You're Not Alone

I think we are in the time in life where we all start to find our passions. We start to correlate things that appear in our lives, with things we want to do with our lives. 

This year has been one of discovery for me. It has been a year that has taken a mask off my eyes to things that are all around me, and things I want to do about them.

I have discovered that so many people in our world are victims of Sexual Abuse. This has many forms, many elements, and many outcomes. The biggest aspect I have discovered about what the victims experience is guilt. This leaves me speechless. Guilt is the last of the emotions that a victim should have to feel. In so many cases, perpetrators leave victims with the burden of guilt that they should be feeling. So often, victims do not speak of their struggles. Our society is that of a Victim Blaming one. Even though 1 out of 3 girls, and 1 out of 5 boys are victims of this - we send messages that they should be ashamed of what has happened to them. Those are just statistics. You are more than a number. You have a story to tell, one that deserves to be heard. But, this number should bring peace to your shame of being "alone". You are so far from alone. Some of you reading this have experienced such violence. And some of you have probably never told anyone. There is many reasons for this; fear of destroying a family, fear of appearing "broken", fear that no one will see past it, fear of the perpetrator...

There is no reason you should have to do this alone.

While this is something I have never personally experienced, this is something that affects me. This is something people I love have experienced. This is something you have experienced. 

This is important. 

I hope, more than anything, that anyone dealing with such pain can know that people can be your greatest healing. Telling can be liberating. Saying it out loud can start your healing. And most of all, you don't need to do this alone. Not for one more second, minute, hour, day, or year. 

"Live your life from your heart. Share from your heart. And your story will touch and heal people's souls." - Melody Beattie

Whuddup

It's so weird how quickly your whole life can change.

A year ago, I was living in a different city. I was not feeling like myself, and I was confused as to why. I was exactly where I thought I wanted to be. I always planned it out, and I was there. What's the deal? Well, to spare you of the details (which are in the post below from months ago) it turned out that the place I was for 18 years of my life, that I was so ready to be away from, was the place the world decided I needed to invest in some more.

So I here I am. 

In Spokane.

Making coffee.

Getting an edu-ma-cation.

.

.

Speaking of edu-ma-cation, I am currently in a really awesome Sociology class. It is Sociology of Gender. It is the impacts on gender by society, and the impacts on society by gender. 

Did that make sense? No? Try reading the sentence again........... Yeah? Good.

We have been talking about how gender isn't always as black and white as we think it is. It isn't just boy an girl. Not every boy likes dirt bikes and baseball, and not every girl likes pink and having tea parties. Ever since starting this class I have started noticing how truly gendered our society is. 

About a week ago, when going through the McDonalds drive thru to get my medicine (an oreo McFlurry while PMSing) I heard the person in front of me ordering. She got a Grilled Chicken Snack Wrap, two medium Fries, and a Happy Meal. They then asked if the Happy Meal was for a girl or a boy. 

NOW HOLD UP.

This was what resulted in disappointment for me as a child.

Yes, I am a girl. The happy meal was for 7 year old GIRL me. But I didn't want to barbie. Or the doll comb. Or the stupid little pony thing that you could draw on. I didn't want that. The boys got all the cool toys. The tiny little hand-held etcha-sketch, the Inspector Gadget spy tools... I have very clear memories of me whispering to my mom from the back seat to tell them I was a boy, and I would hide when we got to the window. Why should I have to do that? Why can't I flaunt my 2 X chromosomes while retrieving my "boy" Happy Meal?

Why don't they ask "Which kind of toy would you like for that? Inspector Gadget or Dumb-ass Pony?"

Okay... I altered that. Just pony. Pretend I stopped at 'Pony'.

Now, yes. This is from the girl who wore her boy cousin hand-me-downs as a kid, and threatened her mom with curse words when she was going to be sent to her room. But the point is that it's sad that we have forced people to stay in their little "gender boxes" so much, that we can't even enjoy a Happy Meal like we'd like to.

So... the moral of this post is you like what you like and I like you for that.

Peace out, nerds.

Well, there's this.

There's this little thing called Anxiety that really sucks the life out of you.

Have you heard of it?

I am sure.

Have you experienced it?

There's a good chance.

When I was young, there was my sister and then there was me. We were very similar. We liked the same music, we took part in the same activities, we had a lot of friends, we were friendly, people opened up to us, and we had similar mannerisms. The differences were small, but obvious.

Our mom has always used the same example when describing the differences in our personalities. "If we were by a body of water, and I told the girls not to go in it, Andie would run 10 feet away and stay there, while Ali would dip her toes in it. Not quite breaking the rules, but stretching them." And while I have fought that my whole life, it's damn true. That's how we've always been. I believe part of that was Andie's anxious tendencies, and my attitude of always being carefree everything.  I am still this way, and Andie is also pretty go-with-the-flow. But, yes... our whole lives she has been more visibly anxious than I have been, and that caused me to believe that once her anxiety issues started forming in a bad way, I was in the clear of this horrible problem. 

