywhere saying all kinds of things. Much of it wasn't kind.

I found myself very overwhelmed and walked back to my apartment. I started to feel like I couldn't breathe, so I went and sat in the closet, trying to feel safe.

It didn't help.

The walls closed in on me. I panicked. I couldn't leave the closet; The Woman was there. I started to cry, but the tears choked in my throat. I swallowed, then took a huge breath. Three shallow breaths. Hyperventilating. A huge breath. Small breaths. Hyperventilating. Tears. Over and over and over and over and over.

I heard Ryan come home, but he didn't hear me. He thought I was gone somewhere else. I couldn't move. The Woman threatened me. I couldn't breathe.

I woke up hyperventilating.

Religious Journeying: Attempts at a Connection

I went to Church this past Sunday with a friend. The music was the best part. They had a live band that was decent and because of my history in Church music, I knew all the songs they did.

The sermon was okay. He talked about co-text (the actual words in the Bible) versus context (the environment in which words are said) in the Bible, but he didn't really talk about context. He just talked about co-text while describing it as context. He did lots of loud yelling into his microphone although the sanctuary was very small. It made me very uncomfortable. It didn't help, either, that he did lots of arm motions (which wasn't a problem), and whenever he moved my eyes saw his arms lagging behind in one large streak across my vision (that's the problem). It was really distracting. Not sure what was going on there.

My friend and I were talking the night before about Church things and she suggested that I get some physical things to help me feel connected to God. I thought that was an excellent idea, and have since reached out to my mom for my Bible and the Little Office of the Blessed Virgin, both of which I left at home when I went to college. I also bought a brown scapular with an image of Our Lady of Lourdes on it.  I have felt a special bond with Mary since my teenage years, and want to lean on her now as I attempt to slowly transition back into some form of Christianity. I have a Rosary that another friend of mine gave me.

I don't know what the future holds for me in this regard. I guess we will see.

Published Updates: More Articles!

So, school has started, so I've been pretty busy with work and classwork. Mostly work, to be completely honest.

However, since the last time I updated you all, I have published 2 more articles!

One of this articles can be found here and is about personally living with a schizo-spectrum disorder.

The second one can be found here and is a letter written for all of us college students that won't finish in the four year standard.

I have a third one that will be published next week sometime, so I'll post that one here, too, once it goes live.

I'll have some much appreciated free time this weekend, so expect some writing from me here!

When You Feel More Refreshed After An Afternoon of Lecture than You Do First Thing in the Morning

Nice weather permits nice feelings.
The walk home from orientation was much nicer than the walk to orientation.
Not as hot, not as sweaty, not as irritable, not as nervous.
The Wailin' Jennys turned up, but not so loud as to be blaring or as to totally tune out the passing cars.
Wind through hair, a minimal layer of sweat.
Good feelings.
In a word.....peace?
Perhaps.

Poetry Presents: Poem and Response

"Tumble out of bed
just as the sun crests the horizon.
Hobble over to the window.
Squint through the blinds.
Tug them apart, gently.
Let the light pour over you,
warm your cheeks, kiss your lashes, breathe
new air into your lungs;
scrub you, for a moment, clean.

-There's a new dawn every day. Hold on."
-S.S.

A response:

Clean is more than a word,
more than a description
of how far away from dirty we are.
Clean is a feeling.
New. Bright. Fresh.
Nothing clean is ever dirty;
don't doubt yourself.

-You deserve the happiness you want for yourself.

Writing Presents: PUBLISHED

I published my first online article for an actual publication today!

I wrote a short piece about interacting with someone that's schizophrenic.

You can find it here.

My friend, Ben, shared it and commented that it was one of the "strongest, bravest things" he's ever seen a student do.

I don't really feel brave publishing this. I feel very much afraid. This is kind of a coming out for me, about my mental illness. Not many people know that I am schizoaffective, and now I've told a part of the internet that people are actually going to see.

Perhaps in facing my fear of judgment and ridicule, I'm a little bit brave after all?

Poetry Presents: I Can Be As Healthy As I Want, But I Will Still Be Sick

My eyes say one thing

My ears say another

How long will I suffer

Living in one body,

Split between two realities?

I think I need some water

But being hydrated won't tell me what's real

And what's not

Writing Presents: Articles for the Odyssey

So, a few weeks ago, I sent in an interest request to write for an online publication called The Odyssey. I see lots of their articles on Facebook about lots of different things, so I figured, why not give it a shot?

