The Gateway to Suicide

My Sisters <3

Cutting.  Self-Injury.  Self-Harm. Self-Inflicted Wounds. Mutilation.  Words that people know the meaning of and don’t even slightly understand.  It’s so easy to judge or to look at the kid who sits next to you in class and sneer at the perfectly straight rows of cuts on their arm.  Cutting is something that I am very fearful of at this point in my life.  It is the definite beginning of the darkest moments of my life.  My depression and my cutting started simultaneously.  Other people that I have talked to that have struggled with cutting find that perplexing.  The people I’ve spoken with all talk about turning to self-injury after they had gotten so depressed that they didn’t feel anything anymore and cutting was a way for them to finally feel something.  I on the other hand did it as a method of control.

The very first time I cut was the day after my Grandma Susie’s funeral.  I was in sixth grade and devastated.  I didn’t understand how I could have someone here with me one day and have them gone the next.  It was the first time in my life that I was faced with the fact that I can not control everything.  My world froze up and everything I knew confused me.  All of the sudden, life wasn’t perfect anymore and I would be hurt in life.  Sixth grade and I thought life was going to hurt that much from then on.  I didn’t realize that the way I handled it would be enforcing that life would hurt that much for a few years.  Cutting seemed the make sense to me.  I could control how deep I would make the wound.  I’d control how often I did it.  I’d control who knew and where it was.  I would get to control the whole situation.  That was true.  For the first year I would cut once every few days just to keep my head on straight.  I didn’t tell anybody.  I thought that it was helpful and that it was keeping me happy.  That second year it got more difficult.  From seventh to eighth grade people would notice weirdly geometric circles or lines on my arms and legs.  I tried to make up stories to explain them but it was difficult to keep each mark’s story straight in my head.  After the visible marks had healed I admitted to my parents that I had been cutting but I stopped and I was fine.

That was dumb decision número dos.   I had decided that explaining to my parents that I had been cutting, but that I stopped, would make them less suspicious of the weird scars.  They wouldn’t question if I was still doing it because I had been so sincere about realizing how dumb it was.  Why would I lie to them?

Because I couldn’t stop.

The truth was that I was becoming addicted.  Cutting was taking control of me.  Irony.  The very thing that I turned to in order to gain control was taking control of me.  Sounds kind of like alcohol.  Or drugs.  Because it is like alcohol…or drugs.  People use alcohol so that they can numb themselves and stop worrying about life.  Cutting did that for me.  It centralized all of my feeling into one spot and focused all of my thought on how to make it hurt more, stop the bleeding, and then keep it hidden from people.  Mutilation consumed a lot of my time, energy, and thoughts.  It kept my mind off of how scared I was that I was becoming darker and darker inside.  Depression was spreading from my head through my body.  I began to walk faster because I felt like walking slow would make people notice that I was sad.  Walking fast seemed to hold an air of confidence that I wanted to make people think I held.  I stopped sleeping in general.  Sleeping was for the week…in reality I was having terrible nightmares.  Every night I had a variation of the same dream.  Somebody would die and nobody had told me.  I’d wake up sobbing and shaking until I got so fed up that I just didn’t allow myself to sleep anymore.

The cutting kept getting worse.  I started to line my bras and underwear with pantyliner because I had so many cuts that I couldn’t use band-aids to keep them from getting blood all over my clothes.  Sometimes I’d notice I hadn’t stopped bleeding for three hours and I would start to panic.  My goal in cutting was not to kill myself.  I wanted to do that too but I didn’t associate my cutting with my eventual suicide attempt until after the attempt was made.

I told a few of my friends that I was cutting.  They saw the cuts when they were open and raw.  All of them but one were told that I was trying to stop.  I made them think that I had seen the light and I was never going to do it again.  It was clear that they were concerned about me but they were under the impression that I was strong at that time.  On the contrary I was very weak then.  Aside from lying to my friends about recovering, I also avoided them the best I could.  I did not want to be hanging out with them if it would risk them discovering that I was lying to them.

That was my gateway to suicide; cutting, lying and ditching my friends.  I was still cutting on the night I attempted suicide and have since then.  I tell my parents if I have.  The last time I did was the day after Christmas.  It’s hard to stop something like that.  It is really hard. But I’ve realized something that stops me.  If I want to I just tell myself that my body is telling me I have to.  I don’t like doing what I have to do.  That stops me.  I am too good to do anything like that anymore.

