You don’t see “The coffee made me do it,” you see “The ff (fortissimo) made me do it.”
Mom: Grandma said you’re independent. The doctor said you’re strong-willed. I guess you’re not.
Mom said this yesterday while we were talking about the problems I have with my parents. And I swear to you, God keeps screaming in my head “DO. NOT. LISTEN. TO. HER.”
I’ve been working on various novels lately, and to get ready for one of them, I’ve been reading through my old journals from high school and my first year of college.
Who I was then was a wreck. Walking wreck. I was suicidal a couple of times, but I didn’t write about it until my second year of college. I was incredibly depressed. It’s obvious to me. Other people would probably just say I was a whiny brat, but I can really tell how messed up I was from ages 15 to 19.
If you’re reading this, and you know what it’s like to be a walking mess, I promise you: it gets better. It WILL get better. I promise. Don’t give up. Don’t try to end it all. I swear it gets better. Just keep pressing on. Demand for it to get better. It will.
I went on my first run since…before finals? I haven’t run consistently since March. It’s been bothering me, but I’m now back to a place where I can. I got the Nike+ GPS app on the iPod Touch I bought from my sister. I was going to get some time in, was just waiting for it to cool off (it never did. Hello 6am runs).
Finally, I got to where I couldn’t wait anymore and took off. I ran around two local schools, just got one lap around the both of them. I tried to do too much for a start, which I am currently paying for.
Anyways, I had to slow down as I got near towards one of the basketball courts at the schools. And once I could see the cars parked near it, I mentally froze. The ex-boyfriend used to play basketball there. Correction, we used to play basketball there. And I thought I saw his truck.
And for once, instead of having a complete shutdown, I decided I wasn’t going to be afraid anymore. I picked my pace back up. I was going to run past, not say a word. In that moment, I was strong and beautiful, and nothing could bring me down.
Once I got closer, I realized my eyes were playing tricks on me (I didn’t have my glasses on, and my distance sight sucks). He wasn’t there.
But still, I had a mental battle during that run: let fear win or press on regardless of who was around. And today, I won. Take that, fear. Take. That.
Been sitting and thinking recently. I’m done with college. I don’t really have to answer to anyone (except God, but in my head, that’s understood). So, I could theoretically be whoever I want to be.
So, in all honesty, I’ve been trying to figure out who I want to be. Specifically, if I took away the influence of my family and the people around me, who am I? In my hometown, I’m known as my father’s daughter, or the saxophone girl, and I can’t begin to explain how over it I am.
So, who am I?
From today, I’ve decided I am:
a prayer warrior
a piano player
truly feminine, as God designed it, not as society has designed it
There’s more. There will be so much more to me than this. I can remember my friends asking why don’t I do what I want to do. To be honest: I didn’t know I could. Do what you want to do? That’s selfish, right?
I don’t think it is anymore.
I use tumblr for my daily dose of inspiration. I really do. I have “inspiration” and “happy” as tagged searches in my sidebar (as well as Doctor Who, but I’m a nerd).
The real world tells me I’m so messed up. I’m twenty-three, recent college graduate without a job, stuck at home with my parents who haven’t quite grasped the fact I can indeed cook and clean on my own without them griping about how I’m doing it wrong. My parents are emotionally abusive, and they don’t realize it. I’m a survivor of a sexually abusive relationship. I’ve come back from severe depression where I nearly committed suicide and lived to tell the tale.
I’m codependent (read: extremely passive and a people-pleaser). I’m trying to fight it, break out on my own, do things for me, but even my some of my closest friends who know my mindset are trying to pressure me back into things I know God’s told me not to do.
But I get on here, and people are awesome. I read on a daily basis that I’m beautiful. I deserve better than the guys who make me cry a lot. I should be who I want to be, because trying to be like everyone else is killing me. There is only one me, so I should be me, ‘cause no one else can be me. I should chase my dreams, period. Magic is real. It’s possible to be happy. Things can be different. There is hope.
There is always hope, guys. Don’t ever think there isn’t. Don’t lose it.
I been doing some praying lately, about things in my past, and I feel like sharing. PAY ATTENTION, ‘cause this could help you.
We all have that one moment that defines who we are now. Some are good, some are bad. Mine is a handjob I was pressured into giving nearly five years ago now. I feel like it defines me because that action broke me. I was never the same.
Now listen really closely. Catch this. You might miss this:
That moment doesn’t have to define you anymore.
You hear that? If it’s bad, like mine is to me, you do not have to let that define you anymore. I’ve let a handjob define who I am for five years.
Your past doesn’t have to define you anymore. Yes, it happened. It is your choice how to respond to it. For five years, I’ve gone into hiding, not looking people in the face because I was afraid and ashamed who I’d become. A minister’s daughter shouldn’t do something like that.
Do not let your moment of failure, of weakness, of giving in define you anymore.
Stand up to your past. Tell it who’s boss. You’re the boss. Be the boss.