I forgot about it, then this past Tuesday I get a text from the Editor in Chief of the Georgia Southern community. We talked for a few minutes, and she decided that I would be a good addition to the team.

I wrote my first article. It will be published soon, for the entire internet to see, though, I'm not sure exactly how soon. It was due today, so it'll be up soon. I'll post a link here.

My first article is me stepping forward about my mental illness. It's me saying, "I have schizophrenia and that's okay." I'm nervous for it to be published to Facebook, because that's about 400 people that can see it. Not all 400 will read it, of course, but at least a few will see it.

I will still be writing more personally here, though, but I will also be posting the things I'm writing for The Odyssey.

This is an exciting time for me. I'm getting to write more publicly about anything I please. I think I'd like to write more about mental illness and body positivity, especially in relation to my life. I might even have an impact on someone. That person might even me myself.

Swimming Presents: PEACE

The water was as warm as spring. It was water drawn for a bath. I dived into it, washing away everything sad. It washed away everything terrifying and everything angry and everything painful.

I turned over onto my back. I wiped my eyes. The lights in the pool made some light, which made the sky harder to see, but I could still see some stars--and, of course, the moon.

I let the water around my ears drown out all the extra noise.

I simply was.

Words from a Friend Presents: More Words from Me

I have a friend that today shared her blog with me, sharing parts of herself with me.

She wrote the following.

"A fear.

I am defective 

Because (?)

I wear glasses. 

A rebuttal.

Glasses are not uncommon. My vision just isn't focused on my retina well.


But.. You're built wrong. Genetically. 


A rebuttal.
Correlation does not equal causation.
If there was a random sampling giving every one on Earth an equal likelihood of having deficits (50/50 chance of boy or girl, whatever other 1/something chance of defects), then I am not Less Than. I am one of many whose chances just gave me what I have. A need for glasses.


Well Reasoned. "

I read this and I felt relief. I am not Less Than for having a mental illness. I am not less of a person, less of a friend, or less of a daughter for having a mental illness.

"I am one of many whose chances just gave me what I have."

I am not undeserving of love, support, or help because of these chances.

I keep thinking of my mental illness as a bad thing, and in some ways, it really is. My life is a lot harder and more complicated because of it. Perhaps if I stop thinking about it, though, as a bad thing and more of just a thing that happened. Things happen to people all the time and this is just one of those things that happened to me.

More of this Journey Stuff I Keep Rambling About

"Know that you can start late, look different, be uncertain, and still succeed."
-Misty Copeland

I saw this on Tumblr literally about 2 minutes ago, if that. I didn't know I needed to hear that, but I did.

I had just gotten off the scale, weighing myself against my better judgement. I was discouraged by the number, but was trying not to be too upset because progress doesn't happen immediately. It takes time.

I should have gotten a handle on my weight years ago. I can't really answer why I didn't. It wasn't that I didn't care, but I just didn't have the motivation to change? Maybe it was my depression speaking. Or maybe I really just didn't care. I wasn't bullied for my weight in high school per se, although I know I was one of the undesirables, in terms of the dating pool. That didn't really bother me too much, though. I didn't want to be with someone that was with me only because I was attractive. Being overweight weeded out some of the shallowness.

It didn't start to really bother me until my freshman year of college. I realized how much I hated my body. I wanted to learn to love myself, even as a fat individual. I was inspired by women I followed on Tumblr that were my size and loved themselves. I wanted to be able to show myself and my body that kind of kindness.

I didn't start to work out or anything. I just wanted to work on the mental aspect of loving myself. I figured taking care of my body would come once I figured put how to love myself as I was. I didn't want to rush the process of change.

When I dated my ex, sophomore year of college, all that changed. Comments, dirty looks, manipulating me in starving myself and exercising for hours tore down every inch of progress I'd made. I have never hated myself more than when I was dating him.

And then that ended. And I started to rebuild from a new square 1. A square 1 that was so much lower than the square 1 I started at freshman year. But that was okay.

When I started dating Ryan, we talked about the weight issue. He said that he liked me as I was then, but he didn't want me to suffer from health complications later on. He wanted to work out with me to help me take care of my body. For the first few months of us dating, I said I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready for the kind of pressure that working out and eating better would put on me and my new relationship. I didn't want a repeat of my previous relationship.

But then. In March, I remember looking at myself in the mirror and feeling pretty. As I was. All x amount of pounds of me felt pretty. I felt as though I were looking at a new person and I could see past all the fat, the double chin, the big tummy, the manatee thighs...I could see myself, body and soul connected for the first time.