If you are currently cutting, please hear what I’m about to say.  It is not as harmless as you think it is.  Cutting leads to lies, distancing, and possibly to suicide.  It is not okay to continue.  I understand.  I know how hard it is to stop cutting once it has become a habit.  I understand that it is embarrassing and scary to tell anyone.  If you are a teenager, please tell your parents.  As a teenager, I cannot help you beyond advising you to tell somebody.  Please do something for yourself.  You deserve to get better and be healthy.  Don’t be ashamed to see a counselor.  Don’t be ashamed to ask for help.

It’s hard and it’s scary but it’s worth it.

My Almost Suicide

Hi.  My name is Anna Flowers and I attempted suicide on Thursday, June 23, 2011 at around 9:15 pm.

So there you have it. I’m not perfect nor do I think that I am.  It’s confusing to people when they find out that I attempted suicide.  Her? Anna? That girl who has all those friends, and a really cool family? Isn’t her Dad a pastor or something? She’s in band, right?  I always see her hanging out with those band kids after school. That’s all true. I have the most amazing family a person could ever dream of.  They are supportive, understanding, and sweet.  My friends are amazing people.  I can tell them anything and they love me like a sister. My church is one of the most important things in my life.  I sing on the worship team there and Daddy’s sermons frequently move me to tears.  I play trumpet in band.  My section makes me laugh so hard I cry and nothing makes me feel as good as figuring out how to play something that I have been working really hard on. I’m not bullied.  I really never have been.  So how in the world could I have attempted suicide?  It’s the scariest ten letter word that I know of.  Depression.  I started to develop depression in sixth grade.  Since I attempted, people have asked me if anything might have triggered it. My grandma died but I didn’t think that that affected me too much until I traced my self-injury back to the day after her funeral.  I was young and it was confusing and terrifying to lose someone I loved.  But why couldn’t I just mourn it like a normal human being?  Because I was busy trying to be perfect.  I wanted to come across as strong and happy.  I wanted to be the light in people’s lives that I have always been told I am.  Having two older sisters that are amazing people, I wanted to be perfect like I thought they were.  I have learned since then that my sisters aren’t perfect either.  Trying to be would only hurt me.  I just didn’t realize how badly it would hurt everybody else that loves me.

Long story short the depression started to pound me with pain and frustration but I clung to my facade and made the world think I was happy.  I began to ditch my friends for people who cared less about me and therefore wouldn’t do anything about the cuts that were getting worse and worse.  I rebelled against my parents, thinking that maybe if I made them mad enough it would be easier for them when I was gone.  My temper got out of control and I was mean to my sisters, my friends, and especially myself.  I got sick of it all and just didn’t feel like pretending anymore.  I was too tired.  But I was also too embarrassed to ask for help or tell someone how bad it was becoming.  I didn’t want to be one of those people who throws out the word suicide so that everybody stops what they’re doing and focuses on them.  I was too ashamed.  Occasionally, I would break down and tell my Dad that I was always sad but he would so frequently see me happy that it didn’t make sense.  I never mentioned how bad it was becoming.  The thoughts that possessed my attention were too unnatural to be spoken out loud.

I set the date in my head.  After marching band pre-camp.  I’d spend my last three days with all of my friends doing the thing I love the most and then do it.  I didn’t account for the fact that Brittany’s open house was that weekend.  Suicide is selfish and when it is being reasoned in one’s head, nobody else is even considered.  And I did it.  I did exactly what I planned.  I went to pre-camp all three days.  Then that last night I attempted to overdose.  The list of things I took is scary and extensive.  The next morning I was hospitalized and had to drink the grossest thing ever to get the Tylenol out of my blood stream to prevent kidney damage.  When my body was all clear I was sent to a mental rehabilitation center in Saginaw to ensure that I was stable and to get me on anti-depressants.  It was terrifying to be in a place with schizophrenics and homicidal teenagers.  I learned so much while I was there.  I realized how blessed I was to have a family with two parents in one house.  I saw how amazing it was that they cared enough to drive to Saginaw everyday to visit me while I was there.  It was so hard to realize how loved I am and how badly I hurt people.  And that is with me surviving.  It is impossible to know what it would have done to people if I would have been successful in my attempt.  Luckily, we will never have to find out.

