tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62317335174950807582024-02-02T00:59:37.024-08:00Stella StarUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger395125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-42325987996656128202015-09-28T21:18:00.001-07:002015-09-28T21:46:20.735-07:00DreamsSr Grumpy passed away, a little over two months ago, and
I still <u>CONSTANTLY</u> find myself thinking of him. I don’t know how many times I
look at the clock waiting for his bus to drop him off. Every time I’m out
getting dinner I always think of what I can get him that would be easy for him
to eat. The other day, the thought popped into my head, when his next doctor appointment
was. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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The last two days, I’ve had dreams of him. The first
dream, we were having a family party and when I turned a corner there he was
sitting on a bench with my uncle Arturo. Now, <i>why</i> I dreamed of Arturo, I have
no idea; but he’s passed as well. I was unsure if what I was seeing was true, I
was aware that he was dead. So I kept asking people if they <i>‘saw’</i> them too. But
finally I couldn’t help myself and so I ran to him. When Sr Grumpy saw me, he
smiled this huge smile at me and he hugged me. I told him how much I missed
him. </div>
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The second dream, I was driving in the car and he was in
the passenger seat. I didn’t recognize the streets but I knew where I was
going. He never spoke to me, but at one point I told him: <i>“We’re fine. Nothing
bad is going to happen".</i> That’s when the car went up a curb and we flipped, I
was going 70 mph. I remember focusing on his face as I felt the car flip around
us. The next moment, the car was right side up and we were driving into a gate;
the car was destroyed. I spoke to the guard; he asked if I was okay. I told him
that I was fine but that Sr Grumpy was hurt; I had looked at him before turning
to the guard. Sr Grumpy had a cut over his left eye that was bleeding. The guard
looked at me like I was crazy, when I turned back to Sr Grumpy, he was gone. The
next moment, I was in a hospital - alone. </div>
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I haven’t told anyone about these dreams; I’m unsure what
they mean. But I know I don’t want to forget them. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-58297905972233526792015-09-24T23:03:00.001-07:002015-09-24T23:04:56.433-07:00Chains, Not Necklaces <iframe width="400" height="300" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/bKQyzQwIbV0?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
<br />
I spend a lot of time with my aunt, I love her dearly and she is one of the most important people in my life. We are similar in so many ways. We’re always on the same wave-link, but even with our same taste in toys, food and movies there’s so much that we differ in.<br />
<br />
One day, I was hanging out with her and her granddaughter (my second cousin) when a conversation took place that I wasn’t comfortable with.<br />
<br />
Cousin: 'Mommy says boys don’t wear necklaces'.<br />
Aunt: 'That’s right. Girls wear necklaces and boys wear chains'.<br />
<br />
How odd is it that we have to create a completely new word for an item that’s the exact same thing just so it can be <i>gender specific</i>?<br />
<br />
And of course it would be taboo if the <i>“chain”</i> was thin and had a charm hanging from it; or had any decoration that might be considered <u><i>“feminine”</i></u>.<br />
<br />
Why can’t a boy wear a necklace? Or play with a doll, wear a dress, paint their nails?<br />
<br />
Little girls have a little more <i>“creative”</i> freedom. They can play with cars, action-figures, and play dress up in anything they want to. Because that <i>“creativity” </i>makes them stronger and more confidant. But if little boys play with <i>"girl toys" </i>or like the color pink, it makes them weak.<br />
<br />
It saddens me that we live in a double standard world. That is <b><u>FAR</u> </b>from changing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-60763211546817483922015-07-08T21:54:00.000-07:002015-07-08T21:54:37.064-07:00You Are LOVED!Mercy triumphs over judgement. What a powerful and life-changing concept - if we can accept it. <br /><br />Sometimes that's the hardest part. It can be so hard for us to accept God's love and mercy. It's in His out stretched hand, all we have to do is grasp it and be dramatically changed. <br /><br />I encourage you to watch this video and allow God's mercy, grace and love to dramatically change you. <br /><br />Stop standing on your own, you don't have to any more. <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1nCInUHPcas" width="400"></iframe><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-74010643150557617812015-07-07T09:07:00.000-07:002015-07-07T09:08:24.192-07:00be blessed (for Mami)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MapuJav9vgQ" width="400"></iframe> <br />
<br />
Today marks 10 years that my mother has passed. I've tried so hard to come up with a meaningful idea to memorialize my mother on this day. But I can't. <br />
<br />
My heart is full of so many emotions. And my mind keeps going back to that day so many years ago. <br />
<br />
I was holding my mother when she took her last breath. She died in my arms. When my mother took her last breath, I knew it. I can still hear my scream echoing in my ears. <br />
<br />
We were rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. I had to sit with a social worker; and the Chaplin was there also. With his comforting words. To this day I still don't understand why he would say those words to a young person who had just lost their parent minutes before.<br />
<br />
I can't remember her voice or her touch or the smell of her hair. I can't remember hardly anything about her. Except for that day. <br />
<br />
Deep down, I still secretly blame myself. I was 17 years old, I was scared and freaked out. I didn't want to leave her side. I didn't want to leave her alone. She would have hated that. So I stayed by her side instead of calling for help. <br />
<br />
I hated myself for that, for years. And still do, sometimes.<br />
<br />
I'd like to think she'd like who I've become. That she'd be proud of me. But honestly, I don't know. I don't think she would... I'm so different then that young girl. I have so many more scars.<br />
<br />
But one thing I do know. She'd tell me to stop crying, to whip my eyes and to keep moving forward. "Stop being stupid." She'd say. "Don't look at me, look to God." <br />
<br />
My mom was a strong God-fearing women. I remember every morning before school, she would pray over my coming and going. Pray a hedge of protection over me. That God would keep me safe. I know, without a doubt, that her prayers are the reason why I'm still here. Why I'm alive. <br />
<br />
Yes, it's been a decade since she passed. But her faith and prayers are still going strong. And touching me still.<br />
<br />
I might hate what I did. And I might hate this day. And I might not be able to remember anything. And she might not like who I've become. But she loved me so much, that her love is still reaching me now, 10 years later. <br />
<br />
