It's the Little Things

Once upon a time, there were two people who met in a park. They'd known each other from a distance before, but hadn't ever really met. In fact, the person that they had known from a distance was somebody that they strongly disliked, each for their own reasons. It was because of a mutual friend that these two ended up at the park and that day was the first time they had ever really talked. The conversation was about transporting wood chips to bury somebody with, but, from that, they began to look past the dislike that they had for each other and start a friendship.

This was a very fast friendship. It didn't take a long time for the two to be comfortable around each other and, about a week and a half after meeting, they were pretty good friends. It was discussed that it felt like they had known each other for a lot longer than just a week and a half, or a month, or a year. At that point it was a fairly obvious that they liked each other, but it wasn't much more than a crush.

One Saturday night, they were hanging out and talking about the stars and how the blood moon was supposed to be a thing that night. One of these people had never been to a lookout point, and so they decided to go there, after grabbing a few blankets to stay warm, to watch the sky do its thing.
That was the most spectacular night to watch the sky. The skies were so clear; not a cloud was in sight. The stars were so bright and they could see all of the constellations that you wouldn't be able to see on an average night. The northern lights were out, over a near by, lit up town, bright and dancing through the sky. Finally, the blood moon was above the mountain, glowing orange. The two of them hadn't ever seen such a beautiful night sky. The rest of the night consisted of laying on the cold, frozen ground, staring up at the sky, pointing out stars to each other, or sitting in the car and watching the northern lights dance.

That night we made wishes on shooting stars. Those were wishes that eventually ended up coming true. Chris hadn't ever seen a shooting star before that night. It was the cutest thing as he watched the stars as intently as he did, trying not to blink and so determined to see one before the night was over.
After that night, it was a silent mutual agreement that that was our spot to go to with each other. Since then, it's been extremely rare that we've ever gone up to Skyline with anyone else. (I'm pretty sure I'm actually the only one of us guilty in this. But it was for a good reason.)

The next day, Chris asked me out for realsies. I said yes. But then drama happened and then we weren't actually dating anymore. But then it was decided that the drama was irrelevant when it came to our relationship, so then we were dating again. That was a frustrating week. But once it was over, we were in a relationship and it was a very timid, afraid to fall in love kind of relationship. We kind of skipped all the pre-relationship dating, and went straight from being friends to being boyfriend and girlfriend. I know that's not really advised, but I'm happy that it happened like that. It never actually felt like it was too fast or rushed or pushy. It felt right.

Since that first day of meeting each other, we've come a long way. We've gone through a surprising amount of deep, life-changing times and challenges and have overcome some tough obstacles together. None of that has ever really shaken our relationship, and honestly, I think that those things have strengthened it greatly.

There is honestly so much that I am thinking about, but not writing down, to tell you about this relationship. I could tell you about how Chris was smooth as heck and walked me into a ditch so that he'd have an excuse to hold my hand. Or how he bought me a ukulele because mine was broken. Or about the first time he met my family and the conversation we had afterwards about his interrogation from my disapproving big brother. Or about the first time we said "I love you", or when I met his family for the first time, or getting my first New Years kiss. But there is too much and that would require me to begin writing a book because. That's a lot of things to write down. And also, those are my things and I don't know if I want to share them all with you anyway.

Really though, when I get down to it, it's the little things that make this relationship with Chris as amazing as it is. I couldn't have dreamed that I'd find somebody who treats me as gently, as kindly, and as lovingly as he does. And it's not in nice dates, or fancy trips to the symphony. It's in him remembering my favorite color and giving me the little green coffee cup when I'm at his house for coffee; it's in him kissing my hand; it's in his smile when he tells me I'm weird or when we start joking about something stupid; it's in him hugging me tight and telling me that he loves me "soooooo muc." It's in him learning how to waltz with me; its in the way he rubs my back when I'm sad; it's in the way he teases; it's in the way he slow dances with me in the middle of Walmart; it's in the way he says the mushiest, sappiest things, just because that's exactly how he feels; it's in the way he texts me out of nowhere just to say that he was thinking about me at work and that he loves me; it's in the way he nudges me to make decisions. It's in the way he tries to get me to laugh; its in the way he laughs at me; it's in the way he gets excited to show me something or to tell me about something; it's in the way he listens to all the things I have to say, whether they're opinions, or sad things, or happy things, or stupid things; it's in the way he stays up all night with me if sad/bad things are going down; it's in his the stern, concerned voice; it's in his encouragement and nudging to do what makes me happy. Its in his eyes when he looks at me, and in his hands when he holds mine, and in his arms when they're wrapped around me. It's in the eskimo kisses and the close talking and the silly, ridiculous faces and jokes. It's in the way he started keeping up with the astrological forecasts so that we could go watch the stars together; it's in the way he argues with me; it's in the way he tackle hugs me. It's in the serious talks and the Friday nights we've spent up, watching movies and drawing on each other and talking.