I am being very factual about this.  I’m trying to not include the emotional stuff that was going on at the time.  That is not necessarily my story to tell, nor is it many people’s business.  My point in writing this is simple.  Lying about important things in my life drove me into the darkness that pushed me towards suicide.  I attempted suicide and that is a simple truth of my life.  What I did does not define me.  It does not mean that I am crazy or that I am going to fall off the edge at any given moment.  I’m writing this because I am confident that I will never do anything like that again.  I am past cutting.  I am past wanting to be dead.  I understand that God saved me that day because I am supposed to be here.  I have a purpose in this world and I am determined to find it…or maybe let it find me.  Do I know that some people will think I’m a freak? Yes. Do I know some people might think this is an attention dig? Absolutely.  Do I realize that suicide is a forbidden topic that should be kept hush hush? Yes and I don’t care.  The truth is, suicide is real.  People we all know and love deal with it.  Be it in them or with friends.  For me it’s both. I’ve been the person who goes to a school counselor because I think my friend is going to kill them self.  And yet I’ve been the person in the hospital bed with a heart rate of 45 bpm.

It still scares me to think how close I was.  I’ve lived 267 more days than I had once intended to.  It’s been tough but I am fighting through it and I am happier, healthier, and stronger than I have ever been and that becomes truer every single day.  From the day after my attempt when my parents learned, they told me it was my choice who knows what I did.  At first I kept it very hush hush.  I was still in a negative place and I didn’t know if my recovery would be strong and smooth.  It hasn’t been totally smooth but the progress I have made is incredible.  I actually can say that I love life.  I don’t love everything about it, but in general I love it.  Because of that, I want people to know what happened.  I want people to understand why I say I understand when they talk about going through hard times.  This is me following the truth of my life.  The truth is that I attempted suicide and I got a second chance to live.  I want to be a psychologist someday and have a direct connection with people who are where I once was.  I’m terrified to post this.  I don’t want to be thought of as a freak.  I don’t want to be thought of as week and selfish.  Think what you want, but I have come a long way or else I wouldn’t be able to push ‘publish post’.

Suicide is never an option.  Ever.  It destroys the people who love you and abolishes all trust that had once been established.  I don’t expect to change the world.  I just need my story to be known.  So there’s my truth.  I’m not perfect and I am no longer trying to be.  I accept the fact that I am flawed and that my flaws help to make me the person that I am. Now I have to press publish…and I’m scared.  But it’s time for me to let the world feel the weight of who I am.

Hi.  I’m Anna Flowers and I am not afraid to be myself. And I’m not sorry for that.

Bucket Fillers-This is for You

I already know that hitting the publish button on this post is going to be very difficult for me to do.  Warning. I am about to open up big time!  The thing is…I have a problem.  And I recently realized that I know a lot of people with the exact same problem.  I care too much about other people. I have learned that there is a big difference between caring and caring too much.  You know you care too much when you realize that some of the things you stress the most about are things that you do not actually do!  It turns out, you are living with the stresses of everyone around you and therefore refuse to stop and take the time to take care of yourself.  At that point it means that there is a whole lot of sadness and hurt brewing inside of you that you refuse to let go of.

Other people will tell you that they love you and will love you no matter what you tell them about yourself.  But you feel like they have told you how they hurt and you know how their hurts lay heavily on your heart and so you do not want to ‘burden’ them with your problems.  You tell yourself,  ”They have enough to deal with without my problems added to it.”  I’m going to tell you something that may be hard to grasp.  They open up to you because it helps them to feel better.  They have gotten to the point where they realize that holding onto their troubles will not help them.  But they do not count on you to fix everything for them.  You are not responsible for the happiness of other people.  Crazy, right?

I am currently seeing a counselor for mild depression.  Woah.  Surprising right? Not really.  I am a bucket filler.  I am the type of person who cares so much about other people that my fear, anxiety, and sadness gets pushed aside so that I can focus on showing love to other people.  The hard part is that I lost my own happiness in the process of making other people happy.  I felt so drained of positivity that it was becoming harder and harder to spread it to other people.  But I still worked my butt off to seem like I was okay.  I did not want anyone to know that I was hurting and that my happiness was not really…legit.

After a lot of advice from a loving adult I finally decided to really allow myself to be happy.  It took a lot of tears and a lot of time and a lot of talking but it is getting better.  I am having a lot more moments of genuine happiness and a lot of more moments of letting other people see that I hurt too.  It is not easy.  It is really difficult to open up and to let the world feel the weight of who you are.   If your friends and the people around you can not handle who you are then they do not deserve you.

I am one of you.  Not as much as I used to be but I think I’ll always have that part of me who cares just a little too much about other people.  Thankfully I have had people in my life who saw that I care too much and they have been helping me to take care of myself and to make myself happy.  I have been amazed by how making myself happy makes it so much easier to help other people to be happy as well.  ”Bucket fillers.”  That is what we call people who spend all their time filling other people with happiness.  I recently told a friend of mine that once you run out of supplies in your own bucket, you have nothing left to give to other people.  Having the ability to make other people happy and to be a trustworthy friend is an amazing thing.  Having the ability to not take responsibility for the happiness of others is equally as amazing and just as important.

