Finding My Fire

In the throes of trying to make everyone in my life happy, I not only failed, but I also lost the very essence of what made me me. I used to be a quirky, loud, upbeat, and outspoken person. I said whatever was on my mind whether it was through words or facial expressions. I drove with my windows down and music up while singing at the top of my lungs. I wasn’t ashamed to speak my mind or do things my own way. I would always be lost in a book no matter where I was. I was different, but I was proud.

Then people decided to criticize who I was, alter my personality, and shame me. It ranged from serious to simple, but all of it affected me the same. I could see their judgement on their faces and hear it in their voices. So little by little I would just agree with what they said or apologize for doing stuff my way and eventually there was none of me left. Because of this I became confused; I didn’t know what to do or say. I became self-conscious; I tried to pinpoint everything about me someone did or could have a problem with. I became sad; I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t just be accepted as is.

Through months of depression, of hours spent in my closet, of crying myself to sleep, I thought I was lost for good, but God provided me with one person who has the most understanding and patient spirit and who did accept me as is. Little by little, I started feeling more and more comfortable around him and letting him see little glimpses of who I really am and what I really think. He would encourage me to outwardly be that version of myself, because there was nothing wrong with it. Although I still have fear that I will end up doing something that makes him run, but so far he has only been a blessing!

I am no longer going to let anyone or anything alter who I am. I am an outspoken, honest, and blunt person; sorry not sorry if that bothers you. I am a loud, tone-deaf, colorful person; sorry not sorry if that bothers you. I am a bookworm, binge-watcher, and country music lover; sorry not sorry if that bothers you. I will not apologize for or change myself. If you have a problem with who I am or if what I do bothers you, then keep on moving, because this is me and that is how it is going to be.

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Show Review: Graceland

Graceland revolves around a beach house in Los Angeles that housed 6 agents: 4 FBI, 1 DEA, and 1 Customs. This house was their safe haven that they could return to after working in deep cover operations in order to bust drug cartels, gangs, and money launderers. It sounds like a good idea, but as the show unfolds you see that going under has its consequences.

The agents living in the house are the main characters. Mike- a fresh faced FBI agent straight out of Quantico is stationed in LA in order to spy on another agent. Paul- an old time field agent and tough guy who the bureau thinks is up to something. Charlie- a badass female agent who can’t give up once she sets her mind on a case. Johnny- a skinny hispanic agent who is all heart and normally runs tactical. Paige- the DEA agent who has a lot of passion and understanding for those around her. And Dale- a Customs agent who likes to do his own thing unless a favor is asked of him.

After finishing the show, I noticed that each season revolves around one big case from episode one until the last. Little cases take place in between, but they all add up to one crazy finale! Season one focus on an arms dealer and a ghost drug dealer. Season two a scary Mexican cartel and a ring of human trafficking. Season three a mob like/gang like European family.

Between all the busting bad guys and tough calls, there is also romance and drama. I found it to be very entertaining and it has an interesting twist for a show about cops. Every episode is full of surprises that keep you on the edge of your seat. Sadly, it was cancelled after three seasons, but you can find those seasons on Netflix. I suggest checking it out if you are into creative cop dramas.

Growing Up

Why do we want to grow up so fast? Even as children we long to be just a year older. We think it has to be better than where we are at. We want to be able to make our own choices and do whatever we want. What we don’t realize is that with age comes responsibility.

Now I am not against responsibility. I have always felt I am quite the responsible person, but in the last few weeks I have really been struggling. The realization that in May, I will be a college graduate and “officially” an adult. I will be expected to get a job, live on my own, pay my bills, afford my lifestyle; and let me tell you: this is a scary thought.

I am one of the lucky ones who has not had to put myself through college thanks to my parents, grandparents, and scholarships that I have been fortunate enough to receive. I will have to pay back some debt, but I was encouraged to focus on school. Because of that for the past four years, I have not had to worry about school, rent, insurance, phone bill…and I am starting to really freak out that in less than a year from now I have to figure out how to pay for all of that.

I have been slowly, but surely teaching myself to budget, but failing miserably. I got a new job back in May that I thought was going to help me save up money over the summer, but has been giving me less and less hours, so my paychecks aren’t really cutting it. I have these envelopes that I split my checks into: groceries, gas, rent, entertainment, and a few others, but there doesn’t seem to be enough money to split and actually be useful. It is a rude awakening figuring out how much stuff actually costs and how all of that adds up. I have been looking for a second job; applied to almost 15 places in the past couple weeks and have heard nothing back. I have just been extremely discouraged lately.

