High School, some say that it may be the greatest 4 years of your life behind college (depending on who you ask). Those years could be spent making lifelong friends, playing sports and getting good grades. Taking field trips to places you’ve never been to or maybe you have a million times already and you just wanted a day off from classes. Going to prom with that girl/guy you always wanted to take and dancing the night away. Then closing out those 4 years being handed your diploma and heading off to college. For some, these are memories they’ll never forget. For me, are memories I wish I had.
The “coming of age years” also known as “The awkward 7th-9th grade, my mom still buys my clothes and the yearbook photos we don’t discuss years” offered me a bit more of a challenge than what I’d preferred. A perfect culmination of a terrible home life, ADD, ADHD and Clinical Depression. I was in “special” classes to help people like me who couldn’t function in normal classrooms to assist my lack of self-control through most of the 7th and 8th grade. For me, it was embracing to be seen in these classes and get laughed because I wasn’t one of the “normal” kids which took its toll. I didn’t fit in with anyone well, I was always just kind of there. This became a theme for a large portion of my life but I’ll explain that a little later. Some days I would lash out at others out of anger because of my struggles. My actions didn’t help my effort to make friends if anything it diminished it. I somehow managed to push through those 2 years with good grades which were part of my plan to start over. My father went to a catholic high school and I wanted to go there not only to further my education but use to restart my life from square one. So, with my parents saying yes and me passing my entrance exam I set myself up to go to a new school. I was beyond excited to start over and meet new people and make new friends but if only I knew the disaster that would ensue following this. Freshman year started off great for the first 3 months or so. I was on the football team and starting both ways, I thought I had made a bunch of new friends and life was great. However, it came to a screeching halt when something that I never encountered before jumped right in front of me. Depression. In classic high school fashion, I tried to be “cool” acting differently like all the “popular kids”. I thought it was working and I was finally fitting in until I heard my so called “friends” making fun of me because of how hard I was trying to fit in. My world came crashing down on me all over again and I was right back to where I started except I went into a spiraling depression. Each day was worse than the next, I got picked on for being me and dealing with things I couldn’t control. I remember vividly one of my worst days was when I was in such a terrible state to where in gym class I sat down in the middle of the floor, buried my head in the palms of my hands and cried. I wouldn’t move for anyone, people tried to comfort me, the principle and guidance counselor were then brought in and I shut them out. They eventually let me be but about 20 minutes later I heard my mom walking in and told me I was going home. I stood up and walked out through a what seemed like such a crowded room of faces, some confused, some smiling and laughing and others just not caring. After that episode, I was brought to therapy and diagnosed with clinical depression. I’d attend therapy 2 times a week which helped me more than I knew at the time and looking back at it now I’m incredibly thankful for it. I was given medication to help combat my depression which only further worsened my condition. One side effect of this medicine was that it ruined my appetite. There were stretches of days where I hadn’t had anything to eat and became very thin. People were concerned and would always ask me why I’d never eat at lunch and I’d just tell them “I wasn’t Hungary or I had a big breakfast.” While this was happening, my grades were slipping fast I was failing 2 classes and on the verge of 2 more. This got me taken off the wrestling team because I didn’t meet academic requirements. This meant at home I’d be lashed out at by my parents. My dad would always bring up how I tarnished his name and made him an embarrassed. We’d argue and scream and yell. Sometimes it got physical where sometimes I’d get kicked, punched, slapped and shoved. Having such a poor relationship with my dad made growing up exceptionally hard. I had better relationships with my friend’s fathers than I did with my own and that crushed me on the inside. All I’ve wanted for most of my life was a dad I could go to football games with, turn to for advice on girls and growing up as a guy or just having someone to turn to in my time of need. I had no one to turn to at this point and I felt even more lost and felt unwelcome everywhere I went. I just wanted this year from hell to end and was trying to figure out how I could figure out how I could fix this but that day wouldn’t come. I