So all you bucket fillers out there reading this.  This is for you.  You are not alone in this world.  Let yourself be happy.

Inspiration through Randomness

“If you apply reason and logic to this career of mine, you’re not going to get very far.  You simply won’t.  The journey has been incredible from its beginning.  So much of life, it seems to me, is determined by pure randomness.” -Sidney Poitier

On October 13, 2010 I was in a random mood and so I text messaged one of my best friends, Erin.  This was the conversation…

Anna: “My life goal of the day: become a pastor so influential that I am asked to do the prayer at the presidential inauguration.”

Erin: “Amen to that lovely”

Anna: “…in every single country… because I’ll end world fighting and there will be one single government stationed on a God island.  There will be absolutely no weapons or want for war and no hatred.  The singular president will be Jesus…who will be living on earth and I’ll say the prayer at his inauguration.”

Erin: “I love that.”

Anna: “thanks “

Erin: “Anytime what made you decide that?”

Anna: “Don’t you want to say the prayer at Jesus’ inauguration?”

Erin: ” no. I just want to be there in awe.”

Anna: “In awe of the fact that you grew up with the girl deemed the honor of saying the prayer at his inauguration ;)“

LAME! I SHOULD NOT HAVE RESPONDED WITH THAT! What Erin said in response to me was one of the most beautiful things I have heard in a long time.

“No. I just want to be there in awe.”

Logic Anyone?!?

“You know how people have these little habits that get you down?”-Chicago

Everyone has them.  Those little things that drive them insane and cause overreaction at the annoyance.  It could be dust on the car display.  It may be someone popping their gum or cracking their bones.  For one person it might be the sound of someone clicking their teeth and to another it could be when a person chews on a pencil.

I have so many little pet peeves that listening all of them off to you would take me forever, and I don’t have that long…not to mention I know that a few of my loving reading would not be able to resist doing those little annoying things when I’m around.  But today, it was brought to my attention the most annoying thing in the entire world in my eyes.   CONTRADICTIONS!!!!!!!!

Now, I am not referring to every contradiction.  I myself am a contradiction.  I hate being quiet but I love silence and I’m clumsy but my middle name means graceful.  That is not the contradiction I speak of.  I am referring to argumentative contradictions.  When a person is arguing a point and uses the point they’re arguing against to make their point.  Not in the “how would that make you feel?” sense but in the “I don’t even realize that I am contradicting myself” sense.

Example:

Teacher: *yells* “NO YELLING!”

Parent: *while beating their child* “Do not hit other people!”

Student:  “Stop calling them names you idiot!”

I am not saying that I have never done this myself. I honestly remember saying several times to different people, “Wow, you’re a jerk.” In reference to them calling someone else something mean.  Today while reading a facebook discussion I was appalled by the way people were throwing around insults.

It would not have been startling if it was simply high school students throwing around insults.  It wasn’t just that though.  They were fighting passionately about a controversial subject.  I would be lying if I didn’t say that the things they were saying to one guy absolutely disgusted me.  The main reason I found this so terrible is because everything they said about him was going against what they were fighting about in the first place.

I know that a few of the people involved in this argument are some people who read my blog.  I hope that they all know I am not upset with them and I think nothing less of them.  Yet, I did think A LOT about it.  I realized that arguing is a very tricky thing to do.

There are lots of things to consider while arguing.  First, you have to choose a side and stick to it unless you actually truly have a change of heart. Second, you have to be willing to listen to the other side or else it is simply words colliding in the air and causing friction.  Third, you must make sure that nothing you say goes with the other sides argument!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Guys, don’t get me wrong.  I do not encourage arguments.  I also know that they happen and there is nothing that I can do to stop that.  I just have a little advice for everyone.  Think about what you are saying when trying to make a point.

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that…

Being a Sister

If you don’t understand how a woman could both love her sister dearly and want to wring her neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child.  ~Linda Sunshine

I am the youngest of three girls in our house.  The age difference between the oldest and the youngest is only three years.  That means that all three of us are in high school together this year.  I haven’t been this excited for school in a long time.  I’m the baby.  Of course that means I get the stereotype of the bratty, self-centered, jealous, attention-hog.  I love trying to prove that stereotype incorrect.