I was ready to start taking care of my body the way it deserved.

It has been a rough ride. I lost 9 pounds in the first month, and then fell apart when my mental illness creeped back in and finals approached. I've since gained the weight back, but that's okay. I'm starting again. Another quote I saw today said, "It's okay to rest, so long as you do not quit."

I, of course, am still a work in progress. I still have days where I look at the mirror and go "ew", but that's okay. I am on a journey and journies aren't linear. There are ups and downs and that's okay.

Just because I waited until now to start losing weight doesn't mean I can't.  Just because I waited until I was nearly 21 to start loving myself does not mean I can't learn to love myself. I can.

And I will.

The Sky Presents: Feeling Human Again

I was riding in the passenger seat of Ryan's car yesterday evening. We were driving back from dinner at his parents' house.

I have an adoration for the sky. It makes me feel things. I'm not exactly sure how to explain what it makes me feel; I just know that it makes me feel.

The sky was beautiful last night. The sun was setting and there were colored clouds everywhere. In the east, they were purple and pink, highlighted by the blue sky. The closer to the sun they got, the more orange and red they became.

I felt as though the sun was piercing through my soul with this warm light, straight through my chest. It was as though it and I were connected.

I feel things very intensely, but in the last few years, I've felt more intense feelings or sadness, fear, and anger than I have of more positive feelings. Yes, I do feel happiness at times, but I also feel negative feelings regularly. I think the main reason for this is the fact that I have a mental illness that very negatively affects my life and how I perceive things.

But the sun made me feel, not happiness, exactly, but it just made me feel human again. It was a reminder that I am not some sad, terrified, sometimes unreal creature sentenced to a life of misery. It's okay to feel those things, but it was a reminder that life goes on. Things get better. All of those cliche sayings that are actually true. I'm allowed to feel sadness, anger, and fear, but those aren't the only things in my life to concentrate on. I think that true happiness starts within oneself, and one day I'd like to achieve a fuller feeling of acceptance with my life. I've been feeling a lot of "why me?!" this year, and general negativity surrounding my self image. I want to work through that. I want to feel satisfied with my life, even if it means living with a mental illness that may never go away.

And I think part of that process is starting to feel human again.

Presenting: The Beginning of a Novel

So, remember that post I made about two weeks ago about me starting to write a novel?
I was just looking for the plot?

Well, I had a dream about a week ago. It was a scene from the end of my novel. I have my storyline.

I started to write out the scene from my dream. I guess I'm working a little backwards.

My original idea about Nemmy Barren stealing the sun remains true. It's just going to be a different sun than the one you'd expect it to be.

Coming Back From Destruction: Regrowth

I saw this picture a long time ago (several years, at least) on Tumblr. It spoke to me on such a deep level, my relationship with this quote going further than just a quote about my body.

I grew up under the teaching that my body is a temple and should be treated like one. But temples do not rebuild themselves. Temples are not living, breathing entities. Temples can be beautiful and sacred, but it cannot save itself from destruction. Temples are built by others and are torn down by others and rebuilt by others.

I am not a temple because others do not rebuild me. I rebuild myself. With the support of others, of course, but it isn't them that does the saving. I save myself.

Between my disorder, several toxic relationships, and my struggle with self love, it is very important to me that I take responsibility for my happiness, my sanity, and my sense of peace.

Whatever happens, I will come back. I cannot be so utterly ruined or desecrated that I cannot regrow. When I began to see the damage that my last relationship did to me and how it was affecting my new one, I thought I was ruined. He did not ruin me, though. I am not ruined, but healing. I am simply regrowing.

Poetry Attempt: When You Finally Get Away From Him

He shoves doubt down her throat
Only to kiss it out of her
Anger
Then kindness
Then anger again
A circle that only ends when she destroys herself trying to survive
She stands herself up using crutches of determination not to do the wrong thing again
But she is so tired
Her resolve fades
Her eyes close
Then suddenly
Light.

Going to Mass: Being on the Fence of a Journey I've Already Started

I went to Mass with Ryan today. I have mixed feelings about the experience.

It was overall a well organized Mass. Everything flowed smoothly. The music was nice, although the sermon was long and kind of boring with some humor mixed in. It was one of those sermons that was well-thought out, but all I remember from it is something about wheat being more substantial than rice. It didn't impact me in any way, and based on the dozing adults around me, that seemed to be a common thing. Perhaps I just wasn't listening hard enough. But where is the line between searching so much for something that I find nothing and waiting for the message to find me? It was a nice Mass, but I didn't feel home there like I do when I go to my family's church.