Maybe that's something to celebrate. Instead of mourning.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"This is the day the Lord has made; </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>We will rejoice and be glad in it." </i></div>
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<i>- Psalm 118:24 New King James Version</i></div>
<br />
Be blessed. I hope you have a grand glorious day.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-37828778621608506192015-06-05T21:15:00.000-07:002015-06-05T21:31:42.154-07:00HospitalsI took Sr Grumpy to the doctors yesterday. He is getting higher up in age and seems to be slowing down more quickly, so I try to take him every month.<br />
<br />
The doctor told me his blood count was low from his last blood test (taken in May) and wanted to take a new one to see if it was the same, had gone up or fell lower. This morning, the doctors' nurse called me and told me that his blood count had dropped lower and that Sr Grumpy needed a blood transfusion.<br />
<br />
When I heard this news, my mind instantly zoomed to a memory of my mom lying in her hospital bed getting dialysis. My breathing quickened and tears rushed to my eyes. For a split second I was overwhelmed with anxiety. However, I was able to pass it quickly and was able to soak in everything the nurse was telling me.<br />
<br />
After I got off the phone with the nurse. I had to take Sr Grumpy to the hospital to get his blood drawn and matched for the transfusion - tomorrow.<br />
<br />
When my mom passed, I told myself I'd never go back into that hospital. I have spent too much time there. Luckily, we didn't have to go into the <i>"main"</i> building. I have been back to the hospital campus a couple of times since my mothers' passing, but I've never had to go into the main building.<br />
<br />
We had to go into the <i>'out-patient'</i> center today to get his blood drawn. It is <b>RIGHT</b> next door to the main building. Again, when I exited the car to get Sr Grumpy out, my breathing quickened, tears rushed to my eyes and my anxiety spiked. Again, I was able to get my emotions under control quickly and forced myself to focus on the task at hand.<br />
<br />
We entered the center, I checked him in, filled out the paper work, and that was when I was informed we would be getting the transfusion in the <u>main</u> building tomorrow. My stomach sank and my mouth went dry.<br />
<br />
<i> 'No. No I can't do that.'</i> I thought quickly to myself. Just as fast as it entered my mind, I forced myself to dismiss it. I finished the paperwork, Sr Grumpy got his blood drawn and we drove home.<br />
<br />
Now that the day is coming to an end and all the preparations have been made. All the feelings I kept pushing away are lingering their way back to the forefront of my consciousness. Everything is starting to sink in and my mind is now able to process all the information of the day.<br />
<br />
Sr Grumpy isn't my mom. He doesn't have cancer. And he isn't dying. He's healthy.<br />
<br />
My mom is in a happier, healthier place.<br />
<br />
It's just a <i>building</i>.<br />
<br />
God has <u>healed</u> me of all my hurt and pain.<br />
<br />
Everything will be fine.<br />
<br />
I have faith that everything will be fine...<br />
<br />
<br />
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight." -Proverbs 3:5-6</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-9860568994261512522015-05-23T22:10:00.000-07:002016-04-15T22:14:25.620-07:00Triggering ThoughtsI find myself on a daily basis fighting back regretful memories, who've found their way to the forefront of my consciousness. But the last few days, I feel like I've been spending half my day replaying the regrets of my life. I literally had to yell at myself, out loud, this afternoon to stop. <br />I've caught myself placing my finger nails to my skin to scratch deeply. I've been able to stop myself right before I do it.<br />
<br />I've also caught myself placing the side of my hand against my forearm; then moving down quickly in a cutting motion.<br />
<br />It's crazy what our bodies can do without us noticing it. Involuntary spasms, that we've picked up, that come out at the oddest moments.<br />
<br />I'm edgy, the littlest things are triggering me. They're not sending me off the edge, but they're causing me to act out.<br />
<br />My body is reacting in self-destructive ways to the emotional stress, without my knowledge. <br />It's rather scary.<br />
<br />I've also been chanting "I want to die" or "I want to kill myself" more the past few days. Is it odd that on a <i>'normal'</i> day, I say these phrases at least twice a day?<br />
<br />Overcoming and recovering from self-destructive patterns and depression is a hard and long path. It can be overwhelming and all consuming. You can run yourself in circles and into the ground, trying to keep your head above water.<br />
<br />At moments it's terrifying and unsatisfying. And it's so easy to give up; to call <i>'mercy'</i> and to lie in the dirt. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-75826020068702052992015-04-14T23:50:00.000-07:002015-04-15T00:03:23.142-07:00Sometimes It Lasts At Love... If you’d ever visit our home, you’d instantly think we’re
either lovers’ or hoarders’ of cars. We have four <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“classic”</i> cars that line the side of our house. Three out of the
four cars, anyone can see and admire their beauty. They’re not restored, but
they’re gorgeous in their old age. <br />
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However, the fourth is not a rare model, it’s not made by
a special company and it doesn’t have a fancy body. It’s small, blocky, has no
leg room and it’s not that old <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><s>(for a
car)</s></i>. It’s just a car from the 80’s that’s covered in dirt and has
degraded flat tires. </div>
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The other day we took the ’53 Chevy pickup truck for a
drive <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(the <u>‘Twilight’</u> truck).</i> Grumpy
is slowly restoring this truck and we take it out from time to time to keep it
in working order. </div>
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After our drive, I hopped out of the passenger seat and ran
to the drivers’ side to place the cinder block behind the back wheel – just to
make sure it’s secure. And that’s when I saw a little yellow card stuck between
the Renaults’ driver’s door and window.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“WE BUY JUNK CARS”</b></div>
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The card was a business card from a local company promoting
their removal services for old vehicles and machinery. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Marty is <u>NOT
JUNK</u>!”</i> I shouted loudly as I showed the card to Grumpy. He looked at
the card, chuckled and shook his head. Who knows how long that card had been
there; and that I would find it a week from my mom’s birthday. But seeing that
card on her old car – upset me. </div>
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Marty was my mom’s first <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘real’</i> purchase, at least that’s how she always told me the story.