In my last 13 years I’ve learned a lot about what being a sister is.  Being a sister means being supportive and loving.  It means being ready to stand up for them on a seconds notice.  And it means always having someone that will love you no matter what you do.  I have also learned how easy it is to irritated a sister.  “MOM SHE’S LOOKING AT ME!” Yea. It’s that easy.  As we got older my sisters and I started to get annoyed by much different thing.  “Anna, ask before you borrow my shirts!” “Anna, clean up the bathroom before you leave it!” “Anna, stop wearing my clothes!” All that fun stuff.  Sometimes we argue about bigger things but those aren’t something I can share.  The comforting thing about it is that no matter what happens, we will always love each other.

Being the baby can be fun.  Very often it is. But contrary to popular belief, it can be really hard.  The youngest is often the center of the older sisters jokes.  We have to watch as the older ones go to dances and perform in dramas.  We get to be waking up for school early on Wednesdays while they sleep in for late day.  The babies watch their older sisters grow older and will always be jealous of how beautiful and brilliant they are.

I have helped both of my sisters get ready for many school dances.  It is so much fun to help them with nails and fetching make-up.  As soon as they’re gone though…you get to sit and be jealous.  Can’t help but think, “I wish I was that pretty and that wonderful.”.  Even if the baby is that pretty and wonderful, you stand there with them in pictures in jeans, a t-shirt, and a pony tail and can’t help but compare.

The baby gets to pleasure of always being looked out for.  In my situation I always have two people watching my back and guiding me through.  (Which is helpful in the event of high school and marching band.)  I am so thankful for that!  That can also make you feel really bad!  Example!  When we were at Lake Michigan I was having fun and swimming in the lake.  I told Kyra to float beside me but she refused because she was too worried about me.   She was being motherly and therefore wouldn’t have fun.   I felt bad.
The best part of being a sister is the giggling and talking and being friends.  While it isn’t fun to be picked on, I laugh at the jokes often because they love me.  Though we argue often, I love how there will always be forgiveness.  I feel like this blog is going nowhere.  Like it’s on a treadmill going on and on.  Moving but not going anywhere.

That’s how sisters are.  We go on forever and ever…but we won’t go anywhere.  We’ll always be with each other.  (See how I tied that in!?! Brit gave me that idea.)

The Horror

There is much in the world to make us afraid.  There is much more in our faith to make us unafraid.  ~Frederick W. Cropp

Dramatic title right? But it got your attention (:

There have been many times in my life where I was absolutely scared out of my mind.  One two of them stand out.  I want to tell you guys about them.  I’ll tell them in chronological order.  The first one was the scariest.

A few years ago, grandpa and grandma had the girls and I out at camp with them-we love doing that-and some of our friends were there with us.  Kyra, Erin, Julia, and I went for a bike ride and some of the boys followed.  On our way back to the trailer, we were trying to keep up with the guys while going up the hill.  While riding, Kyra’s bike tire hit a dent in the road.

The sound of her bike hitting the ground was nothing compared to the rush of air that I heard escape her lips. I hopped off my bike and ran the few feet to her.  She attempted to stand up but as she stood she stumbled.  I noticed her grab her side as if she was hugging herself with one arm.  Kyra, my hero, fell to her knees and grabbed my arm.

“Anna…help. Me…, I can’t breathe.”

She fell to the ground and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.  In that moment I realized that I had to do something.  As Erin grabbed my hand we ran up the hill to the trailer.  There were marks on the dirt road from our tears hitting the ground.  We left Julia with Kyra to make sure someone was with her in case she woke up.   We were practically hysterical but we held ourselves together well enough to explain to Grandpa what had happened.

That was the scariest moment of my life.  She was taken to the half-way point by Grandpa and Brittany; Mommy and Daddy met them at the gas station and took her to the ER.  As you may know…she survived.  That night, and every night for a few weeks, I dreamed of Kyra falling.  Grabbing my arm and begging me to help her.  Seeing her eyes roll into the back of her head.  Her lying, lifeless, on the hard dirt road.  Thinking about it now has me choked up and shaking.  While I shared a room with her, I frequently watched her sleep (I’m not a creeper!) and would hold my hand over her mouth to make sure she was breathing.  I couldn’t lose her.  Not again.

The other scariest time in my life was far less dramatic and not at all like a scene from a terribly-tragic movie.  I was in seventh grade.  (Back in the day.)  I got headaches.  No.  Not headaches.  Migraines.  They made me throw-up and pass out.  I was dizzy almost all the time and the dizziness caused more migraines.  I passed out twice in two months from the pain and dizziness and I realized it wasn’t normal.  I got an appointment with the doctor and he said the two words that I knew were just to be ruled out and very unlikely.  The two words that were lingering in my head.  The two words I knew I would hear because I had done my fair share of research.  “Brain Tumor.” Even though I knew he was only ordering the CT Scan to rule out the possibility, I was terribly afraid.  The “what if’s” started in my head.