Failure. Loser. Pathetic. These are the words that have started to float around in my mind. I had never really feared the future until now. I used to think I would make a great older person, because of how responsible I was, but now I am thinking otherwise. I am scared to finally be out in the real world, because I have no doubt it is going to make a mess of me.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
-Philippians 4:6-7

My Big Bro

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Meet my big brother. His name is Dalton. Today is his 23rd birthday.

Dalton and I are 18 months apart. A lot of people feel that when kids are close in age, they will be close in general. In our case, these people could not be more wrong. My mother claims we were the bestest friends as little kiddos, but once we started school all that changed.

Besides having different favorite things, he and I just went in different directions. I took the path of education: I loved everything about school; learning, friends, clubs, advancement. Dalton on the other hand just wanted to make it to the end of the day (mainly through sleeping lol!). I chose to go to college and he chose to get a full-time job. I am into reading, writing, scrapbooking…. he is into cars, mudding, and alcohol.

For a while my brother and I did not get along. We lived in the same house, but it was as if we didn’t. There were weeks where we wouldn’t see or speak to each other at all. We had just changed so much and I felt that I didn’t like or understand the person he was becoming. I was in a weird place myself, but I mostly kept it to myself, where he likes to publicize how he feels. If you were around last year, you may remember my post about my brother being an ass. I am not proud of that post, but I am all about honesty and he really scared me that night.

I am happy to say that Dalton and I have come a long way in our relationship. I am not going to lie, we are still not best friends or anything, but we can [normally] get through dinner without a fight. We are still headed in different directions, but I hope we will both continue to grow together instead of apart.

Love is patient.
-1 Corinthians 13:4

Little Attacks

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I deal with depression. It is not a one and done thing. It cannot be cured.

For almost a whole year it was really bad. A few weeks I would cry myself to sleep every night and then there were a few weeks that would be [almost] good where I would smile or give a laugh. I went to counseling for two months, but didn’t feel that changed much. There were a few times I thought it had reached its peak only to figure out another bad day was just around the corner. During those really bad weeks, I spent a lot of time in my closet. I found comfort there. But it was false comfort; it only lasted for a moment and then it was gone.

Through lots of looking inward, I realized that my depression stemmed from fear of not being good enough and not being accepted. During this time, I developed anxiety and so many new insecurities. There were days I didn’t even want to leave my room from fear of failure and the anxiety of people watching and judging me.

I knew I came off as weird, a little stand-offish, judgmental, and smart, but I just wished that someone could see me as I was: struggling, hurting, spiraling. Not many people wanted to be around me once I started taking a turn for the worst. It was understandable, but it didn’t hurt any less. I felt so alone. I had shoved my religion to the wind and literally felt I had nowhere to turn.

October was when things started to look up. Someone reached out. I found a Bible study, a church, friends, a support system. It was exactly what I needed. Eventually, I stopped having such depressing thoughts. November and December were some of the best months I can remember. I was genuinely happy and excited. I hadn’t felt that in so long and it was long awaited! It wasn’t perfect, but the good days were really good!

The truth, though, is that it doesn’t take much to crack the shell you have been so delicately gluing back together. I thought the next year was going to be the best, but then came my first breakup which rocked me to the core and brought back so much of the insecurities that I thought I had shaken. But this time when I had my meltdowns, I had people there for me. People wanting to build me up and keep me company. This time I didn’t feel so alone.

Well now I am dating one of those people and he makes me so incredibly happy (most of the time). I am so grateful for his patience and silliness, but sometimes those little unwanted thoughts seep back into my ears and I freak out over little things. It happened last night. We had spent basically the better half of the day together: napping, lunch, errands, The Secret Life of Pets; but after the movie he wanted to go home. This was totally normal, of course he is going to go home, but after I dropped him off and got back on the road, I started tearing up and by the time I got to my room, I was sobbing. I had these thoughts that he was getting tired of me and that I exhausted him and that he wanted a break. I told myself that everyone feels this way eventually and it was a miracle he had lasted five months. I sat in my closet and cried. I ignored the text from him and later sent him this overly melodramatic text expressing how much I got it and he responded informing me about how much I didn’t get it.

For some amazing reason, he never gives up on me and I never scare him off. It is incredible how much he understands my insecurities and accepts me for them. Needless to say, the rest of the night went fine and all those thoughts have gone away. But those little attacks can be so scary and so frightening for a person “recovering”, more like fending off, depression.

And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.
-Ephesians 2:22