found out on the last day of school from the principle and my guidance counselor that due to my poor academic performance and failing 3 classes that I was not welcome back next year. They also told me I’d be held back if I didn’t go to summer school for math and Italian. This began the summer of pain and suffering. I was stuck in summer school from June till the end of July but I passed thankfully. This just left the question of where I’d go to school. I couldn’t go back to public school where I was hated so I had to hope by some miracle another catholic school would take me. Sophomore Year, a new school and one more chance. I found myself once again in a new school but with familiar faces. Friends from the past who I have not seen in years welcomed me back with open arms. It was a comforting feeling that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. In this new-found confidence, I managed to get great grades all through the year. Sophomore year was a small success and got me back on my feet and in a better place. This did come without its bumps in the road, however. My demons still lingered in the background causing depression to rear its ugly head once again. Junior year came with the harsh reality that almost all my friends were seniors and they’d be leaving me without any friends because I never took the initiative to make friends in my own grade. Knowing this I tried to talk to new people but I was already too late because my grade was incredibly cliquey. If you weren’t in, the beginning, you never will be. This made it hard because I didn’t feel accepted by people and my lack of knowing how to socialize. Yes, I made a friend or 2 along the way but my trust issues made it hard to believe they were really my friends. As my senior year began I felt lost without my friends who had graduated and had to start over and try to get to know my grade better. Some were more accepting than I thought and some were good people. I enjoyed meeting these new people but as the year went on I just felt as if I was just too late. All of these kids were content and were getting ready for college and had their friends set and I was on the outside looking in. It made it seem as if I just made my way through the halls quietly, often alone and wonder what it’d be like to have all these friends and to laugh and smile like everyone else. I was always there but I wasn’t “there” all the time. I felt like I only just existed with not much meaning or purpose. This ruined a lot of my experiences in school because I wasn’t mentally well. I’ll be honest, suicide crossed my mind a few times through those painful years. I felt if I had no purpose than what would be the point of living if I was such a failure. I came close twice on 2 bad nights most of which spent crying out of sight so none could see my pain. Both of which I was too scared to follow through because I feared death as much as continuing living. That was one thing I did relatively well, however. I hid my feelings and my pain from the outside world because I didn’t want anyone to worry or feel sorry. I’d smile and crack jokes on myself and remain overly happy with the biggest fake smile. Sometimes putting that smile on caused as much pain as it hid because I felt I had nobody to share a real smile with. I didn’t feel genuine lying to everyone day in and day out. Even the simplest “Hey, how ya doing?” made me feel worse by knowing no matter what I said was a lie because no one would understand my pain. Little did I know, around the corner would change my life. Most if not every person who knows me will tell you how important music is to me. I’ve played an instrument for most of my life and music acted as my escape from reality. Some say the American dream is dead but me being as stubborn as I am I’m going to chase it anyway. My dream is to become a full-time musician touring the world and playing music and in 2013 that dream started. A friend from school was looking to start a pop punk band and I couldn’t have been more excited. This led to meeting 2 people that would change my life. Music is said to bring people together and for us it did. At my worst, these guys brought me to my best. I can say wholeheartedly that I owe them my life and I wouldn’t be where I am now without them. Being the oldest child and the lack of a strong relationship with my dad my bandmates took on the roles of older brother and borderline father figures. In my times of need, I turned to them for advice or guidance. They taught me how to be social, how to act in public, how to dress and how to function normally again. Those guys are the got me through the rest of high school alive and kept me going because they taught me we all struggle before it gets better. They were my therapist when I felt lost and someone to lean on when I couldn’t walk on my own. It taught me how important having a good support system can be because you can’t do everything alone and you need someone you can fall back on when you need them. You’ll hear for most of your life “family first” but when you build a bond with someone like that I’d dare to call them family. They have become the family I’ve always wanted and make me feel whole again. I love those dudes to death as much as we want to rip each other’s throats out but it just shows we care. I can’t thank them enough for saving me from myself. I am a firm believer that music can change lives. I can vouch because it did so for me in more ways than one. Music brought me not only my bandmates but my best friends who are the main reasons I still walk this earth. The lyrics of the bands that I listen to carried me through my darkest hours and eased my pain knowing that someone else in the word feels just like I do. I’ve been to over 100 concerts in my life and screaming out the lyrics to my favorite songs and letting all that emotion of pent up anger and sadness go in unison with 3,000 other voices is a beautiful thing. You look around in a crowd and see some smiling, some crying because music for some is a release. Through playing music and going to shows I have met truly incredible people with amazing stories to tell. Some of which are now my closest friends. I have so many great memories of shows I’ve played and hanging out with all our friends that go to see us or other bands or going to a diner afterwards in a group of 40-50 people just grab a snack and hang out. This is the reason I play music. I walk on stage with a burden resting on my shoulders then see all the people in the crowd and I know then and there that my life has meaning. I walk off and I leave my pain behind on that stage because I use it to drive my passion to play music. For this reason, I encourage anyone to take a step into their local music scene if you ever feel lost. There are tons of shows that go on every weekend across the state and country so just turning up to one could lead you to meeting a new friend or finding your new favorite band you’d never have heard before. Once you break that social wall down and step into the world, your possibilities are endless. I look to my future one day being able to help others through my music. I want everyone to know that we are all flawed and no one will ever be perfect. It is okay to be different because the day you accept that you are who you are, you will be set free. Music taught me that, I hope one day even if I only helped one person get through a breakup or a rough day, my goal will have been achieved to know that someone somewhere in this world someone overcame their struggles because of me. I hope one day I too may inspire others to chase a dream and to help others. Today I still chase that dream, I hope everyone follows their dream because in life I was taught by a good friend of mine that the day you quit following your dreams is the day you quit on yourself and I will never fail myself again. I look at my past as I have died once but I have been reborn and give another chance to lead the life I have always wanted to live. I’m incredibly thankful for all the friends and family that helped me along the way and I owe them all that I am. I end this with lyrics from a song called “Decay” that carried me through my struggles by the band Counterparts beautifully written by Brendan Murphy. The grave welcomes you with open arms Last light escapes, last breath remains Circling the body Brushing past the skin and bone It cradles you, your holy manger Born into ruin, we feel withdraw Death is your procreator, your predecessor From your decay grows a beautiful garden The stalks caress your failure And the petals bring you closer to eternity Pray for your rebirth Pray for your chance to bloom The heart starts and stops The mind disconnects As flowers, we grace the earth with our presence The tide rises and turns And we simply expire Over-saturated Our lungs fill with the essence of the universe Until we feel the gentle kiss of dawn draw the water from our lungs And we can breathe easy Like night and day We have never met aching for one another We aim for congregation You are my prey You are the martyr The blight takes its toll and our bodies grow black Wilted, we fade away rotted from the root We exchange our stem for legs We blossom into our bodies And the process has been reset Welcome to your new home
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I decided to put this into a poetry format since I love writing in that style. I based this piece upon the limitations and expectations that are laid out for young people, expected to fall into formation with common beliefs and lifestyles. The pressure put on the youth to fir the social expectations sending them into an infinite downward spiral. Magazines portraying stick figured models that every girl should strive to look like. A plastic unattainable mold eliciting self- hate and anguish. The common unfounded beliefs that are hammered into our minds from childhood. To color inside the lines, to follow the yellow brick road set out for us. But how will they know what they can achieve if they never step out the box?