While the big things are gestures are always important, it is all of the little things that he does with me and the little ways he is considerate and loving and caring, that really make this relationship what it is. It is because of those little things that I love him as much as I do and I can see how much he loves me. This man does so much for me and just takes care of me because I can't take care of myself sometimes. He's the one who has boosted my self-confidence and self-worth, he's the one who made me believe in love again, and he's the one who holds my heart and will have it for as long as he wants it.

Yesterday (the 17th) marked six months. Honestly it seems like so much longer than just that short amount of time. Just days after meeting him, I felt as if I'd known him my entire life. He is closer to me than anyone else has ever been and has broken through barriers that nobody else had a prayer of being able to do. There's something incredibly special in somebody knowing the worst things about you, and seeing you at the lowest you have ever been, and loving you still. That's something I honestly expected to never find. But I'm sure as hell happy that I did.
I have loved him more than I have ever loved a person, and in so many ways and for so many things. He's my boyfriend, my confidante, my go-to-man, my Eagle 2, and my best friend. God only knows what I'd be without him.

Christopher, I love you. So much. Happy six months, babe. ♡ I'm happy we don't hate each other any more. 

"Everything... affects everything." - Jay Asher

(All of the stories I tell in this post are true, and it was extremely difficult to relive them. I was given permission by the people in the stories to write about them and they are aware that I am posting this on a blog accessible to the public.)

They tell us that words can never hurt us. I disagree. Words are among the most hurtful, harmful things. Words can create one of the most excruciating forms of torture. It's words that lower a person's self esteem. It's words that makes people begin to hate themselves. It's words, and the psychological torment that they inflict, that drives a person to take their own life.

Recently, I had somebody tell me that another person is a waste of my effort, because they made me sad. And that killed me. As much as I miss that person's friendship and as much as it hurts me to not be able to talk to them anymore, that person will never ever be wasted effort or time.
Very few people are a waste of time, or space, or effort. You should never tell anybody that they are, unless you have a legitimate to reason to say so. Disliking somebody is not a legitimate reason. Somebody being a jerk is not a legitimate reason. Somebody disappointing you is not a legitimate reason.

Never ever say that a person is a waste of time, effort, or space. Nobody should ever have to endure the psychological torture that is hating yourself and still trying to live with yourself. People use those terms like its no big deal. They don't realize the potential those words have for harming a person.

As a person who has hated herself, and has seen countless friends hate themselves, this topic is something that is so important to me. I've had friends kill themselves; I've had friends try to kill themselves; I've talked too many people out of killing themselves than I ever thought I could. Each one of these people were important and are important and will always be important, regardless of whether or not they have taken their life and have been gone for weeks, or months, or years. Every single one of those suicides that ended up taking place, all of those people that are still living despite their effort to take their own lives, and those people that are still convinced that they are worthless, are worth every single bit of pain I've felt on their behalf and every second spent trying to show them otherwise. All of the sleepless nights, all of the tears, all of the heartache. They were and are worth it. Despite all that, however, each of these people believed that they were actually a waste of space and time and that is the thing that connects all of the suicides and attempted suicides and suicidal thoughts that I have been affected by.

In the summer of 2012, I went to Fairbanks for the six week Rural Alaskan Honors Institute college preparatory program. There I met two people who are still involved heavily in my life. One of these people was my roommate, Natalie, and the other is my best friend, Miriah.

