I mainly organize my thinking into school years, so trying to understand
what happened through 2014 is...strange, in my way of thinking. But I'm
kind of curious, so I want to try writing it out.
The winter of 2014 was atrocious. It was the peak of my self harming, when my obsession with burning began, and that of course sucked. It was terrifyingly hard, especially since four of my friends have January birthdays and each celebration included me hiding from lighters or, in one shameful case, having to beg my friend to hide a lighter from me. This went along with a whole host of other yucky self harm fantasies that seemed to plague me where ever I went, and was probably the worst I had ever had it since my major depression in junior high.
By February I think I had finally given in and told my mom that it was becoming serious. I was no longer interacting with the world in a healthy way, and while I hated worrying my mother, I had promised her during junior high that if my depression ever got out of my control that I would tell her and see a therapist. And so I told her and we started looking up psychologists, though I didn't get an appointment until April.
The rest of winter was agonizing. It was a constant haze of self harm thoughts, cigarette cravings and bite wounds, all the while failing out of AP Calc (which was causing me terrible stress, I had never failed anything, not to mention something that affected my college GPA) and dodging questions about my gloves. This was all combined with what I thought to be unrequited pinings and friend anxiety, and I was just. Having a grand old time. Ehhh.
Spring came, I was in therapy, and shortly after my first appointment I accidentally confessed my feelings to Beck at stupid o'clock in the morning over Facebook, like a stupid goof. But then they actually reciprocated, which was AWESOME, and I rapidly started improving. Having the love of your life return your feelings has a crazy way of changing your mindset, oddly enough. The self harm fantasies slowly but surely began to reign themselves in, and after about four months of therapy I said I was mentally stable enough to stop the sessions. With it, though, came the realization that I had been emotionally abused by my stepfather for years without giving it a name, and at my last session with my therapist I asked him how I could cope with this. His only advice was to never bring it up, and to move on, all the while striving to get as far away from his house as possible. These words continue to bother me, but I have found no better counsel.
Senior year of high school ended, just in time for me to realize that I absolutely hated my school and everyone in it. And to think, for the past four or maybe even seven years I had assumed I loved my school! But I didn't. It was a terribly environment with a lot of terrible people, and I was glad to be out. I graduated one grade-point below academic achievement, but they gave it to me anyway because reasons. My major plans had changed in the last few months, altering my life-long plans from elementary ed to special education. I had lost a friend who had been close to me since seventh grade, and lost trust in another. But with the end of the school year came summer, and summer meant moving out of my step father's house and spending the next few months almost exclusively with my father. This thought, and this thought along might have been what helped me dredge the last thick trenches of senior year.
Over the summer, I immediately began regretting all of the scholarships I did not sign up for as the FAFSA screwed over my family time and time again. I had many fabulous trips, most of which I can't remember because traveling never interests me. The only thing that sticks out is that I finally visited my now-partner, Beck, for the first time. It was wonderful, but unfortunately short (I believe a mere 30 minutes). We officially started dating after that, and I have never been happier. Then there was the Alaska trip to celebrate my Nana's retirement, which made me realize that I absolute abhors the idea of cruise ships.
Suddenly I was catapulting straight into my first year of college, which was surreal. I was placed in the Hmong House, a living learning community inside my dorm building, and into my room I carried with me many punk clothes I would soon tire of, an array of knee-high socks, hopes and dreams and aspirations, and fears of inevitable relapse once the stress kicked in. I was scared of my lack of support system, as every single one of my close friends had chosen a different graduation path, separating us among six different locations. Luckily, I soon found solace in Martina, the lovely people of my hall, and the Queer Cultural Center.
College has been jam-packed with new experiences so far, and my first semester has been full of adventure. I figured out my sexual identity, going from a bisexual to a biromantic grey asexual. I started entering the slam poetry scene and now perform during slams, almost making it to nationals in the qualifying round. I ruined my sleep schedule a bit and found out about many mental health locations on campus, just before realizing I didn't want to go back to dependency. I helped Martina through a bad breakup, learned what it truly meant to run through the winter air for a 3 AM friend. All the while I slowly but surely became a navigator of the metro lines, which solidified my once crumbling friendship and helped me reconnect with my ex girlfriend, who remains a valuable friend and ally through many hard times. I finally decided I didn't want to start smoking, and thrilled in the independence that came with buying tea for myself on bad mental health days. And then somewhere along the line I became obsessed with sports anime(?????????).
During Thanksgiving break Beck flew to Minnesota and stayed at the house for three days, which were blissful even with the constant dog attacks. I think of those days often, and they fill me to the brim with happiness. It was the start of what will be a series of visitations.
By finals I was having panic attacks over dad's threat to take me out of college if I got any Cs by semester end. Which I hadn't gotten a C in years (not including Calculus), the thought of having to live with my stepfather again after finally realizing my escape had me teetering on the edge. This combined with the suicide scare of my new friend and the stress of excommunicating myself from my on-campus church drove me to the brink, but I managed to keep myself together enough to make it through.
Finally came winter break, where a torturous Trakas visit at one point had me covertly running away to Kate's house to hide from their bigotry. I had never felt more independent and radical. I managed to terribly upset my mother and earn the respect of Nikki and John, and afterwards the Trakas family were careful not to talk politics around me.
And now comes the new year, where my only thoughts are some rebooted stories I want to write and a future spring break Beck visit on the horizon. I pray I will grow stronger and wiser by next year's end.