WRONG-O.

Lately I have been hit by anxiety in a horrific way. The kind that makes you feel like you're constantly out of control of yourself, and feeling like you have to walk on egg-shells because any small stress could you lead you to a panic you can't recover from. Then I realized, yes, Andie has been anxious and I have witnessed her struggling with this. But my tendencies of dealing with stress my whole life is to avoid at all costs anything that freaks me out. Anxious. Is that the dumbest thing you've ever heard? Maybe. It makes zero sense. I don't even know why I have done that, but that has been one of the strong consistencies in my life. If I am worried about that homework assignment, I am going to wait to do it until 2:00 am before it's due. But don't be fooled, I am going to think about how stressed I am about it for the whole night - while choosing to do nothing about it. If I feel like I am struggling but I don't want to be, I am going to go ahead and not tell anyone until it comes out in the form of a panic attack while talking to your mom at midnight one night. So yes, I have always even anxious. But mine was different than Andie's, and that made me think I just didn't struggle from it. 

There is one memory in particular that I think about now, and realize how truly anxious I have always been. In elementary school, it was common for girls to be dramatic and want to cause small and meaningless fights with their friends. However, my anxious self didn't like that. Not one bit. My 3rd grade self used to ride the bus to school with a pit in my stomach actually afraid of drama at school. I used to secretly wish recess would get cancelled. And when it wouldn't, I sometimes found it more enjoyable to sit by my classroom door, knowing that I was steering clear of any problem going on on the playground. I think about this now, and I want to hug my little 3rd grade self and tell her that she will be okay. And that drama won't ruin her life. But she probably wouldn't have believed me. Because for a while she let it. Sundays were her least favorite days, and her home was her sanctuary. These patterns definitely stopped once I was out of elementary school, and I loved being social and having lots of friends. In fact, I was hardly home on weekends. If I wasn't busy, I wanted to make plans. And I think this was to spite my old self. I was happy, I was fine, and I wanted to prove that to me. But of course, I was anxious about new things. My anxiety chose school as my biggest enemy. I was nervous about getting poor grades, and that caused me to sit and stress and stew and feel helpless instead of working to make that not be the case. I got fine grades. But in 7th grade I got straight-A's. The time in my life when I was excited to start a new from my elementary school slump (oh that's so sad), and focus only on school. Stay off the radar with everyone. That's all I wanted. I almost wanted to go unnoticed by people, because that would mean I would never be an issue or have to deal with any issues. Then I made friends. Beautiful, wonderful, life-changing friends. The same ones I call when I need to cry. The same ones who call me when they need the same. The ones I feel whole when I am with, and proudest to be associated with. But of course, that left me avoiding my stresses. Which seemed easy to do, but now I think "Wait, Ali... you were stressed about things so you chose to not do it? That's how you dealt with it?" Yep, mhm... that's it. Nailed it. This has been repeated throughout my life. I wanted to be in Canterbury Belles more than anything. I was worried I wouldn't get in, so I didn't tryout my freshman year. Then last minute, I reeeeeally wanted to, so I prepared one day in advance. Yes, one day. And of course I didn't get in, because you don't learn a whole song and nail it in one day. So one year later, I started early. Really early. And I got in. Weird how that works huh?

I have two wonderful parents who should win the Nobel Peace Prize. I say this because there was a good few years in my life that my anxiety chose them as my worst enemies. Because they knew I was struggling, and they knew I wouldn't talk about it. So they tried to do so for me. But my anxiety didn't like that, because someone was trying to stop it, and Lord knows that wasn't going to make it happy. So during those conversations I was silent. Yes, I knew I should be doing more homework, and I knew that I should face those things that worried me. But my parents didn't understand that it wasn't a lack of motivation, it was a lack of strength to do so. And how should they have known? I didn't tell them! My anxiety didn't tell them! And no one else knew. Not one person. That includes boyfriends, best friends, trusted teachers, anyone... But they continued to try and help me. Even when I pushed away as hard as I could. That goes back to my sassy personality. If they were upsetting me, I wasn't going to try super hard to hide that. I actually wouldn't really try one bit. And while they were mad in the moment, I think that's one thing they grin about now. They laugh at my "spit-fire" ways of living, and that's even more remarkable. A lot of my sassy, spit-fire habits were aimed at them. But they still have grown a love for it. Whoa.

I have just recently come to terms with the fact that this is what I am experiencing. 

It's not cool. Or fun. Or easy. 

But it sure is real. 

Yes, I am talking to you who doesn't understand why you can't just figure shit out. 

It is real.

Posters

The art of passive-aggressive Facebook status' and posts.

Yes, it's an art.

It requires several skills and qualities that some do not possess.

1. You must care very little about this person you refer to, and very much about yourself.
2. You must not mind that nice people see you as a cotton-headed-ninny-muggins.
3. You must be prepared to endure criticism from those who recognize the childish actions you take  part in.
4. You must be snippy, bold, and blunt.
5. Your tone must remain angry, sarcastic, and forceful.