After her first marriage ended horribly, my mom was on her own and Marty was
the first thing she bought by herself. She was always so proud of him. </div>
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My mom drove that car everyday till the day she died, for
over 20 years. My dream is to one day restore Marty, better than he was, and
drive him for another 20. </div>
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The next day Grumpy and I were driving home from a day of
fun, when the song “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLQl3WQQoQ0">Someone Like You</a>” by <a href="https://twitter.com/officialadele">Adele</a> came across the speakers. Since
the release of this song, my dad has always associated it with my mom. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Nothing compares<br />
No worries or cares<br />
Regrets and mistakes<br />
They are memories made.<br />
Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?<br />
<br />
Never mind, I'll find someone like you<br />
I wish nothing but the best for you<br />
Don't forget me, I beg<br />
I'll remember you said,<br />
‘Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead’”</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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There we were in front of the house, sitting in my car,
listening to the song, singing along and staring at Marty. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“They thought Marty
was junk.”</i> Grumpy chuckled – and I laughed. </div>
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<br /></div>
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No. No, Marty isn’t junk. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-21177959561933029022015-04-07T23:29:00.000-07:002015-04-08T00:17:55.416-07:00When I Met YouApril and July are hard months for me. April the month my
mom was born; and July the month she died. This year marks 10 years that she’s
been with God. It feels so much longer; I can hardly remember her. She’s been
gone almost half my life.<br />
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My moms’ twin, aunt Stella <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(who I was named after)</i>, really struggled with my mom’s passing in
the beginning. After years of therapy and healing, my aunt is finally on the “acceptance”
stage of grief. I feel like I’ve reverted to the “depression” stage. I know
grief can be a cycle; we can cycle in and out of the stages of grief. </div>
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It’s really hard for me to deal with this.</div>
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I did so well when my mom passed. I truly believed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(and still do)</i> that God had a purpose
for taking my mom. It was easy for me to “work through” the stages of grief
after she passed. I did it in one night actually. </div>
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One long, late, tear-filled night.</div>
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A week or so after God took my mom. I sat in my room,
listened to music and with my emotions fresh, I unleashed all of my thoughts
and emotions to God. I remember so vividly, sitting in a corner, the tears
running down my face, hitting the floor and yelling at God. I’d randomly get up,
pace my room, hit the closet, kick my bed, and scream into a pillow. </div>
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<br /></div>
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“Why God? Why did
you do <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">THIS</b>?!”</div>
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“Why did you take
her?”</div>
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“Why couldn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I </i><u>save</u> her?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’ve struggled with the guilt of not saving my mom on and
off since her passing; but that’s a story for another journal entry. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I remember staying up past 3am. I gave all my hurt, pain,
anger and questions to God and He filled me with peace and gave me reassurance that
I would be okay. </div>
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<br /></div>
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This is why cycling through the stages of grief is hard
for me. I know God healed my hurt. I know God took my pain. I know God was in
the room with me when I was grieving. </div>
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<br /></div>
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God hurt with me. God grieved with me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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And it’s not that I still don’t believe that. I know I’m
healed. God took my brokenness and put me back together. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I am healed. But, I’m also human. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Just because I cycle in and out of grief, it doesn’t mean
I don’t trust God. It means I love my mom.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that I miss
her. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I remember the moment, I remember the pain<br />
I was only a girl, but I grew up that day<br />
Tears were falling<br />
I know You saw me<br />
<br />
Hiding there in my bedroom, so alone<br />
I was doing my best, trying to be strong<br />
No one to turn to<br />
That's when I met You<br />
<br />
All this time, from the first tear cried<br />
'Till today's sunrise<br />
And every single moment between<br />
You were there, You were always there<br />
It was You and I<br />
You've been walking with me all this time”</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DP4Kl0Cfywc?rel=0" width="400"></iframe><br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: right;">
Song: “<a href="https://youtu.be/DP4Kl0Cfywc">All This Time</a>”
by <a href="https://twitter.com/itsbrittnicole">Britt Nicole</a></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://psychcentral.com/lib/the-5-stages-of-loss-and-grief/000617">The stages of grief</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-19081268197130783362015-01-02T23:52:00.001-08:002015-01-02T23:53:11.537-08:00Just Keep BreathingA couple of weeks ago marked the one year anniversary of
me being self-harm free. I’ve said that three times in the last ten years. <br />
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So much has happened in the last ten years; so much
happened when I turned 17. I started cutting a few months after my birthday. My
mom was diagnosed and passed away from pancreatic cancer. I discovered my
passion for music. The Internet became my world. And so many other things
happened. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s so weird to think it’s been ten years. Ten years of
me fighting the urge to place a blade to my skin. At moments, it doesn’t seem
like it’s been that long. And at other moments, it seems like a lifetime. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It saddens me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It saddens me that cutting has been such a big part of my
life. It saddens me that I’ve only been able to stop three times; the first
time for a year, the second time for two & half years and this third time for
one year. </div>
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I was so lost last fall (Oct-Dec 2013). I had a fight
with my dad, I packed my bags and left home; I couldn’t handle living in a toxic
environment any more. I ran to the only place I could think of, my “sanctuary”
became my trigger. The people who were supposed to help me, pushed me over the
edge. </div>
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I knew what I was doing was wrong. And I knew if I gave
in, it would be so hard to stop. But it didn’t matter, I was alone. Truly, and
utterly, alone. </div>
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I cut more in those three months, then I had EVER done. I
couldn’t stop. I was emotionally spiraling out of control. I was grasping for
anything. It was SO BAD. </div>
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At one point, it finally clicked in my head to just stop
and breathe. My thoughts were racing; I had to force my brain and emotions to
stop. I needed a break. I was sitting in a Starbucks, writing in my journal and
listening to music. I was hiding. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“2 A.M., too tired to sleep<br />
When what you want's not what you need<br />
And when these walls don't feel like home<br />
Remember that you're not alone…<br />
<br />
When heaven seems so far away<br />
And dreams are just a memory<br />
When love is all too hard to hold<br />
Just take a breath and let it...</i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Go whoa oh, whoa whoa oh, whoa whoa oh<br />
Just keep breathing, breathing, breathing<br />
Whoa whoa oh, whoa whoa oh, whoa whoa oh<br />
Just keep breathing, breathing, breathing”</i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I went to my dad the next day, we worked out our problems
and I moved back in. I learned that sometimes being in a hard place is better than
being in no place at all. And that good really does come from bad. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It was so hard to stop; almost unbearable.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I remember lying on my bed and forcing myself not to move.