The first time I encountered suicide was when Miriah texted me one night (this was after RAHI ended) and told me she was thinking about killing herself. At the time she was going through a lot and sincerely thought that she wasn't worth much. I can't tell you how many times I sat up all night, texting her and talking to her so that she wouldn't do anything. Every night this happened, she would tell me about how she's not worth much and that people would be better off without her. It was heart breaking to hear because Miriah is closer to me than any other person ever has. She knows what I'm thinking before I do and knows me better than I know myself. She's shown me, in the few years I've known her, how to be myself and how to live and breath and be happy and comfortable with being me. Together we've struggled through each others mental issues and emotional impairments. We've had our hearts broken, we've had disagreements, hurt each other, and had times where we just didn't talk. She is my rock, the sweet to my tea, and my saving grace and the idea of living a life without her kills me.
For a time I couldn't convince her of any of this. She legitimately believed that she was a waste of time and space. She believed that her family and friends would be happier if she was not around to be a burden on them. Now things are infinitely better, but that entire span of time will never be less heartbreaking.

Natalie was, and is, like my sister. She texted me one night, just to say goodbye. I found out, after hours of prying, that she was going to kill herself, because her boyfriend had hurt her in such a cruel and unforgiving way. She was in love with him, and he knew it, and exploited it. He used her feelings for his own sick, twisted idea of entertainment. That night, I stayed up with her. I tried calling, but she would only text. I sat there and told her about how much she meant to me. See, Nat taught me how to box, cuss, fight, stand up for myself, and how to not let anybody walk over me. She taught me how to drink coffee properly, how to be tough, and how to be a stronger me. She was like a big sister. And the night that she said goodbye, I tried to convince her of it but she didn't believe it.
Once again, I was told by the person on the other end of the phone that she wasn't worth the space, time, or effort. I was told that people would be happier with her gone. I was told that she was worthless and that she didn't deserve to live because of the enormous waste she was.
After hours of arguing, she asked me for a favor. I told her I'd do anything for her and she told me that her boyfriend was going to kill himself too and she wanted me to try to stop him.
I already hated him. From the day I met him I disliked him and he disliked me. But then this happened and my big sister was about to kill herself because of him. I didn't know what else to do except try to do what she asked, in the hope that she wouldn't try to kill herself if he didn't.
She sent me his phone number and, after another hour or so, stopped texting back. I tried calling her, messaging people I knew she was friends with, and my dad called the Suicide Prevention line at UAF for me. But there was nothing for the next four hours.
That night, I didn't sleep. I stayed up the rest of the night with her boyfriend. I never told him who I was, or why I was trying to talk him out of suicide and, the entire time, I hated myself for helping him and for not letting him die. Eventually I convinced him that, even though he felt like the POS that he is, it wasn't worth taking his own life when he could try to move on and improve himself as a human being. After that, I told him never to contact me again and I have never heard of or from him since, which is exactly how I'd like to keep it.

At around 4am, my phone lit up. I saw it was Natalie and, heart-in-throat, opened the message.

"Beka, I love you. Be good. Goodbye, love."

And then silence.

Absolute, deadly, heartbreaking silence.

One of my best friends was gone, and I had just helped to save the person who caused that to happen. I tried called the Suicide Prevention hotline, but they told me that people had already contacted them about her. For hours and hours I sat awake and felt like I was going crazy because my big sister had just killed herself. It wasn't until the afternoon of the next day that I heard anything.

I got a text, from Natalie's number, and absolutely terrified, opened it.

"Beka, they got me. They're taking me to the hospital now. I'm sorry. I tried. I love you."

After that encounter with suicide, I decided that no matter how well I knew a person, or how much I hated a person, I would try to prevent their suicide if I could. Since then I've talked countless people out of suicide and tried and failed with others. Suicide prevention is a topic that very quickly became a passion of mine. I'm not very outspoken about it in person, but I do as much as I possibly can to actively prevent it.
Suicide is a topic that a lot of people turn away from or whisper about. It isn't talked about enough, or fought against hard enough. It's kind of a taboo subject and that fact sincerely bothers me. Another part of the topic of suicide is that it's thought of as a selfish act, when it reality, the people that go through with it are doing so in the hopes that other peoples' lives will be improved for it. It's more selfless than anything else, as far as I have personally experienced.
Rather than trying to help people that are at risk of suicide, we tell them that they have mental issues, or ignore them, or say that they're doing it for attention in an effort to convince ourselves that the problem isn't as bad as it really seems.
People, please. Try to help people. Try to build peoples' self confidence and self worth. Don't even tell a person that they are a waste of time, space, or effort, because that will very rarely ever be true. If nothing else, be aware that words do in fact cause serious damage if said to the wrong people. Most of the time, you'll never even be able to tell the people who are fine from the people who already hate themselves. Regardless, "You're a waste of my breath," or, "This world would be better without you," or, "They're not worth the effort," is something that should never be said. People are worth more than revenge, or the satisfaction of insults, or the lessened pain you'd feel by trying to dismiss them from your mind. Please put in the effort, and the time, to convince them that they aren't a waste of space.