I feel like I'm searching so hard for someone to be there to take care of me. Someone safe. Someone that can embrace all of me in one hug and shield me from the horrors of the world.

After thinking about this and thinking back on experiences that I've had in my life, I think this comes down to a trust--and in some ways, control--issue. I am a person to trust easily, but once my trust is broken, it is hard to regain. For me, a journey back to Christianity is definitely a possible thing, but it's going to take a long time and a lot of work and a lot of baby steps. I'm having to start over completely with a relationship that I broke off long ago. I feel like a dog that has been abused and beaten, When presented with help, the dog desperately wants the food that is being presented, but distrusts the hand that holds it. I am afraid of being let down again, of being hurt again, of being alone again. I am afraid to believe in someone that may not even be real. There's the argument that if it's not going to hurt anyone, then does it really matter? But I don't want to invest my life in a sand castle, that will disappear with water.

I think the first baby step to journeying back to Christianity is coming to terms with the idea that there is a God. I don't know Him yet and we haven't spoken, but that's all in good time. I don't want to rush this process, because that will only result in disaster. I need to take it one step at a time. This is not only a learning to trust process; it's a healing process. It's taking all of my leftover hurt from the past, and letting it heal.

Honestly, I'm still on the fence about this entire process. Do I really want to go this route? I don't know yet. But a part of me just feels so empty and afraid.

I need to try.

Poetry Attempt: Rose-Colored Glasses

My fingers feel through rose-colored glasses
Everything is soft
I feel soft lips whisper gentle words
But I cannot help but remember
Words that were not soft
And I am afraid
That now gentle words
Will become hard
Again

Long Term Projects Presents: A Novel?????

I've decided to take on a long term project. Something that requires dedication, time, energy, love, thoughtfulness, imagination, and concentration, among other things.

I've decided that I want to write a novel.

I wrote a novel as a 12 year old, that I recently (as in 2 days ago) found in my sent box while looking for something else! I was overjoyed to realize it was the most recent (probably) version, as far as I know, and I could probably work on it if I wanted to. Which I do. Just not yet.

For now, I want another project.

I'm still searching for plot details. So far I know two things.

My main character's name is Nemmy Barren and she's going to steal the sun.

Putting the Space in S P A C E

"trying to convince myself
i am allowed to take up space
is like writing with
my left hand
when i was born
to use my right

-the idea of shrinking is hereditary"

-rupi kaur, milk and honey

This is a poem from page 29 in Rupi Kaur's book of poetry. It's a read that I highly recommend to anyone, especially those that hurt and/or are healing. I read it for the first time last fall and I annotated the heck out of my copy. So much resonated with me. So much eased my soul and helped me to remember that I am not alone in my struggle.

Today, I want to talk about this selection. Page 29.

My whole life I have been bigger. When you're always a few sizes up from other girls, you try to make yourself smaller. Other people don't notice. But it happens.

I remember sitting on the bus in high school, always shrinking up next to the window. My sophomore year I had friends that I sat next to, and it was always an anxiety-ridden experience. Getting on the bus. Avoiding the gazes of people that looked up. (Maybe they were just looking for their friends and found me instead. Probably. But I didn't know for sure and it was scary.) Looking for my seat. The one three rows back, on the right. Were my friends there yet? No? Good. Window seat is mine. Yes, they're there? Oh no. I have to sit on the edge. I can't shrink as much. I can't make my wide hips and flabby thighs shrink into the seat without hanging off the edge. I can't hide from the people getting off the bus, knocking my thigh or shoulder as they passed.

Desks in high school, and even more so now, are a nightmare. They're uncomfortable and I always find myself comparing how much my thighs hang off the sides to how well-made the desks were for girls that were much smaller than me. They sat quaintly in their desks, with plenty of room to cross their legs or lay their hands in their lap to text discreetly under the desk.

Movie theaters? Ouch.

Crowded restaurants? Do you know how hard it is to squeeze between tables and chairs occupied by people? "Sorry," "excuse me," galore. I can feel the impatience resonating from every pore in the bodies of the people whose meal I'm disrupting. Me. So much of me. Too much.

Need to be smaller.
Need to be smaller.
Need to be....normal?

But this feeling of needing to shrink for others doesn't just translate to my being overweight.