It took over an hour, but the urge finally passed. One afternoon I was walking
in the hardware store with my dad, and we walked down an aisle with every type
of blade ever made by man. And I craved them, like I never craved anything
before. My skin ached and I became jittery. I was an addict hurting for a fix. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As the months have passed, the lust has subsided, but it’s
always there. And I know it always will be. I will always struggle with
self-harm and depression. But as long as I remember to breathe, I know I can
make it to the next hour and to the next aisle and through my life.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/V9vF6K5yUQc?rel=0" width="400"></iframe> </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-55659595851361877112014-12-27T00:01:00.000-08:002015-01-03T00:02:17.670-08:00Let Me Go<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/7idU1DLHUqU?rel=0" width="400"></iframe><br />
Why does love have to be so complicated? And hurt so much.<br />
<br />
I’ve
been dating this guy on and off for the last five years. We’re together
for a couple of months and then we don’t speak for four or six months.
He then comes crawling back to me and I always take him back; and the
evil bitter cycle of hurt, disappointment and loneliness starts again.<br />
<br />
I
have a very strong, dominate and stubborn personality. I need someone
by my side that can reign me in and keep me in check. Not someone I can
push around and bully.<br />
<br />
But he loves me, my bitchiness and all. He’s always there. And, he’s persistent.<br />
<br />
No matter how many times I shove him in the mud and kick him in the face, he only wants me.<br />
<br />
And that really messes with my head.<br />
<br />
I
mean, he has to love me to constantly deal with that – right? And even
though I love him for never giving up on me, we’re never going to work
out.<br />
<br />
So, his constant pursuit of me is <em><strong>exhausting</strong></em>.<br />
<br />
I can only hear his empty promises so many times. And my demands to <em>“leave me alone”</em> have no substance anymore, even to me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-10215114504208090162014-12-08T23:56:00.000-08:002015-01-02T23:58:38.291-08:00The 27th YearIt’s so weird to think I’m turning 27 today. Not because
I’m getting ‘older’, but because I never thought I’d live past my 21st
birthday. I’ve lived six years more than I EVER thought I would. <br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There are so many moments where I tried to snuff out my
light. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I should be dead. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I should have never woken up. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There was a time in my life, where I begged God to let me
die. I couldn’t understand why He couldn’t just let me go.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The harder I tried, the tighter He gripped me. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was so angry. I couldn’t see, I didn’t understand. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve always felt alone and invisible. I’ve never thought
that I’ve mattered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But this last year, I’m starting to see a glimpse. A
glimmer of what my purpose might possibly be. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I started making gaming videos and placed them on YouTube
for others to see. I was hoping to make a friend or two. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Honestly, I was reaching; I was reaching for anything to
keep myself stable. Something to distract myself, and to trick myself into
thinking that I WASN’T wasting my life. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From a young age, I knew I was made for something bigger
then myself. I just didn’t know what that something was. And over the years,
I’ve really started to doubt myself. How can a girl like me, change the world? </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve defiantly made more than a friend or two, these last
8 months on YouTube. I’ve created this family of support, love and motivation.
I could have NEVER imagined, posting short videos of me rambling incoherently
could EVER make an impact. And I NEVER thought that making these videos would
bring me healing. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I call my family, Fireflies. Small, bright lights of hope
in the darkness. Who would have thought, that I would find my light posting
gaming videos online? Who would have thought that ANYONE would have noticed my
dimly lit light? </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I had been posting videos online for a few months, when I
almost threw in the towel. My Fireflies were calling out to me; they said I
brightened their day, that they looked up to me and that I was changing their
lives – it was too much for me to handle.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I had started to listen to the darkness. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
You’re not worthy.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
You’re worthless.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
You’re damaged. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
How can a depressed self-harming suicidal girl help
anyone? </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The darkness started closing in on me. Closer and closer.