This is a post I've been wanting to write for a long time now, and I haven't really been able to properly express my feelings on this subject. Even after having spent nearly four hours on this post I don't feel completely satisfied or like I've really covered the topic as much as I wished, but it's a start. Suicide is something that I'd like to become very outspoken and active in preventing. I would like to begin raising awareness to this subject that is killing people daily, all over the world, unnecessarily. I'm not expecting this post to really change the way people talk or think, or change how people act towards at risk people. I'm just tired of people I care about ending their lives, or trying to, because they feel that the rest of the world would be better off without them. I'm tired of having to convince people that they are important and not a waste of a life. While every second that I have spent getting to this point has been painful, it's been worth it and I honestly don't mind growing even more tired if it means making some effort to stop people from taking their own lives. And that is why I wrote this.

Also, thanks to Jef Nelson, I have an ending to this post because I don't know how to end things.

jkaefhrieKJAWDHghfkjfshklhawesLEFHADU!?


CARELINES:

Anchorage
(907) 258-7575
1-800-478-7575
(907) 563-3200

Fairbanks
(907) 452-HELP (4357)
1-877-266-HELP (4357)

Kenai
(907) 283-7511

Ketchikan
(907) 225-4135

Wasilla
(907) 376-2411

http://www.suicide.org/suicide-hotlines.html

You are not alone.

One day they'll call me Justice Lady Justice...

Around the end of the school year, in April, I was driving home from school when I got a text from my parents, asking when I'd be home.

"Where are you at?"

"I be driving."

"When will you be home?"

"Soon. I'm not stopping anywhere."

"Okay... Dad has some news about an internship."

"DSAFDSHGERHAGRDGDKFDS WAHT"

"Yup."

"IM GOING TO BE THERE VERY SOON."

I'm honestly not sure what I expected them to do, or what I expected to happen if I got there sooner. I just remember being so so SO bloody excited that I might have a chance to hear something about an internship.
See, I had been talking to my dad about interning at a law office, and he had said that he'd ask around a bit at work. I'd called a couple places, with no luck, and we had talked about a couple attorneys that might one day be interested. So. This was huge.
I GET TO THE HOUSE, RIGHT, annnnnnd Dad was not home. He had taken the kids to Civil Air Patrol. I was pretty much bouncing off the walls at this point and ran upstairs and tried to get answers from Mom, to no avail. Finally, Dad got home and gave me a business card. I stared at it for a bit and wasn't quite sure what to do with it (being the brilliant blonde I am) and eventually he told me that he had written on the back.
The card was the Deputy District Attorney's, and he had told my dad that the office would probably be interested in an intern. It wouldn't be paid, but I'd really get to see if law was what I wanted to do.
I know it doesn't sound all that exciting, but I was flipping my lid.

As soon as the next business day rolled around, I called. It took a couple days, but I finally got ahold of Campion and spoke with him about the internship, and went into the office to take a look around and to talk about when I'd start and all that tosh. To make a long story short, I got the position. I started on May 12th.

First day there I had to go through a background check, which took about two minutes, and sign a confidentiality agreement. I was then placed in the care of the leading District Attorney and assisted her with a case that she was working on. They put me in an office to work in for the day (or so I thought) and told me I'd be bored out of my mind in an hour.
Well, I wasn't. I breezed through the work they gave me and went back for more. They sent me over to the courthouse instead, to observe in the courtroom. I got to watch an entire robbery case, with multiple defendants. SO. EXCITED.

Since that first day, I've written a couple motions for the court, I've observed several trials (mainly murder trials), helped several of the attorneys with cases, and made some fantastic connections. Every single day I've learned something new, I've been shown a different aspect of the law, and I've been exposed to how a career in law actually feels.
Let me tell you... It feels freaking awesome. I have loved every single moment of it, and value it so much. The people I worked with have been fantastic, and have offered letters of recommendation and have told me that there will always be a place for me, if I ever want to go back.