It's my laugh, too. And my emotions. Someone once commented on how my laugh was "really big". I stopped laughing like that, how I naturally laughed. I laugh softer now, less. Because I don't want to make people uncomfortable. I don't want to drive people away.  And I don't want people to get mad.

More than one person has commented on the enormity of my emotions and it's been one of the causes of the destruction of more than one relationship. It's not that I have incredible mood swings. It's that when I'm upset, oh boy, I'm upset. Crying uncontrollably, hyperventilating even. "Are you okay now?" No. The tears keep coming.

When I'm happy, oh boy, am I happy. I could be excited about some things for days. I laugh at jokes sometimes for 20 minutes uncontrollably. But I feel people getting impatient. I feel them wanting to move on. I force myself to stop. I shrink back into normal-size emotions even though what I really want to do is keep laughing.

I shrink.

One day, I'm going to stop shrinking for others, though, as best as I can. I'm not a rubber band. I'm not made to grow and shrink and grow and shrink and GROW AND SHRINK.

I'm not a rubber band.

I'm a person. I'm allowed to take up space.

Holding up the Universe: A Fat Girl's Journey to Self-Love

I finished reading a book today called Holding Up the Universe by Jennifer Niven. It's a book about an overweight girl and a boy with face-blindness and how they end up connecting with each other and falling in love. It was an authentic read, which I greatly appreciated, plus I just really enjoyed reading it.

In the book, Libby, the overweight girl, goes through many challenges related to her weight. She's bullied, sent hate mail, misjudged, and treated like she's not worth anything.

I don't have much experience with bullying or hate mail, but I do have experience with people misjudging (or just simply judging me) and treating me like I'm not worth anything. I know what that feels like.

I'm going to list some quotes from Libby's perspective that really resonated with me and we'll go from there.

"And this whole 'pretty for a fat girl' thing. I mean, what is that? Why can't I just be pretty period? I wouldn't say, 'Oh, Bailey Bishop, she's pretty for a skinny girl.' I mean, you're just Bailey. And you're pretty." (page 100).

"You know how far I've come and I know how far I've come, but everyone else just sees me for how large I am or where I was years ago, not who I am now." (page 65).

"He will never like you no matter what you do, no matter how thin you are, no matter how nice you try to be him." (page 58).

"Yes, I'm fat." (page 52).

"I've lost 302 pounds. The size of two entire people. I have around 190 left to go, and I'm fine with that. I like who I am." (page 8).

I've been working on for about 2 and a half years now the idea of self-acceptance. Loving myself beyond what I look like. Self-care is another thing that I have been working on, too, and it goes right along with loving myself.

While I was dating my now ex-boyfriend, he pressured me a lot into trying to lose weight. "For your own health," he used to say, although really he just wanted a trophy girlfriend. But that's another story. I started working out and practically starved myself for months. Coincidentally, I lost no weight. I was hungry all the time. I felt terrible, physically and mentally, because I wasn't making "progress" and my ex kept telling me that I was "a disappointment" and that I wasn't "trying hard enough" and that I "didn't care".

I did care. But I was self-aware enough to realize that as long as I was trying to lose weight for a person that wasn't me, I wasn't going to get anywhere.

After years of hating my body, I really wanted to love myself. I wanted to take care of myself. But that takes time, and my ex was only concerned with the math of "okay, if you cut down to 500 calories a day, that means you'll lose this many pounds in a week, so this many pounds in a month, and you can be healthy in about 6 months!"

Now, I'm far away from him, and I have been working on loving and taking care of myself. My new and improved boyfriend and I work out together a few times a week. Because we want to. Not because we have to. Not because some controlling asshole will leave us if we don't. Because we want to. I watch what I eat, and although, yes, I do count calories, I don't restrict myself too much. If I'm hungry, I allow myself to eat because my body is telling me that it needs something. I may do my best to choose healthier options, though. But if I want to have some icecream sometimes, then I am allowed to eat that icecream.

I am allowed to eat whatever and whenever I want now (I've actually been allowed to the whole time, I just didn't realize it) and knowing that is almost as freeing as knowing that I am allowed to be the size I am. I am allowed to be fat because that's just what my body looks like right now. My size does not define who I am as a person. It doesn't define my intelligence or my sense of humor.

I'm working on losing weight not because I want to be pretty (because I'm learning to believe that I am already pretty), not because I want to please or impress other people, and not because I want to stay with some immature boy whose mom doesn't like me because I'm fat. I'm losing weight simply because I want to take care of myself. I want to love myself. My body needs to lose weight to feel good and to work better, so I'm going to give that to my body because loving myself means loving all of me.