Like a shadow from a long renounced war She walks alone in the dark, quiet and insular. Without a home or place to go She desperately clings to the status quo A constant protocol of set rules and discretions That are hammered into their minds that we must not question A made up covenant that binds us to where they can see us. Feeding false hope and feigned ungrounded trust. But she no longer sits in line with their guaranteed impunity. Behind safe walls and plastic community Made up of prosethetic minds hiding behind A Republic of lies So now she absolves The feigned protection and dissolve. And starts Machiavellian rebellion Against the limitations set for us all. A consul in the land Free of arbitrary command, A countermand of the life they planned Against the limitations and expectations To keep you in formation So we emerge in indignation Recuperating, liberating, and captivating Fighting against everything that was dominating. A new world and righteous uprising Isolation no longer catharsis For the world's blinding darkness So together they stand Recant the made up trance Taking back this wasteland Hand in hand we take the chance And in rage and love Sever this imperial romace My Running Story I have known Caitlin, the creator of this blog, for about three years now. We were teammates on our high school’s XC team and track team and were and still are very close friends today. While I didn’t know of the larger struggle she faced when she went away to college until now I was present for her iron deficiency. I watched her struggle with it and then overcome it. Although it was great to see her do this I didn’t think much of it until it happened to me. The summer going into my sophomore year of high school I was doing extremely well in my xc training. I felt confident that I was going to have a great season ahead of me and all I could think about was winning a county title and dropping super-fast times. In mid-August I went to xc camp where for 5 days I did some really hard, but great training. I handled it well, but when I got back home and went to practice I felt very fatigued. At first I just thought that it was due to a hard week at camp and that things would improve. In my first race of the season in early September I greatly under performed. I ran slower than I ever had my freshman year. I remember feeling very exhausted and unable to push myself like I normally could. My coach said that it was probably just heaviness from camp. He went easy on me for the next couple weeks at practice and I felt better. In my next race I thought I felt like myself again, but ended up running a minute slower than what was normal for me. At that point my coach suggested that I get my iron levels checked. Up until this point I had been seeing a pediatrician as my doctor, but my mother switched me to the doctor that handled Caitlin’s iron deficiency. I got the blood test done and there it was clear as day. I had extremely low iron. I was relieved to find out that this was the cause of my problems, but also crushed. Iron takes a long time to build back up. I only had about two weeks until the county meet and I thought there was no way I would be able to race well. Every time I ran my legs felt heavy. I could feel them burning and could feel tiny tears in my muscles. It hurt way more than it used too. I wanted to quit. I loved running, but I really thought there was no hope and I was tired and wanted to be done, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I watched Caitlin conquer her iron problem and I wanted to do the same thing. So I did. Every time I toed the line I made the choice to fight with everything in me. I finished the xc season with a couple of pr’s. I didn’t have a great winter season, but Caitlin would always remind me to be patient and that one day I would feel better. She was right. It took a while, but when the Spring season felt came along I felt better and was ready to go. I have an awesome spring that year. I still struggle with my iron. This spring (my junior year of hs) I was feeling very fatigued again. I got a blood test and sure enough my iron dropped because I wasn’t taking as much iron as needed to maintain my levels. However, this time it wasn’t soul crushing to find out. I knew I would be able to handle it and overcome it. Caitlin gave me many pep talks my sophomore year that helped me through a time when I was ready to give up. She taught me how to fight and persevere. She became my role model. It honestly felt like the end of the world when she went away to college last summer, but I knew she was only a phone call away. I also know that no matter where she goes or how far apart we are we will always have a connection. She was able to understand what I was dealing with in a way no one else on my team could. I will always love her and be thankful to her for everything she’s done for me.
There are several myths regarding sexual assault, including “she deserved it” and “males don’t get raped.” I’m not here to address why all those myths are false. There have been several articles about how those myths are false. Yet, people still believe these things. People refuse to learn. So, I am here to tell you a story. Because apparently the best way to make people learn how terrible sexual assault can be is by hearing a story about it. This is mine.