I'm going to miss it all. Especially the Nesbett Courthouse. A lot of people don't really realize that you don't *have* to hang out in the downstairs lounge or cafeteria if you're not in the courtroom. As a result, the top four floors are typically silent as a ghost. Its where I've done some of my best thinking, written the best I've ever written, and felt the most at peace.
My favorite place was the sixth floor, where you can see over the balconies, down onto the street, and over the tops of most of the buildings in downtown. Each floor has these massive windows that span nearly the entire outer wall. My spot was in the very middle of the entire floor, in the middle of the largest window.
From the sixth floor you can see the couple arguing on the street corner; the mom yelling at her kids to stop teasing the younger ones; the angry cab driver leaning out of his window to yell at someone; the business men and women walking and talking fast. You know that they're making a racket. You know that, if you were outside, you'd hear all of that insanity. But, on the top floor of the courthouse, you can't hear anything except for the occasional rattle of the elevator cables. There's something extremely calming, looking out over the chaos, of the tourists, of the vehicles, of the construction going on on the next block, and knowing none of it can touch you.
On that floor, I've jammed out to my 80's rock, I've used up three whole legal pads from writing potential blog posts, which will probably never get posted because I'm lazy, and I've watched one of the most exciting murder cases I've ever seen. That case solidified my want to advocate for the death penalty in Alaska.
On the sixth floor, I've held random women in the bathroom, as they cried on my shoulder about a case they were involved in. I've watched all of the behind-the-scenes action in trials. I've drunk my weight in coffee, I've spoken to a couple judges, made friends with a defense attorney, made myself very well known to the court reporters, and just.... been there, to watch and observe and mimic. Most of the court officers know me by now, and the security officers at the entrances of the courthouses know me by name.
I've broken things, taken naps, broken things, learned so much, did menial tasks, and broke a few things. But they accepted me, and I returned the feelings.

I'm just so excited about how this internship has developed, and I'm really going to miss everyone and being a part of everything in the office. I can't wait till I get a chance to return to the office and do more in-depth and extensive work.

If anything has come from this internship, it's that I'm am 100% certain that law is what I want to do with my life. First goal is to become a prosecutor, and the next, a judge. One day, people, one day I'm going to change my name to Lady Justice, and they'll have to call me Justice Lady Justice. And it's gonna be freaking rad as heck.

I've loved my experience at the office, and I'm not looking forward to not having to wake up at 6am (which is very surprising, because I value my sleep more than food). I wish I could stay here forever and just never leave. Sadly, however, my last day is Friday, and I plan to make this last week legendary.

Well, guys.... thanks for reading. I'm not sure that I'll be able to go back to the courthouse much before the end of the internship, but if I'm not in the office, you'll know exactly where to find me. Ciao.

Dear Classmate

To the lady in Intro to Research today who was all miffed with me,

First off. You came into the classroom and sat down, right next to me. You got all of your stuff out and were sitting there for a full five minutes. You were chatting and completely at ease. I heard you when you turned to your friend and said, "I normally like to have an empty desk next to me," before you turned to me and started trying to shove my desk further from you so you could fit another in between us. I was sitting here first, so find your own space. I'm not going to just let some girl, whether or not she's bigger than me, push me around (heh heh, get it? Because she was pushing me in my chair. Heh. Heh.), just because she wants an extra desk to put her junk on.

Second, when I asked you what in the mother frickin crap you were doing, you started trying to explain about how "claustrophobic" you were. Lady. I am claustrophobic. Very very much so. I can't even wear certain clothes because I'll have a panic attack. I can't sit, for long periods of time, between people in a car. I have nightmares in which I'm trapped in some small space and, when I wake up, am wrapped super tightly in my blankets and end up having a panic attack and crying. I have to hug people a certain way, making sure my arms aren't trapped under theirs. Heck, I once had a meltdown in a dressing room because the dress I tried on didn't give my arms full range of motion, and even though it looked great on me, I couldn't help but start freaking out because it was a tiny bit too tight around my shoulders. Even thinking about somebody being trapped in a small space terrifies me, and I'm not exaggerating. My heart beat is already really fast, but then you add my fear of small spaces in the mix and my heart rate is comparable to that of a cat. I know how claustrophobia works and I know how it feels. It isn't "just wanting a bit more room." It's not a matter of preference. 


Third, I don't appreciate your lack of decency and manners. I didn't like the fact that you were sitting next to me, but I dealt with it. Why? Because my momma raised me right. I have manners, I'm not rude. If it really bothered me to the point that I wanted you to move, I would have asked you, politely. You just started pushing, as hard as you could. I have a bit of news for you though. That was not in fact a delivery room. That was a classroom.