Tighter and tighter. The darkness was right.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I find myself looking back on my journal entries often
when I’m searching. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So there I sat, in the middle of the night reading
through my blog. And it all slowly started to click into place. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve been through a lot in my life. I’ve overcome a lot
in my life. I’ve fought and I’ve clawed myself out of the hole of death. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My destiny is not to die! My destiny is to LIVE! I am to
live and to shine bright. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I AM A FIREFLY! Sure, I’ve made mistakes. Yes, I’ve done
things I shouldn’t have. And I DO still struggle with depression. But that
doesn’t mean that I’m stuck or that my light is covered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I can share my thoughts. I can share my experiences. I
can tell my stories and pour out my heart. I CAN help others!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Even if the only reason I was placed on this Earth was to
post short videos of me rambling incoherently to brighten others days. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
THEN THANK GOD! Thank God I didn’t die. Thank God my
prayers weren’t answered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m a fighter! </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m a firefly!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’M ALIVE!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Ilbg18gVIkU?rel=0" width="400"></iframe> </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-9387583774820938082014-11-30T00:04:00.000-08:002015-01-03T00:06:56.989-08:00Fall to PiecesIt’s strange how memories fade and how even the pain of
emotion can subside, but in an instant it all comes rushing back. Like the
pressure of a damn being released, and how the water saturates everything in
its path. How it makes you paralyzed and anxious all at once. <br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
Human memories and emotions are funny that way. <br />
<br />
The other day, I attended a funeral of a family member that I didn't know. So
when I felt a strong sting of emotion I didn't know how to respond, I was taken
off guard. <br />
<br />
My first reaction was: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘I need a blade
now!’</i> And then I instantly rebuffed the thought with: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>‘I can do this!’</u></i> I hadn't experienced these emotions in years;
I thought I'd worked through them. I thought I overcame this painful memory. <br />
<br />
I instantly knew the enemy was taunting me. He was trying to cause havoc, to
make me falter to have me loose absolute control and to fall apart. I took a
deep breath and reminded myself that I was safe. That everything was going to
be okay...<br />
<br />
And that he couldn't hurt me anymore. <br />
<br />
I was molested as a child, by a family member. Over the years, since the
incident, I'd see him from time to time at different gatherings. Always from a
distance, I've always made sure to stay away. <br />
<br />
But this time, this time, was so uncomfortably close. I hadn't seen him in
years. And now, there he stood an arm’s length away from me. I had my back to
him, trying to block his existence, but then I had to turn and greet him. <br />
<br />
The instant my hand touched his in a shake, I cringed and couldn't let go fast enough.
Luckily our group instantly started moving and I was able to distract myself.
This was when my silent battle started. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Tears rushed to my eyes, my breathing quickened, and my
mind raced. I had to make a decision, and I had to make it fast! Either allow
the emotions to take over or fight; fight against the hurt and pain and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">NOT</b> allow myself to be a victim any
longer.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I can do this.”</i>
I said quietly out loud to myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We found our seats, and again the enemy taunted me, there
he sat right in front of me. I quickly started quoting scriptures and prayed a
desperate cry of help.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“By His wounds we are healed.”</i> Isaiah
53:5.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I can do all things through Christ who
gives me strength.” </i>Philippians 4:13.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A technique I learned in therapy came to me; I took a
deep breath and calmed myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘If little Star
lived through this horrific situation, big Star can too.’</i> I lived through
the situation once, I could relive it emotionally again. I’m stronger now.
Braver. He no longer has the power to hurt me. I’m in control. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Once I took the power back, gradually I felt peace. The
memories were still there, they were uncomfortable but not painful; the emotion
was gone. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had</i> overcome
the painful memory, I did <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">work through</i>
the situation – but I never worked through the emotions of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The enemy saw the chink in my armor. The enemy thought
throwing him at me would cause me to crumble. I faltered for a moment, but the
warring – fighting spirit in me won. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For the first time in a long time <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I felt strong</b>. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I am a strong. I am brave. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I <u>AM</u> A FIGHTER!</b> I need to remember this more often. </div>
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<![endif]-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-61805258314931223472014-10-26T20:07:00.000-07:002014-10-26T20:07:30.292-07:00Shallow Breathes Deep breath in.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Deep breath out. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Everything will be okay.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I feel like I’m slowly suffocating. And some days, like
today, it feels like the plastic around my head is crumbled and twisted. My
little pocket of air is taken from me; I gasp for air trying to breathe, but
all I get is plastic. Then the plastic is released and it relaxes and I can
take shallow breathes again. But I can never fully fill my lungs.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m trying to survive. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It seems like that’s all I ever do. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-9867572560284162712014-10-10T20:18:00.000-07:002014-10-26T20:19:14.334-07:00Steal Kill And Destroy<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/J_A1cnvGuUU?rel=0" width="400"></iframe><br />
This video is made to support The #SKAD1010 Project. I was not asked, prompted or received anything for making this video. I personally think SKAD is a wonderful non-profit organization and has an inspirational message. <br />
<br />
SKAD Information: <br />
stellaskad@gmail.com<br />
www.stealkillanddestroy.com<br />
www.twitter.com/skadworldwide<br />
www.stealkillanddestroy.tumblr.com<br />
www.facebook.com/StealKillandDestroyUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-60891414277024858272014-07-27T22:26:00.000-07:002014-10-26T20:13:43.318-07:00What's a Firefly?I’ve slowly started telling my family that I’m making and
uploading videos to YouTube. I kept it to myself for a while, because I didn’t
know how my family would react. I knew most of them wouldn’t understand and I
was afraid of having to explain it to them; because I knew I wouldn’t do it
right. But honestly, I was afraid of having the idea rejected by my family. I
liked having YouTube be my own private thing, my secret. But as my channel grows,
it’s taking more and more of my time and energy and I had to let people know
what was going on so they could try to “understand”.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There are only two people’s opinions in the world that
matter to me. And I was terrified of telling them both.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I love how the first thing out of Aunt Stella’s mouth,
after I explained everything was “And how can you bring God into this?” Ha ha,
it wasn’t “That’s stupid” or “It’s a waste of time”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just, “How can you bring God into this?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I just smiled and looked at her and said “How do I NOT
bring God into it?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Aunt Stella always knows the right thing to say. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My ‘slogan’ or ‘catch-phrase’ is “Love Will Save the
Day”, for the banner/header on all of my social sites I have this slogan with
John 3:16 tacked on the end. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I call my fans ‘fireflies’; little lights of hope and joy
in the dark – Matthew 5:13-16.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I also pray often that God would use my channel and bless
it. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But like my name says, Because She’s Star. How can I be
me, without having God in my YouTube channel? I don’t know why, but this was a
confirmation to me. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
That I’m doing something right. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
That I’m on the right track. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
That I’m in alignment with God.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve just got to be me and trust. And love myself, like I
tell my fireflies. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-61800670510899654932014-07-08T07:03:00.000-07:002014-07-12T07:04:23.259-07:00vlog: fetch<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/2-_g4U2P4zM?rel=0" width="400"></iframe><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-16513410359644415522014-07-07T08:15:00.000-07:002014-07-12T07:16:15.642-07:00CAS Remix: Ruthie Butler & Star Cord<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/M9dyeFRUDkg?rel=0" width="400"></iframe><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i><u>YouTube Description:</u></i></b><br />
<i>A re-stylization of two of my already made Sims, Ruthie (my mother Sim) and Star (my Sim self).<br /><br />A couple of months ago, I made a CAS in memory of my mother on her birthday. Today is the anniversary of her death. Every year, I try to do happy things on these days so that I don't focus on the sad. This year has been difficult to do that, but thanks to you fireflies I feel like I can make it through the day.<br /><br />I miss you Mami.<br /><br />I'll love you forever. I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my Mami you'll be. </i><br />
<br />
Since YouTube is the only form of creative-expression that I'm currently motivated to use, I decided that I would create a video to post on July 7th.<br />
<br />
I kept racking my brain, trying to think of what I could do. However, the one thing that kept pushing through my thoughts was that I wished my mom was with me. So, I decided that I would make that happen (in a small way of course).<br />
<br />
I created a photo-shoot for my Sim self and my Sim mother, I posed them in different ways and took pictures of them having a fun, happy and wonderful day at the park. It's weird how this brought me peace and calmed my spirit. But it did. <br />
<br />
Love WILL save the day. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-28991725773057233832014-07-07T08:00:00.000-07:002014-07-12T07:15:57.794-07:00I Have HopeNormally on this day, I write happy cheery posts about my
mom. How she was an amazing woman, how she’s now with God & how glorious
that is, and I share a witty story. But today, today I’m just not feeling it.