It started at my friend’s high school play. I was fifteen, and he was eighteen. I didn’t know him, but my friend did. She invited him because he also knew someone else in our group. One of the first thing he did after introducing himself was put me in a headlock just to show me he could. At the time, I thought it was funny. We seemed to get along well. The play was fun, and he came with me and a few other people to get frozen yogurt after. I found him funny and charming, so I gave him my phone number. The first time I hung out with him, I went to his house with another guy I knew. However, he left before I did, which left me and my new friend alone. I ended up putting my head on his lap, mostly because I was awkward, tired, and at the time it was really easy for me to develop a crush on people. We were talking when suddenly he started leaning in. I jumped up, my heart pounding. I wasn’t used to this. I only had one boyfriend before, and he wasn’t even a real boyfriend. He was also a douche. Anyway, I went home after that. My mom noticed that I was upset and I told her what happened and that I wasn’t sure what to do. She seemed surprised but told me to go with my gut. At school, my friends seemed happy for me. They told me he liked me, and that I should give it a chance. I figured I might as well. He seemed nice. The next time I saw him was after my sister’s birthday. I asked him on a date and he agreed. I was happy, but there was a little feeling inside me that felt strange. He told me that he once snuck into his last girlfriend’s window as a surprise for her. When I look back now, the signs are all there. A week later, we went on our first date. It was innocent enough. Until we ended up back at his house, alone. My head was on his lap again, mostly because I had no idea what to do. Then he leaned in, and kissed me. I jumped up again, like déjà vu. I felt so unsure. I didn’t like kissing on the first date and it made me nervous. At the same time, it was nice to finally have a boyfriend, and for him to pay attention to me and care for me, unlike my last one. So I let him kiss me, even though I didn’t really want to. The next month is a blur. I really try not to remember what happened. All I know is that I did feel uncomfortable the entire relationship, but I didn’t know what to do about it. He was the first to touch my breasts, but he didn’t ask if that was okay. He stuck his hand down my pants, but he didn’t ask if he could. He saw me flinch, he saw me cringe, he saw my eyes lose my sparkle. But he never asked me why. I left his house always feeling conflicted. My friends have always told me that physical activities feel good and that you’re special when it happens to you. So, I merely thought that this wasn’t wrong. It was my first time being physical, and I had no idea what to think. I just thought that I must be doing something right, that I must be special if he touches me like that. But every time I left him, it made me relieved. Eventually, I got tired of feeling gross when I left his house. I realized that even if being physical with my boyfriend made me “special”, I didn’t want that. It was too much for me, and he was moving too fast. And he never asked. So, on my birthday, I broke up with him. My friends agreed that he was moving too fast and that he was a creep. One of my friends even said, “What happened to you really wasn’t that bad. At least you weren’t raped.” At the time, I agreed. And then I moved on. Until my friend started dating someone who gave me the same anxious feeling as he did. Suddenly, my emotions went haywire. I felt crazy, like I couldn’t control anything I did or said. I talked to a therapist about my feelings, and I told her about him. Slowly, things came to the surface. I realized I hated myself. I realized I hated myself for not speaking up, for not pushing him away, for not saying “No”, for being so naïve, and for letting him do those things to me. It took a long time and a lot of crying before I realized it wasn’t my fault. And if you ask why, then you are the problem. It’s not my fault because he never asked me if I was okay with what he was doing. He never asked me permission to touch me. He took advantage of the fact that I was young, inexperienced, and didn't really know any better. This is around the time where I realized what happened to me was terrible. And despite “not being raped”, my experience with him messed me up, and it took me a very long time to recover. It made me un-trustful, it made my anxiety skyrocket, and it made me hate myself and act like a total dick to my friends. But that was three years ago now. Today, I am strong. I am a survivor. And I will not rest until people know that sexual assault isn’t something to take lightly. It’s a terrible thing that makes you feel broken and used. But let me tell you: you aren’t. You can get better, and you can survive. You aren’t alone. Please, reach out to someone. Get help. Find friends who build you up, not tear you down. And for those of you who believe all the myths, take a second to think why you do. Take a second to think of all the survivors who need years to feel better about themselves and to convince themselves it isn’t their fault. So, think before you shout “They deserved it!” because chances are, the person you’re saying that to already believes that, and you’re furthering their suffering. No one deserves this. And that’s my story. What will yours be? |
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CategoriesSince I first posted my site, I have been getting a stream of texts and emails from people telling me they are going through similar problems of their own and can relate to me. It has made me more aware of just how little you know about people, even those most close to you. I want to invite you to share your stories, so they can be heard. It will not only be helping you by getting it out but it could have the chance to help another who may be going through something similar. You don't have to leave your name, if you want I will make your post anonymous. Just let me know.
Thank you to anyone that decides to share their story. You are helping more than you know. |