Next time you want an extra desk, ask politely for me to move over. Don't you dare shove my desk away and then shove another desk into mine so that I'd move faster. I will make sure that I am sitting next to you when we have our next exam, and I will tell the professor that you were trying to get answers from me. I'm not a nice person and will have no remorse.

Thank you for being a butthead and giving me something to write about,

Rebekah

I've been claustrophobic since as long as I can remember. I can look at a small space and be like, "Yeah, I can fit in there." and a lot of times, I'll fit into the space. Every time, however, my heart rate will increase and I'll start sweating and I'll stop having coherent thoughts. The faster I get out of that space, the quicker I can calm down, obviously, but if I'm trapped, I will seriously just give up and cry. It's not funny, and I am actually scared of people who think it is because I don't want them to try to put in a small space. This is an irrational fear of mine.
I hate being claustrophobic. It really sucks and makes life just a bit harder. I mean, it's not like losing a limb or getting some huge scar. But it's still a bit of an issue for me.
While I hate claustrophobia, I hate it more when people try to use something like it for their own selfish means, especially when they aren't actually suffering from any kind of phobia. I mean, how rude is it to sit down next to somebody and then just start shoving them in their desk, without saying a word to them, simply because you want a bit of extra room? You can't just stand up and walk to the other side of your friend, where there are five empty desks.

Maybe it shouldn't irk me so much, but it really makes me mad when people can't just show a bit of respect to other people, when they can't just be polite. I mean, I'm not the biggest fan of people. I'm a people person, but I don't like people, in general, very much. Despite that distaste for fellow humans, I'm polite, I smile, I say "thank you," and "please" and "yes sir" and "yes ma'am". I mind my manners. And I cannot stand people who can't do the same and display basic social interaction courtesies.

Darth Vader, over and out.

An Apple A Day...

I used to be pretty into working out. The hour of insanity every day was something I never wanted to skip because I actually, really, truly enjoyed it. I was addicted to it; the burn of my calves during the initial warm up; the middle of the workout when it gets really intense; that light feeling afterwards, kind of like when you step off a treadmill after running for a while and you feel like you're walking really fast because you're too light. I was really motivated and had gotten in pretty good shape.
Theeeeeen the school year started and I started skipping days because I didn't have time, or work went too late and I didn't want to work out afterwards. For a while I worked out once or twice a week, and tried to do what I could during the days that I worked. I knew I should have been trying to do more, but I'd be tired and just not want to do anything, no matter how many times people tried to motivate me to work out with them. I'd tell them that it's not that big of a deal, because it's "just this one time I'm skipping, how much of a difference will it make?" Eventually it got to the point where I just wasn't doing anything except for the odd 50 pushups here and there, when I had a few minutes that I thought of to spare.
In the past few weeks I've been really feeling guilty about the fact that I've left off working out and getting into even better shape. My little sister, Trinity, and I have been trying to get started waking up early and working out before we start our day. She has no problem with waking up at 6am, and will get up and get ready and then come try to wake me up. I am not a morning person and, whenever she walks into my room and tells me to get up, I apparently engage her in some sort of debate as to why we should wait another half hour to an hour to work out. When I do eventually get up, she doesn't have enough time to do a full workout before her class starts and we'll end up doing Cardio Abs.
Today was actually the first day we did a full workout, plus Cardio Abs, yoga, and some meditation. And it was fricken great. I loved it. We're going to try to keep it going.

I didn't really have a point to all of this, it was really just to talk about working out. It's great. It's addicting. It definitely makes you a happier person if you're in shape and can eat like a horse and not care because of the working out that you do. When I was really into working out I ate constantly, I was more active, more outgoing. It was awesome. And I plan on getting back to that point.

Um, But Excuse You. And Me. And The Dog.

GIRLFRIEND. Or manfriend. Honestly, chances are that, if you and I were actually talking in person, I'd call you "girlfriend" regardless of your gender.