Because today, I’m not happy and I’m not strong enough to fake it. <br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I’m angry. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m angry at her for dying and changing our lives so
horribly. I’m angry at her for leaving me and my dad; and making me deal with a
woman that I hate and treats my dad so poorly. I’m angry at her for not
teaching me the things she should have. I’m angry at her for making me feel
like my words weren’t important, because now I’m too scared to share my
thoughts. I’m angry that she told everyone good-bye but me. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I have hate.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I hate that the only things I can remember her saying are
negative. I hate that I can’t remember her voice. I hate that I can’t remember
how she looked, without looking at a picture. I hate myself, for not making her
proud. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I’m weak. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m not strong enough today to put on a brave face.
Today, I’m not willing to accept that she’s gone for some <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“greater good”</i>. I’m tired of day-dreaming that she was by my side,
I just wish she was. Today, I feel I will never overcome the pain that my
mother’s death gave me. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I have faith.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have faith that God won’t leave me in this horribly
deep hole of depression that I’m in. I have faith that when I get to heaven, my
mother will be there. I have faith that I’m not alone. I have faith, believe
and know that the many powerful prayers my mother said over my life are still
in effects today. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Today is a sad day, but <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I have hope</b> that tomorrow will be better. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-74500001848948101762014-06-26T22:51:00.001-07:002014-06-26T22:51:49.106-07:00He Hears Her When She CriesI’ve really been struggling with my depression this last
month. I’ve almost cut myself three times. This last temptation, almost won,
but I was drowning so far down that I couldn’t pull myself up enough to do it.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. But, it’s not like I’ve
ever really <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“known”</i></b> what I’m doing. I flounder, it’s what I do. I bounce
from space to space, never grappling to anything in particular. I’m like a
helium balloon that’s been released. I just float; higher and higher, deeper and
deeper. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve been growing bigger on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCjzQE0VgluR9aW-MWXcZ93w">YouTube</a>, which has been
keeping me occupied; but doesn’t completely distract me. I keep thinking; if I
killed myself, would my fireflies know? How would they take that?</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m trying to stay strong. I’m trying to stay. But the
darkness is calling me again. And its voice is so sweet… I just want to lay and
rest. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I know these thoughts are wrong, and that I shouldn’t
entertain them. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have these young fans that look up to me. They call me
their best friend; say that they love me, that I get them through the day. They
say that I am this amazing person and I try to see myself through their eyes… But
I can’t. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I don’t see anything, I just feel pain. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
How can I help them, when I’m so empty?</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
How can I be a positive influence, when all I want to do
it die?</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
…And then I breathe, and say a prayer and close my eyes.
Because I know in the morning I will wake, and deep down, I’m glad for that. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: right;">
<i>Song that accompanies this post:</i><br />
<i> "<a href="http://youtu.be/SpCGF1GB_GQ">When She Cries</a>" by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/brittnicole">Britt Nicole</a>. </i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-53701636179101639112014-06-16T22:33:00.000-07:002014-09-18T23:11:33.871-07:00Are You a Shopaholic? <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/idPmyMSMypY?rel=0" width="400"></iframe><br />
Yes, yes I am a shopaholic; and I’m not ashamed to admit
that. I’ve known this for a few years now. I discovered this about myself when
I lived in Colorado. I’ve said this many times, but when I lived in Colorado I
was in a really bad place mentally. I was barely surviving. <br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I would lock myself in my room listen to music, cut, and play
The Sims 3. That is when I wasn’t at Build-a-Bear making more stuff animals
then any young-adult really needs. Or buying crosses from Hobby Lobby to “grow”
my collection (my collection took up one and half walls). Or at thrift stores
buying books I never really intended to read. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was constantly buying things. I would go to Walgreens
and buy random things to make myself happy; stickers, candy, coloring books, and
art supplies. I didn’t really realize what I was doing when I was doing. My
main goal was surviving and living to the next day. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Now that I look back at it, yes, that probably wasn’t the
healthiest thing for me. I shouldn’t have used materialistic things to comfort myself.
