Just Being Myself

Depression sucks. It's one of those things that I don't think you can ever fully understand until you've been through it. That's how it was for me. I could never understand how someone could do that to themselves and those around them. I can't really tell you when or why my depression hit me, all I know is it did. I can't describe it, I've tried and every time the sentence gets deleted. I can tell you this: it's a horrible disease. It's the kind of thing where I want people to notice that I'm not okay but at the same time I don't want them to ask me if I'm okay because I don't want to lie to them and say I'm okay when I'm really not. Depression sucks. On one hand, I want to go out with friends and be social. I want to go to rehearsals and get involved. I want to interact with people, I really do. Instead I stay at home in bed with Gilmore Girls and Facebook. I shut people out and it kills me. I have no idea why this happens i

Rape culture in today's society makes me so incredibly furious. Even before I was raped I couldn't stand it. Since my rape, I hate even more. Rape is never the victim's fault. As a victim, I'd like to believe that myself. But here's the truth: thanks to rape culture I believe that what happened to me is all my fault. That I am the only one to blame for what happened. Thanks to rape culture I feel even worse about that night. You see rape culture teaches us that it's the girl's fault if a girl wears a skirt that's too short, if she flirts with a boy, if heaven forbid she was drinking, if she's wearing too much makeup, the list goes on an on. Just because I chose to wear that adorable new dress I bought that day for our date, (a dress that isn't any way shape or form immodest) because I chose to be alone with someone I trust and let them kiss me, it's my fault I was raped? That doesn't make any sense. No means no. I said no, he didn't

I was raped. That never gets easier to say. I was raped. A year and a half ago, I was madly in love with a boy I thought I was going to marry and he raped me. We were on a date, things were going fine until he crossed a line. I told him no, I said stop. He eased off only to try again. This time I made the move to leave. He wouldn't let me leave. I wish I would've fought harder, jumped out of that truck and ran, even though we were literally in the middle of nowhere. I didn't though, and even if I had I don't think my story would be different. I would still have been raped, just in a different time and place. He was controlling. He wanted what he wanted and refused to take no for an answer. I was naive and believed deep down that I saw some good in him. I wish I could say that I left him after that night. That I told my mom and reported him to the police. Sadly, that was not the case. I was in denial, I was trying to tell myself that I wasn't raped. I didn't fig

So I'm a Theatre Major, right? And part of being a Theatre Major is getting involved with shows. Last show I was a dresser and that was interesting. I basically helped the actors get ready, made sure costumes looked good. When the show was over for the night I helped to spray the costumes so they didn't stink, cleaned the dressing rooms and washed the articles of clothing that had to be washed. This experience helped me gain so much respect for the dresser's position. But that's not really what this article is about. Every semester we do two shows. A straight play, which is just acting no big huge musical numbers, and a musical. Our straight play was Much Ado About Nothing. I'd auditioned for the show but wasn't cast, hence why I was a dresser. Our musical was originally going to be Coram Boy , however the director felt he had taken on too much and decided to pull the plug on Coram Boy . Amadeus  was chosen as our second Fall production. Two problems came up w

So it's been forever since I've posted on here. Life's been crazy. I was hanging out with my friends last night, one of which included my crush from Sophomore year in high school. I can't help but think about how happy Sophomore Becca would've been to see that I was hanging out with the boy who was my obsession for a good chunk of Sophomore year. The whole experience got me to thinking, what would I say to my younger self if I could go back in time? I know I've done a post like this last year with Dear 16 Year Old Me , but that was over a year ago and things have changed. So here are 40 things I wish I'd known when I was 15. Stop taking things way too personally. Yes, you're going to get lied to and cheated on (Senior year, it sucks but you move on) you'll feel betrayed by those who are closest to you. Don't let that ruin your friendships. Just let things go, everybody makes mistakes and forgiveness is a trait you need to learn. Don't be a

A year ago I was certain that when I officially graduated out of the youth group at my church that I would become a statistic... you know one of the 72% or something like that of teens who leave the church after graduating high school. I had absolutely no reason to continue going to church after that. My parents wouldn't care, I'd had a feeling they were unhappy with our church anyways. Then I was approached by one of the leaders over the middle school ministry and he told me that he thought I would be a great asset to the program and he'd love to have me as one of the assistants. I told him that I would pray about it and see. A few days later I felt that I had to do this. I wanted to make a difference and this was a great way to do so. After that last summer camp, I joined the High Tides ministry and found myself growing attached to the kids up there. I've loved every second that I've been involved up there with the middle schoolers. I've formed bonds with se

Hi Matt, Wow. You've been gone for five years now. It feels like you left us not so long ago. I struggled with your loss for a while. You were my first major experience with death. I was thirteen and not sure what to do. I remember seeing your mom torn to pieces over losing you. She was crying over your casket and wouldn't let them lower you down, she didn't want to say goodbye. I didn't learn how you died until about two years after you died. My mom told me it was suicide and that Stephanie blames herself. I was pissed. I couldn't believe you would be so heartless. I wanted to go out to your gravesite and yell at you. I wanted to scream and kick your headstone, to pound the ground by your grave. You killed your mother inside when you did that. You hurt us all. I didn't think I would ever forgive you for that. And then my own depression hit me. I wanted to kill myself, but never could go through with it because I thought of your suicide and the effect it had on