It's been a long fricken time since I wrote, and I think that I've really really missed it. I have so many opinions and ideas and thoughts and I'll be sitting in class and think, "Hey, that'd make a great blog topic," and then completely space on actually sitting down and writing something. None of those bored-of-listening-to-my-professor-talk-about-his-favorite-movie inspired topics exist in my mind anymore. But it's nearly two am, I'm listening to Eye Of The Tiger and am motivated to do everything. It doesn't matter that I was planning on being up at six am to work out with my little sister. I am motivated to write right now. (Which really sucks, I'm not gonna lie. It'd be nice to have this kind of motivation in the mornings.)

My only problem is finding an actual topic. I mean, I could tell you about what's been going on in life, but that's kind of lame. So many things have happened since I wrote last, and I deleted all of the posts that had been on this blog, except for one, and I'm not going to try to tell you about it all in some consolidated version. I have some really great stories to tell, and I don't want to shorten them.

Honestly, this post is probably going to be just a thing telling you that I'm not the greatest writer, I'm terrible at staying on topic, and my posts are typically pretty uninteresting. BUT I will do my best to keep you entertained and that's something, right? I'll tell you about my racist, rude, inappropriate Justice professor, or about the new, crazy friends I've made, or adventures I've had with my family. And it'll be awesome. I will make you love me. Maybe. Probably not. Chances are I'll weird you out and ramble and just not shut up and you'll be like, "Bro, let's get outta here, she be cray," and then I'll have to track you down and give you a cookie so you judge me less.

I'll figure it out. Tomorrow. After I get some sleep. And coffee.

Social Acceptance

*sits down with mug of tea* Social acceptance. Today I'd really love to address this as a global issue. It's something that, through the media, has become something that is comparable to a disease, or even a plague. It's spreading rapidly, infecting the lives of people on this planet. Those who can't find a cure are torn apart slowly and then discarded when the life is sucked out of them.

Because of the media, we look at ourselves differently. We aren't thin enough, we don't wear the right clothes, we aren't pretty enough, we don't have "that look". Ultimately, we aren't perfect enough. We are second best to celebrities, to models, and to anybody who is pretty and has their pictures plastered all over the media networks; magazines, newspapers, the interwebs, and television. We begin to take what these people have told us, and compare it to what we are and how we look. We begin to notice all of the little, miniscule issues and flaws on our bodies and we resent ourselves because we aren't meeting the standards of popular society.

Basically, what we perceive as perfection isn't even real. We are being lied to and, in our own turns, lying to ourselves; telling ourselves that we aren't good enough, that we aren't beautiful, and that we aren't perfect.

Honestly, perfection isn't possible. Like the woman in the video, Jean Kilbourne, said, such perfection is only attainable through the means of Photoshop and other photo editing software. If it weren't for "Insta-thin" and airbrushing, these perfect people that we see, posed on the covers of magazines, wouldn't look like they are portrayed. They look nothing like what we see.

Take, for example, this woman.

Apparently she wasn't pretty when she walked through those doors and sat down. I mean, really. In comparison to the end result, she's not even close to perfection. NO, PEOPLE. "No wonder our perception of beauty is distorted."

I spent quite a bit of time just this morning debating with a friend about her beauty and about the means she's willing to take to become beautiful. She said that she just wanted a corset because, "They're pretty, and I don't have a waist anymore." Not only is she wanting to look perfect, she's willing to resort to some of the most unhealthy means, if it means a quick fix to her problem. What she doesn't see are the health risks connected to corsets. Seriously, please read this: Effects of tight lacing on the body.

"Medical texts published as early as 1897 documented potential risks including effects on the heart, lungs, circulation, breasts, stomach, liver, colon, uterus, muscles, gall bladder, and other organs. "

Are we really such shallow beings that we're going to resort to reshaping our entire body, seriously risking our health and comfort, for that perfect body?

DOES THIS LOOK RIGHT TO YOU?!?

 
Tight lacing can even lead to eating disorders, such as anorexia or bulimia and these disorders are something that are already so prevalent in our world today. It's so common that not knowing a person with one of these disorders is shockingly rare.

" Consider these statistics:

• Among western women between 15 and 24 years old, approximately 1 out of every 200 suffers from anorexia nervosa, while about 1 in 50 is bulimic.
• Between 10 and 50 percent of American college women report having binge eaten and then vomited to control their weight.
• Approximately 40 percent of American girls ages 9 and 10 report being or having been on a diet to lose weight.
• Some 50 to 60 percent of teenage American girls believe they are overweight, yet only 15 to 20 percent of them actually are overweight.