Do I still do it? Heck yes! But I do control it better now. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I think, at moments we all need a little help to stabilize
ourselves. And if buying something brings your mood up and aligns your thoughts
& mind, then maybe it’s not that bad. Lesser than two evil’s, you know? I
think indulging in ourselves every now and then is okay. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For sure we shouldn’t be doing it all the time. It
shouldn’t become an addiction. The “only” way we can become happy. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Acceptance is the first step in recovery, and recovery
takes time. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-38430736676841917272014-05-12T10:36:00.000-07:002014-05-12T10:37:11.014-07:00Hope & FaithA couple of months back I met this person online and we
started talking back and forth. We only exchanged a few emails; I realized
pretty quickly that this person and I didn’t mesh well. They sent me an email
and I just never replied, maybe that was wrong of me. Maybe I should have
replied back and told them that their last email gave me some red flags and
that I wasn’t interested in continuing our friendship.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I hate when people write me off like that, they just
ignore you and act like you don’t exist. They don’t have the decency to treat
you like a human-being. I was wrong. I should have said something. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
However, I am only human and I hate confrontation. I try
to act all tough, strong and in your face – but in reality I’m afraid. I’m weak
and have horrible self-esteem issues. After a hotly spat comment, most would
let it roll of their backs; move on. But me, I dwell on it; over and over again
until it rips my inwards to shreds. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Words, especially written words, are my life. Ink to paper,
cursor to screen; this is where I found myself. It’s my safe haven. My home. It’s
the only act that I’ve found that truly makes me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘feel better’</i>; the one and only good coping skill that I have. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Words are existence. Words are power. Words give authority,
and take it away. Words changes and destroys life. Words are freedom, freedom
from our sometimes dark selves. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Words are my being.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Last night I got an email, from the person that I
mentioned earlier in this post. They wrote me (what I consider) an angry
letter. </div>
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<br /></div>
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They called me a bad person, rude, pathetic and a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘lunatic’</i>. They said I was a horrible <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Christian’</i>. That they hoped bad things
would happen to me and that I would continue to harm myself; <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>“cut
yourself and cut your throat”</u></i></b>.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m trying to forget the hurtful words that I read. I’m
praying for God to help me pass this. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I did reply back to this person’s recent email, and I
told them they were right. I should have wrote them back and told them I was no
longer interested in communicating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
told them I was sorry. I told them why I stopped communicating with them; what
the reasons where. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I also told them, that my intuition was right (because of
their action in writing the recent email). And that I would have never cursed
them or said such horrible things about them or to them. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
They replied back with another anger filled email. I read
only half of it. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I think the thing that hurts me the most in this
situation is the fact that a person who knows nothing of me, that I only wrote
three or four emails to, would say such horrible things to me and about me. I
know I shouldn’t be shocked, I’m fully aware that people like this do exist
(even before this email). But still, how could someone do such a thing to
another human being? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The way they threw my self-harm in my face; acted like I
was a lesser person, worthless, because I’ve placed a blade to my skin in my
past. I actually get this a lot from other Christians and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘believers’</i>. Most of the time I just put it off as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘ignorance’</i> but this time… this time it
punctured my heart. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Cut yourself and cut your throat”.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve attempted suicide, I don’t know how many times. But
for someone to say that I should kill myself… that’s, that’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">ludicrous</b>! And they say that they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“follow Jesus”</i>! I know, that’s a low
blow and I shouldn’t say such judgmental things… but a person that I’ve only
talked to a handful of times (in email) wants me to kill myself because I didn’t
respond to them.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I didn’t respect them. I didn’t honor them. I didn’t acknowledge
them as a human being, or as child of God. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Yes, I might have done wrong. But I don’t think I deserve
the emails they wrote. I struggle enough, within my own mind, with my own words
and thoughts – I don’t need added fuel from negative outsiders. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>“Cut
your throat”.</u></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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This sentence will haunt me, for who knows how many days
to come. All I can do is have hope and faith that this won’t come true. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-35765356361883505662014-05-09T11:52:00.000-07:002014-05-12T11:53:21.005-07:00Crazy Girls<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/5ZbKPERsjQs?rel=0" width="400"></iframe><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>"(One Of Those) Crazy Girls"</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>by Paramore</i><br />
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px; text-align: center;">
Now when you say you wanna slow down,<br />
Does it mean you wanna slow dance?<br />
Maybe you just want a little extra time<br />
To focus on our romance.<br />
<br />
What do you mean I got it backwards?<br />
You know we're gonna be forever.<br />
Why are you tellin' me goodbye?<br />
Aren’t you gonna stay the night?<br />
<br />
Are we really over now?<br />
Maybe I can change your mind?<br />
Soon as you walk out my door,<br />
I’m gonna call a hundred times.<br />
<br />
Now I walk under a pink sky (ooh),<br />
Lovers float along and pass me by.<br />
I pour my heart out to your voice mail,<br />
Let you know I caught a bus<br />
To your side of town.<br />
<br />
And now I’m standing at your doorstep<br />
With Los Angeles behind me.<br />
If you don’t answer I’ll just use the key<br />
That I copied 'cause I really need to see you.<br />
<br />
If you're not here when I break in,<br />
I’m gonna go to your closet,<br />
Just so I can smell your skin.<br />
As the chemicals swim,<br />
I know I’ll never love again,<br />
I swear I’ll never love again!<br />
<br />
Baby, are we over now?<br />
Maybe I can change your mind?<br />
As soon as you walk out my door,<br />
I’m gonna call a hundred times!<br />
<br />
I’m not one of those crazy girls,<br />
I’m not one of those crazy girls,<br />
I’m not one of those crazy girls,<br />
I’m not one of those crazy girls.<br />
<br />
Hey, baby, are we over now?<br />
Maybe I can change your mind?<br />
As soon as you walk out my door,<br />
I’m gonna call a hundred times!<br />
<br />
Baby, are we over now?<br />
Maybe I can change your mind?<br />
Soon as you walk out my door,<br />
I’m gonna call a hundred times!<br />
<br />
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh.<br />
<br />
Now I’m one of those crazy girls,<br />
Now I’m one of those crazy girls,<br />
Now I’m one of those crazy girls,<br />
Now I’m one of those crazy girls.