What if I actually do have a tumor?  What if this isn’t just migraines caused by growing up and weather?  What if I have to have brain surgery?  What if the surgery kills me?  What if the tumor is twisted into my brain stem and it can’t be removed?  What will I tell my friends?

Those questions ran through my head as he went through the spiel about taking some pain relievers and he wrote me a script.  When Daddy told me not to worry, I honestly did calm down.  It’s difficult to stay calm when the headache comes back. The whole time I waited for results I denied the fear.  When my family asked if I was worried I shrugged it off and said that I knew I was fine.  Looking back, it would have made a lot more sense to just tell them how scared I was.  I could have been a lot less afraid if I had spoken up.  I didn’t.  While I waited for the results, I concentrated on the thought that no news is good news.

My rational mind was correct.  I was tumor free.  I was given the diagnosis of hypoglycemia and a-typical migraines. I was actually so thankful.  I was so focused on rejoicing that I did not have a tumor; I didn’t take even a second to dwell on the fact that I got to live with those things.  I already knew of those.   They were easily and painlessly treatable.  Watching your diet and avoiding some things.  When those fail, over the counter medicine helps most of the time.

Through the scariest times of my life, there was comfort in consistency.  I knew that the last time I was that terrified, it all worked out okay.  My family was with me to support me and God was there all the time.  It was amazing to realize that the scariest moments could have been so much worse.

I have had other scary encounters.  Daddy’s MS flair-ups and surgeries for family members.  I have decided that it is okay to look back at scary times and still feel uneasy.  As long as I remember the blessings that come with each time.  I’m not claiming to look fear in the eye and laugh.  I don’t always handle it well but growing up and going through the two events that I described, along with so many more, have made me realize that fear is often unnecessary.  In events where I could easily choose fear, I have given my worries to God.  I want to work on that skill.  I hope to one day be able to give all my fears, worries, and uneasiness to God.  When that day comes, I will be able to say I have experienced true peace.

love to all.

Who I Am

I’m someone filled with self-belief; I’m haunted by self-doubt.  I’ve got all the answers; I’ve got nothing figured out.  I like to be by myself; I hate to be alone. I’m up and I am down.  And that’s part of the thrill, part of the plan…part of so many things, I am.  I am special.  I am beautiful.  I am wonderful and powerful: unstoppable. Sometimes I’m miserable.  Sometimes I’m pitiful.  But that’s so typical of all the things I am.  -Hilary Duff (Song: I Am)

That quote doesn’t being to sum up who I am.  I don’t think that I can even describe who I am.  To be totally honest, I don’t know.  I am a lot of things but I couldn’t tell you who I am.  What I can do, is give you a little insight into what I am.

I am…

• Affectionate
• Authentic
• Insecure
• Beautiful
• Contradicting
• Passionate
• A little bit clumsy
• In love with life
• Sometimes lonely
• Never alone
• Strong
• Intelligent
• Stubborn
• On fire for God
• Generous
• Fearful
• Excited for my future
• Holding on to now
• Wishing for the past
• Reluctant to get older
• Often exhausted
• Over-dramatic
• A teenager
• Scatterbrained
• Frequently obnoxious (sorry sisters)
• Anxious
• Happy
• Desperate to show people who I am
• Hoping to be a Pastor when I grow up
• Praying to be a Counselor when I get older
• Good at writing
• Not confident with my writing
• Content to sit in silence
• Usually talking
• In love with music
• A decent trumpet player
• Trying to learn to be honest with myself
• Afraid of losing people
• Not good at saying goodbye
• Finally learning to talk about my faith
• A list writer
• Not worried about what people think about me
• ….I take that back. I really do want people to like me.
• Content with who I am
• Not sure who I will be
• Finding out who I really am
• A hard worker
• Bad at opening up
• Getting better at opening up
• The type of person who wants to make it all better
• Learning only God can fix everything
• A work in the making
• Here for a reason
• Sick of typing this list

I could go on for hours about what I am.  As I said, I am usually talking.  But, saying words, won’t tell you who I am.  My actions will.  I am trying every day to show people who I am.  By simply smiling at them or by starting a blog…to open up with anyone that takes the time to read it.  By helping an older woman get her food to her table at Taco Bell, or by starting a conversation with someone that not many people talk to.  When I do those things, I don’t do it to make myself look good.  I do it because it shows people part of who I am.  And it tells me who I am.