Individuals with eating disorders are at the highest risk of premature death (from both natural and unnatural causes) of all people who suffer from psychiatric disorders."- http://health.usnews.com/health-conditions/mental-health/eating-disorders

How can this not shock you, the reader, as much as it does me? "40 percent of American girls ages 9 and 10 report being or having been on a diet to lose weight." Oh my god, why is this okay, world?

"A study of Swiss women with eating disorders suggests that those who binge and purge are more likely to have attempted suicide in the past, regardless of whether they have been diagnosed with anorexia nervosa, bulimia or another eating disorder."
"The two-year study included 288 patients diagnosed with some form of eating disorder. Twenty-six percent of the women said they had attempted suicide at least once in the past, a rate than is four times higher than in the general female population of Western states, the researchers say. Also, about 26 percent of the patients said they were having current thoughts about suicide."

These poor people hate themselves. They hate their bodies, their skin, their face, their hair, their personality, and pretty much EVERY SINGLE THING ABOUT THEMSELVES. They take society's ideal beauty and they find that they can't meet those standards. They begin to starve themselves, self harm, and even consider ending their own lives because they aren't good enough, they aren't worth peoples' time because they aren't perfect, people supposedly love them less, and they hate themselves. And, as a world and as a society, we are okay with this.

 Just a few days ago, I was scrolling through my tumblr dashboard, and I came across this:

Upon visiting the link, I found a post announcing this poor girl's resolution to kill herself. Part of this post was, "I hate myself. I’m a worthless, pathetic, ugly, not good enough, dumb girl. I’m a mistake and I don’t belong here." 
I did what (hopefully) any good person would do and wrote her a long message in her ask box, telling her that she was beautiful, that she was worth it, and begging her not to kill herself. It was such a sad night, realizing that she was so convinced that she wasn't good enough that she was willing to take her own life, and that people around her were okay with this fact. Society as a whole is okay with this fact.

Reader, this is a bigger issue than is easily perceptible. Why? The people with these thoughts, with these disorders, with these suicidal thoughts and marks of self-harm, they keep them hidden. We have to actually take a closer look at people. We need to start caring. We need to take a stand against what society has deemed as perfect, or even acceptable. 
Do you realize that over one million people die, worldwide, of suicide every year. Do you realize that the global suicide rate is 16 people per 100,000? Did you know that, on average, on person dies every 40 seconds from suicide? Did you know that global suicide rates have increased 60% in the past 45 years?
How about self-harm? Are you aware that three million Americans engage in some form of self-harm? How about the fact that the average self injurer begins at age fourteen and continues with increasing severity into his/her late twenties?
More often than not, suicides and self abuse are related to eating disorders, and the individual's idea that they aren't good enough. I'm not saying that they're all connected to the media's portrayal of beauty, but there is a vast number that are. People don't like their appearance. They can't change it, in most cases, and they begin to hate themselves. They begin to loath everything to do with their bodies and their personality. They feel that they aren't worth attention. They starve themselves. They cut or burn themselves. And some even take it so much to heart that they take their own lives.

This problem isn't something to be trifled with or taken lightly. It's something that needs to be addressed, very seriously and quickly. We need to stop this twisted, manipulative form of beauty. It's not real. It's a way to pull in revenue. The media attacks at a person's weakest point; their self esteem. They hit people at their lowest. But is it really to help a person be better? Or to make them feel better about themselves? No. It's for money. It's because we live in a selfish world, where money and appearance is the most important thing. As a global society, we don't care about people. We do not give a second glance to those who can't vault over the impossibly high bar of perfection. We cast people aside when we have no more use for them. We cause people to harm themselves, to take serious health risks, because we tell them that they aren't pretty enough, and therefore, useless.

Fact is, everybody has beauty within them. Fact is, this world doesn't care about it. Fact is, we need to stop this trend, and pick up one where people are appreciated and appreciate themselves for who they are.

Reader, please take this to heart. There are people who need help, there are people who feel like they aren't worth a glance, let alone a second. There are people out there, right now as you read this, who are comparing themselves to society's idea of perfection, and they are hating despising loathing themselves because they are unable to meet the standards of today's world. We, as a world, need to begin helping these people to see their own beauty. We need to help them love themselves; to help them help themselves; to help them look past social acceptance and accept themselves. Everybody has a place on this planet, and everyone is important. The saddest thing about this fact is that quite a few of us cannot see it.

Peace out.