Life is good.
The winter of 2014 was atrocious. It was the peak of my self harming, when my obsession with burning began, and that of course sucked. It was terrifyingly hard, especially since four of my friends have January birthdays and each celebration included me hiding from lighters or, in one shameful case, having to beg my friend to hide a lighter from me. This went along with a whole host of other yucky self harm fantasies that seemed to plague me where ever I went, and was probably the worst I had ever had it since my major depression in junior high.
By February I think I had finally given in and told my mom that it was becoming serious. I was no longer interacting with the world in a healthy way, and while I hated worrying my mother, I had promised her during junior high that if my depression ever got out of my control that I would tell her and see a therapist. And so I told her and we started looking up psychologists, though I didn't get an appointment until April.
The rest of winter was agonizing. It was a constant haze of self harm thoughts, cigarette cravings and bite wounds, all the while failing out of AP Calc (which was causing me terrible stress, I had never failed anything, not to mention something that affected my college GPA) and dodging questions about my gloves. This was all combined with what I thought to be unrequited pinings and friend anxiety, and I was just. Having a grand old time. Ehhh.
Spring came, I was in therapy, and shortly after my first appointment I accidentally confessed my feelings to Beck at stupid o'clock in the morning over Facebook, like a stupid goof. But then they actually reciprocated, which was AWESOME, and I rapidly started improving. Having the love of your life return your feelings has a crazy way of changing your mindset, oddly enough. The self harm fantasies slowly but surely began to reign themselves in, and after about four months of therapy I said I was mentally stable enough to stop the sessions. With it, though, came the realization that I had been emotionally abused by my stepfather for years without giving it a name, and at my last session with my therapist I asked him how I could cope with this. His only advice was to never bring it up, and to move on, all the while striving to get as far away from his house as possible. These words continue to bother me, but I have found no better counsel.
Senior year of high school ended, just in time for me to realize that I absolutely hated my school and everyone in it. And to think, for the past four or maybe even seven years I had assumed I loved my school! But I didn't. It was a terribly environment with a lot of terrible people, and I was glad to be out. I graduated one grade-point below academic achievement, but they gave it to me anyway because reasons. My major plans had changed in the last few months, altering my life-long plans from elementary ed to special education. I had lost a friend who had been close to me since seventh grade, and lost trust in another. But with the end of the school year came summer, and summer meant moving out of my step father's house and spending the next few months almost exclusively with my father. This thought, and this thought along might have been what helped me dredge the last thick trenches of senior year.
Over the summer, I immediately began regretting all of the scholarships I did not sign up for as the FAFSA screwed over my family time and time again. I had many fabulous trips, most of which I can't remember because traveling never interests me. The only thing that sticks out is that I finally visited my now-partner, Beck, for the first time. It was wonderful, but unfortunately short (I believe a mere 30 minutes). We officially started dating after that, and I have never been happier. Then there was the Alaska trip to celebrate my Nana's retirement, which made me realize that I absolute abhors the idea of cruise ships.
Suddenly I was catapulting straight into my first year of college, which was surreal. I was placed in the Hmong House, a living learning community inside my dorm building, and into my room I carried with me many punk clothes I would soon tire of, an array of knee-high socks, hopes and dreams and aspirations, and fears of inevitable relapse once the stress kicked in. I was scared of my lack of support system, as every single one of my close friends had chosen a different graduation path, separating us among six different locations. Luckily, I soon found solace in Martina, the lovely people of my hall, and the Queer Cultural Center.
College has been jam-packed with new experiences so far, and my first semester has been full of adventure. I figured out my sexual identity, going from a bisexual to a biromantic grey asexual. I started entering the slam poetry scene and now perform during slams, almost making it to nationals in the qualifying round. I ruined my sleep schedule a bit and found out about many mental health locations on campus, just before realizing I didn't want to go back to dependency. I helped Martina through a bad breakup, learned what it truly meant to run through the winter air for a 3 AM friend. All the while I slowly but surely became a navigator of the metro lines, which solidified my once crumbling friendship and helped me reconnect with my ex girlfriend, who remains a valuable friend and ally through many hard times. I finally decided I didn't want to start smoking, and thrilled in the independence that came with buying tea for myself on bad mental health days. And then somewhere along the line I became obsessed with sports anime(?????????).
During Thanksgiving break Beck flew to Minnesota and stayed at the house for three days, which were blissful even with the constant dog attacks. I think of those days often, and they fill me to the brim with happiness. It was the start of what will be a series of visitations.
By finals I was having panic attacks over dad's threat to take me out of college if I got any Cs by semester end. Which I hadn't gotten a C in years (not including Calculus), the thought of having to live with my stepfather again after finally realizing my escape had me teetering on the edge. This combined with the suicide scare of my new friend and the stress of excommunicating myself from my on-campus church drove me to the brink, but I managed to keep myself together enough to make it through.
Finally came winter break, where a torturous Trakas visit at one point had me covertly running away to Kate's house to hide from their bigotry. I had never felt more independent and radical. I managed to terribly upset my mother and earn the respect of Nikki and John, and afterwards the Trakas family were careful not to talk politics around me.
And now comes the new year, where my only thoughts are some rebooted stories I want to write and a future spring break Beck visit on the horizon. I pray I will grow stronger and wiser by next year's end.
Life is good.