I am a work in progress, made by God.  I am filled to the brim by God’s undeserved and never ending love.  I am fearfully and wonderfully made. That…is Who I Am.

Work Camp

With what shall I come before the LORD and bow down before the exalted God? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousand rivers of oil? Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:6-8)

Written Monday, July 26, 2010

Workcamp started on Sunday the 18th of July 2010-the journey started at 8 in the morning that day. Alayna Oskey, Noah, Erin and Will Webster, Tim and Diane Stevenson, Jason Kotarski, Chuck Flowers, Scott and Zach Truxton, Rachel Paris, Katelyn (as we call her but not in reality) Stevenson, and my sisters met in the church parking lot. We loaded up all of our stuff…which is more difficult then it sounds because we all packed to clothe a large army…and prayed for our trip. Then off we went. I was in a car with Diane, Katelyn, Erin and Grandpa was driving. We had so much fun. Grandpa and Diane talked for a while while we in the back were being giggly teenage girls. Then we talked about anything and everything. It twas fun. When we got to Timken High School in Canton, OH we checked in with the staff (now to be called red shirts) and moved into our rooms.

By the evening service I had met a good 40 plus people from 13 different states and DC. At service we were split into 66 different crews. I was on crew 65 with 5 fantastic people. Eric, Cara, Emily, Patrick, and Jeremy. We learned that in one week we would scrape, prime and paint a two story house and the trim on it. Thankfully we had a double crew. Crew 66 was with us and we worked together as one cohesive unit.

The next day at 6:45am we heard “WAKEY-WAKEY WORKCAMPERS” over the speaker. Then an annoying song played. That happened every single morning. We had breakfast and went to morning service and learned that the theme of the day was myself. We worked at our worksites with our crews and my crews got the house scraped and part of it primed in just the first day. I could tell that our crew would finish in time. That night we talked about the theme and how the main voice in your head saying me should be Jesus. We talked about the beginning of the story of the prodigal son and the weeks theme of undeserved.

On Tuesday we focused on the theme of my friends. We finished priming that day at our house and bonds of people on my crew grew a lot. We became relatively close for the fact that we had just met! That night was the most powerful service I attended. We went to stations around the room. One station you ran your hands through dirt and though about the times in your life where you figuratively got dirty or in a spot that you struggle to get away from. At another you had to smell vinegar and think of a memory that is bitter that you haven’t let go of. At a different one you ate a pea pod and thought about words that you should have never said. On the wall a huge paper was taped up where people would write something or draw something to show what they have wasted in their life. There was another station where you simply sat and listened to God. At the final station you got a warm cookie to show you that God always makes it sweet even when life is hard. That night changed me. I let go of things I had been holding onto and forgave myself. I felt forgiven by God and realized that I am a beautiful person inside and out. At youth group devotions we really opened up and became a close unit of family and it felt so good to know that I had those people to go to for anything. That night I talked to Diane for a long time and ended up feeling very peaceful about my life and my faith.

On Wednesday we only worked a half day. Our theme was my family. That day our crew worked on painting the house light blue. And I talked to our sweet old man of a resident for a while. We accomplished a lot. Then after we got back to the school our youth group went to the water park geauga lake and hung out there for the afternoon. We got back to the school for the evening service and did our doctors office waiting room skit thingy. We talked about the importance of family and how close the bond is made to be. Also, we discussed how hard it is to repair a family once it has been damaged.

Thursday is the day of the sob service. Also known as cry day. The theme was my faith. My crew worked late that day to insure we would finish in time the next day. By the end of the work day I was struggling with my peripheral vision in my left eye and i was worried that it was because my knock on the head the day before. So later that evening I went with Tim and a green shirt (Hammer’s and Nails worker) to a free clinic to get my head checked out. They made me go to the hospital. Better safe then sorry but I was pretty sure I was fine. I got a CT scan and was found to be correct. (By then my vision was fine again). By the time we were done there I had missed the service but we got back in time for youth group devotions. My youth group explained to me the lesson we did and even their explanation made my sob. I won’t go too in depth but I realized I was holding onto my need to fix things even though I though I had given that up on Tuesday. I began to cry and let my talk with Diane sink in. Only God can fix everything. I am not responsible for everyone else. Only myself. And trying to always fix everything was tearing me apart inside. My fits were clenched around my need to fix things. And then I opened my fists. As tears escaped me Brittany came and hugged me while the group prayed over the day and over what they had let go. I let it go. And felt weightless after it. I felt like I could finally really become God’s hands and feet. I feel like I could honestly say that in those moments, the entire direction of my life changed. All of the sudden, I was okay again and I was loved and felt worth loving. Thursday was the best.