Something about Peace, Clouds, and The Giver

The thing about being visually oriented is that as much as I want to write about things I see, I also want to paint them. Which wouldn’t be a terrible thing except that when I see things I want to write about, I don’t know what to say. And I’m not a good enough artist to express the beauty, pain, or other emotions that I felt while seeing whatever it was that I saw.

I saw this cloud last night at the beach, It looked like a phoenix. It wasn’t a thick, bushy phoenix. It was thin and wispy and you could see the sky through it. It’s beak was right next to the brightest star in the sky. It was beautiful.

I felt calm during the moments I gazed at it. It was almost as if it were watching over all of us.

I don’t have a picture, because no picture would have done it justice.

Sometimes I wish I were like the boy in Lois Lowry’s The Giver. I wish I could transfer memories to others, like this one for example. I wish I could give you the experience I had. The cool feel of the ocean’s wind, the water and sand against my feet, the awe of seeing the phoenix in the sky. Awe is not enough to describe it. I felt beauty and I felt beautiful looking up into the sky. As though me and the sky were one, connected by all the space between us. As if there was no space between us. Just me being caressed by the sky. Relief. Calm. Peace.

It was nice to feel at peace, even if for a few minutes. Peace is something I’ve been searching a lot for recently.

Searching: A Confession

I left the Catholic church when I was a senior in high school. I felt alone and empty, and having battled depression and hallucinations (although, at the time I didnt know I was hallucinating) since I was about 14, I was tired of the endless battle of one step forward, three steps back. I gave up on God and religion.

I remember driving home one day in October I think, crying in the driver's seat because I was so tired of feeling defeated. I finally just admitted that I'd had enough and cut off my struggling relationship with God.

I fell into a lifestyle that was still spiritual, but not religious. Once I went to college, I stopped going to Church. I still held the basic values I had grown up with (you know the ones: be kind always, life begins at conception, etc.), but I dropped all of my religious attributes. 

I pretended for a long time that the emptiness I felt was just me adjusting to living a life without God.

But almost four years later I still feel empty.

My situation is complicated by the fact that I hallucinate, which I found out my first semester of college at the age of 18. I don't always know what's real and what's not, so I can't rely on physical feelings of "God is in the room" because I feel that regularly when I hallucinate and I have to believe that that feeling isn't real, for my safety and sanity.

When I was Catholic, I relied a lot on the physical aspect of "I feel Jesus's presence in the Eucharist" or in Confession or Adoration or just prayer.

As someone that hallucinates, I can't rely on that anymore.

As a Catholic, I heard God speak to me on several occasions. I can't rely on that anymore either because it could very well just be a hallucination.

One of the reasons I like going home to see my family is that I like going to Mass. When I first left the church, I hated it. I felt trapped and suffocated. But now, I desperately miss it. Mass brings this sense of calm and quiet relief. This feeling like I'm home. I want to go back to the church. But I don't know how. I feel utterly lost.

I'm still searching for a way to balance a life with God with my mental illness. This doesn't even get into some of my opinions that are against Catholic teachings that I would also have to come to terms with.

I'm still searching for a cure to the emptiness inside me. Maybe one day I'll find it. I hope one day I'll find it.

But for now, I'm still searching.

Poetry Attempt

May 16, 2017

"The plants are dying.
So next time it rains, let's collect some water in a bucket.
The sink is too tired.
The bathtub too sad.
It rains. It weeps. I collect tears in a bucket.
I drizzle salt water rain over some succulents.
Not at first, but soon they wither.
I guess you can't cure sadness with sadness."

Sometimes Something, Sometimes Nothing--A Welcome

I wanted a place to write. Not to rant (although I might sometimes), not to spill my guts and feelings all over the floor (that's what tumblr is for). A place to write. A place to think. A place to express some of the struggles and stigmas and difficult experiences that I go through.

I stumbled upon my blog from my early teens. I thought about continuing that one, but that is a former me. That was five years ago. I am a different person now. Many of my thoughts have changed. The way I see the world is very much different.

So, I started over.

I remember my fifteen year old self writing a lot about metaphors in relation to God. I don't believe in God anymore (I'll probably write about why later on), but I still look for life lessons in the little things. I've struggled with that a lot, to be utterly honest with you, because without God as a foundation I'm not sure how to find the meaning in the little things anymore.

But there is meaning. And I am going to find it.