But finally, it must make you feel refreshed and all powerful, and will FOR SURE fix any problem you're having.

Okay, BYE passive-aggressive Facebookers.

There's too many of you going around.

Crows

If school were an animal, it would be a crow.

Casual.

Common.

Popular.

Widespread.

And stupid.

Just dumb.

Yes, I know. School has lots of cool elements. I have done most of my intellectual learning at school, and created skills that I will use for a lifetime. It has a purpose. Like I'm sure Crows do, but sometimes its quite hard to distinguish that purpose.

I've come to the conclusion over the years that Crows are something none of us especially want around, but we have just grown used to the fact that they are, and will continue to be. They appear fairly harmless but have capabilities to pluck out eyes, memorize faces, and destroy their predators. Once you're around them you become fairly uneasy. It's a distraction from things that make you happy. You can't remain fully invested in this fun activity because in the back of your mind you're thinking "that damn Crow...". What's its purpose?! Why don't we question their intent a little more? And why do we assume that everything it does is right, just because that's what it's doing? Nah, it's a bird. Birds do this. Noooo... they shouldn't be allowed to poop on our cars just because other birds have been known to do so. We should question these actions when we know they aren't right. 

Then again, they are birds. And we can't really question them.

That's where the difference lies between School and Crows.

Sure, we still don't especially want it around.

Yes, we are used to the fact that it is, and will continue to be.

Of course, they appear harmless, but can RUIN us.

They do interrupt fun things when we remember we have to attend class or study.

We don't question the system quite enough.

And we assume that just because they have means of authority, everything they do is acceptable.

But...

We could ask them why.

And point out that sometimes their teaching methods are more preaching methods.

Now don't get me wrong - regardless of my teenage rant about wanting to live my life and get out into the world, I do respect some parts of the schooling systems I have attended. One of which my own Father contributes to, in a very respectable manner. But that same Father of mine taught me that questioning things is healthy, and without doing so we will never learn. We need to put this in practice. Look at problems, even solutions, and question them. Not everything is black and white, and 2 + 2. Our job is to find color.

Oh crap...

I just realized why we go to school.

The 1's

Every Tuesday here in Bellingham, we have a little thing called The Inn that I like to go to.

It's like church on a Tuesday, aimed specifically to appeal to college aged individuals. 

I haven't attended every week - but the weeks that I do go, it always feels like the topic was decided because they knew I was coming.

Last week, we talked about friends.

       The pastor, John, spoke about how hard it is to make new friends when you already have so many that you feel comfortable and safe with. He said that sometimes going in to college and surrounding yourself with people can be the loneliest feeling. I looked around the room and saw tears in some peoples eyes, and felt them forming in my own. He touched on how a lot of times, we try to force friendships with people to accommodate for the ones that we are no longer around. He said that we try to make someone the character substitute for someone else in our lives; someone who is comfortable and safe. After a while he put a slide up on the projector. It was a giant circle. Within this circle were 4 more circles. Split into their own categories; 4-3-2-1. The circle entitled "4" was the friends that say "hey how are you?" in passing, and are already gone by the time we respond. The ones that receive a curtsy smile, or invitations to dinner when you don't want to sit alone, maybe. The 3's are a little more in depth. The ones who you know a little bit about, can share some laughs, and can have lots of superficial conversations about dreamy boys or expensive makeup products. The 2's are the people you hang out with often. The ones that know most of your stories, and you feel comfortable talking to about things that bother you or excite you. But the 1's... the 1's are the people that you go to when you "just need someone to weep with". John continued to say that we will only ever have a few of these in our lives. 

I have been so lucky with my 1's.

After my day of not feeling well, being anxious to go home, and wanting nothing but chocolate...

I spoke to one of my 1's on the phone.

My day is better.

If you're feeling anything less than perfect today, I advise calling a 1.

And if you do feel perfect, call them anyway. They are a big reason why things are well in your world.

Two X Chromosomes

Wanna know why being a girl super sucks sometimes?

Because you just cry for no reason.

Way too much.

Like... stop, why?

But then you have a reason to cry.

Because he made you mad.

And that puppy was cute... I want a puppy.

I ran out of coffee creamer, why don't they sell it on campus? Their all so dumb.

I have to wake up early and I can't remember if I had homework.

My nail polish just chipped and I seriously painted them 3 hours ago.

Why isn't it Summer? Winter - you're dismissed. 

I think that girl was driving and crying, no... :(

Remember my imaginary friend "Kenna"?

I miss my mom and her smell of Nordstrom.

I just got soap in my eyes.

I will never be Norah Jones.

This dorm room is smaller than a Saltines box.

Yeah... actually I think being a girl might be good. Because we come up with lots of reasons why it's justifiable to cry when you just feel like it's necessary.