Friday was a very hard day. We focused on my future and it was our last day with our crew. We finished the whole house by 4 and said goodbye to our super sweet resident. Jeremy then took our crew to ice cream where we were joined by Doug and the rest of crew 66. It was a great way to wrap up our time together. When we went back to the school I spent most of the rest of the evening talking to my friends that I had met and hanging with people from the youth group. That night we talked about how we would let God guide the future. Youth group devotions lasted a long time and then we were all writing care cards to other campers like wild people. (Care cards are short notes of encouragements and compliments that you put in other campers envelopes to tell them how they made an impact on you.)

Saturday, after unsuranwrapping Jason’s mini van we loaded up the stuff and headed off to Cedar Point. We stayed there all day. There was a heat advisory and it was so hot!!!!!!!!! I rode the Rip Cord with Zach and Brittany. Then the witches wheel with Zach, Noah, Will, and Brittany. Following that we all went on the Gemini and added Scott to the fun. After that we all went on the Maverick. Then our little group went on the Mine Ride and screamed our heads off like it was actually scary (but it isn’t). After that we went to check in because it was 4 pm. Then when Will and I saw that the Top Thrill Dragsters line was only 45 minutes we sprinted to the line and lost track of the rest of our crew. When we got to the front we decided to ride front seats. We did and it was the coolest thing ever. Then the two of us went to get dinner and then off to the carousel with the racing horses…we were very competitive but we lost. After that we went on the Raptor and then met up with Katelyn and Alayna on our way to the Millennium Force. That was the end of our Cedar Point day. We met up at the exit and left. I was in the car with Grandpa, Alayna, and Katelyn. Oh good grief we had so much fun…or at least the girls did:)

Sunday at morning at midnight we got home. Lots of us went to church that morning though some people were smart and slept in.

Over the course of one week….the course of my life was changed. I feel alive now and opened up to the world and to God. After I get some sleep I will feel even more alive. This week was the best week of my life. Thanks for taking the time to read about my incredible experience and to some of you, thanks for being there with me as I experienced it.

Falling Down

As many of you may know…I am a little challenged with walking.  I’ll admit I am not always the most graceful person. Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of falling. And it has got to be one of the most horrifying feelings in the world. As you fall you lose control of everything. Everything but the way you land. And even that comes with limits. You can only do so much to ensure that the way you land won’t injure you. Usually, your choices for landing will prevent a serious injury and instead give you a minor injury.  I know this; I’ve lived this.

While falling, only a few thoughts register in my head. These are usually them, “Crap! Not again! Please don’t be hurt!”.  And that is all I can think. As my body connects with the ground it takes a while for the pain to register.  Before it registers I am usually thinking, “YES! I DIDN’T GET HURT!”.  Then the pain sinks in. All that I can think is “Dangfliargitnshgfdjwifbhuawovg!”.  I try to stand up and brush off the pain and the dust, but often, I can’t.

Then the embarrassment sinks in. Tears spring into my eyes and I usually try to blink them back.  I’ll hear the laughter of people around me.  They don’t realize how bad it really hurts.  I try to laugh with them but when I get home I cry.  I cry out of embarrassment and pain and frustration.  I can’t help but wonder, “What is wrong with me? Why am I always hurting myself!?!”!

After my last concussion I came home upset, embarrassed, frustrated, and in pain. I went to my room and cried.  I cried and thought.  I couldn’t help but think about every injury I could remember: Sprains, twists, concussions, breaks, black-eyes, and random swelling incidents.  All of them were accidents.  They were all stupid accidents that, for a lot of them, I could have most likely prevented.  I felt ashamed and I promised myself that I would never hurt myself stupidly again.

Several months later I sprained my ankle.  And I got so many comments.  Lots of people didn’t believe me.  They said I was faking it to get attention.  They would have changed their mind if they saw me lying in bed crying after school because of it.  I ended up going to Daddy about it.  He told me I knew.  I knew I wasn’t faking, he knew I wasn’t, and the doctor knew I wasn’t faking and that is all the mattered.  That changed my mind about my injuries.

Yea, they were stupid mistakes but nothing to be ashamed of.  It’s not my fault.  Falling is an issue with gravity.  Yes, I can be more careful.  I have been more careful lately but sometimes, I still fall down.  Yet, I should not be ashamed or embarrassed.

As you may know…I fall down a lot. I’m not the most graceful person yet I am proud of who I am.  Injuries and all.