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-90021491832698430472014-05-02T20:03:00.000-07:002014-05-04T20:12:42.619-07:00I'm a Firefly Today was a big milestone day for me on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCjzQE0VgluR9aW-MWXcZ93w">YouTube</a>; for two
reasons.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Reason #1:</u></b>
I got my first <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“hate”</i> comment. I
struggled a really long time with the decision to delete the comment and
pretend it never happened or to allow the comment to be posted and attempt a
witty come back. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuTqGF31-_A3jd_vGwxRBLGEmJTZYZPTsReUEflBkQv1vvbiSfqr5u9Z0doCJVXNidUZBIPrnqWz3G7RSL-zebawodzYqYVaHBjVkelr7cYBJ2wR_FLOYs8bjzAZ4fh58NUoRiXp1UyKc/s1600/101.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuTqGF31-_A3jd_vGwxRBLGEmJTZYZPTsReUEflBkQv1vvbiSfqr5u9Z0doCJVXNidUZBIPrnqWz3G7RSL-zebawodzYqYVaHBjVkelr7cYBJ2wR_FLOYs8bjzAZ4fh58NUoRiXp1UyKc/s1600/101.png" height="142" width="320" /></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>(This comment was left on my “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c20kv92JREU">Who Is Star?</a>”
video. My trailer for my channel, where I have my Sim-self do random activates that
I enjoy.)</i></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It wasn’t the wittiest come back, and it probably didn’t
make the poster think twice. But I stood up for myself. I owned me and I didn’t
allow someone else to make me feel bad about who I am. Who I am proud to be. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Reason #2:</u></b>
I hit 100 subscribers. That means I have 100 followers, people who think that
my videos are worth watching, that they want to be notified every time I make a
video. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Excuse me, WHAT!?? </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ARmPFplQGfE5JWzykqfoj159vI-a-GtEEmeXfaHt2naLWbE28XYJoLO3nsrA6_pZUV3Oflcf7pgg16zmBMsN1qoCgDemf5eCyZAhSLGiYVk1dijbBfs1XuVNz5HLP0lfffDr05zvtxY/s1600/100a.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ARmPFplQGfE5JWzykqfoj159vI-a-GtEEmeXfaHt2naLWbE28XYJoLO3nsrA6_pZUV3Oflcf7pgg16zmBMsN1qoCgDemf5eCyZAhSLGiYVk1dijbBfs1XuVNz5HLP0lfffDr05zvtxY/s1600/100a.png" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dude! I can’t even come to terms with that. How is that
possible? How is it possible that that many people would want to watch me play
The Sims 3 and listen to my random <i>(and sometimes inaudible)</i> gibber-gabber? </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
That’s just mind-blowing to me. To someone who feels <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><s>(most of the time)</s></i> that they’re
making no difference in the world. To have 100 people say: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Hey! I like you, there’s something about you that makes me want to
know more about you and keep tabs on you”</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s extremely humbling. And awe-inspiring at the same
time. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-36657490292646505432014-04-29T12:13:00.000-07:002014-05-12T12:14:06.080-07:00When Can I See You Again<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/fpnUrPUlJXY?rel=0" width="400"></iframe><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>"When Can I See You Again?"</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>by Owl City</i><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px; text-align: center;">
When can we do this again?<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
When can we do this again?<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
When can we do this again?<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
<br />
Switch on the sky and the stars glow for you<br />
Go see the world 'cause it's all so brand new<br />
Don't close your eyes 'cause your future's ready to shine<br />
It's just a matter of time, before we learn how to fly<br />
Welcome to the rhythm of the night<br />
There's something in the air you can't deny<br />
<br />
It's been fun but now I've got to go<br />
Life is way too short to take it slow<br />
But before I go and hit the road<br />
I gotta know, 'til then,<br />
when can we do this again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
When can we do this again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
I gotta know, when can I see you again?<br />
(When can I see you again?)<br />
<br />
Joined at the hip, yeah your sidekick needs you<br />
Life is a trip down the road that leads you<br />
Look all around at all the mountains you haven't climbed<br />
It's just a matter of time, before we learn how to fly<br />
Welcome to the rhythm of the night<br />
There's something in the air you can't deny<br />
<br />
It's been fun but now I've got to go<br />
Life is way too short to take it slow<br />
But before I go and hit the road<br />
I gotta know, 'til then,<br />
when can we do this again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
When can we do this again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
I gotta know,<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
<br />
Don't close your eyes 'cause your future's ready to shine<br />
It's just a matter of time, before we learn how to fly<br />
Welcome to the rhythm of the night<br />
There's something in the air you can't deny<br />
So let me know before I wave goodbye<br />
<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
When can we do this again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
When can we do this again?<br />
Oh oh oh oh<br />
<br />
Yeah, it's been fun but now I've got to go<br />
Life is way too short to take it slow<br />
But before I go and hit the road<br />
Tell me when<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
When can I see you again?<br />
Tell me when<br />
When can I see you again?
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6231733517495080758.post-79576644284385305842014-04-21T08:45:00.001-07:002014-04-21T08:54:17.492-07:00Happy Birthday Mami<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/_hHJSPichrU?rel=0" width="400"></iframe><br />
<br />
Yesterday was my mami's birthday. Every year since her passing, I try
to do something in remembrance on the day of her birth and on the day
she passed. I want to do something happy and positive, and not focus on
the negative.<br />
<br />
So, meet Ruthie Butler! I made a Create-a-Sim (CAS) video on my YouTube gaming channel in memory of my mom.<br />
<span class="userContent"><br /> Ruthie is a determined Sim
who doesn't take smack from anyone. She's kind, friendly and always
willing to help a Sim out. But, look out! She has a temper. Ruthie
aspires to own and run the best restaurant that Sim creation has ever
experienced. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span class="userContent"><i>(Btw, I've started making </i></span><br />
<span class="userContent"><i>gaming videos on YouTube. </i></span><br />
<span class="userContent"><i>Check out my channel: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/BecauseShesStar">BecauseShesStar</a>) </i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0