Inhumane: The Reality

Rape.

Yes. You read it right.
Why would I start off with such a horrible word?
Because it's just that. Horrible. It's taboo talk.
Everyone knows about it, but do we talk about it? No. And there's a reason for that.
But there's also a reason we should.
Because I started off with such a horrible word for understanding.

I've thought my whole life that saying sorry was enough. Or maybe it wasn't enough. I wasn't really sure. My parents talked about how I should always be careful. And the worst part is, I thought I was.
So, yeah. I know what your question is. Was I raped?
Yes. Yes I was.

The past year and a half I've been afraid. I've been so afraid to live my own life. To speak up. I've lived in constant fear of almost everyone around me. Wondering what their real intentions are. Why they're asking me how I am. What we're going to do when we "hang out".
I'm not going to give you a play by play of what happened. That's not what I'm here to tell you. But I will say that rape is horrible enough to leave you drugged and drunk, left on the curbside in the middle of the night.. on your second day of school. I'm not asking for pity. All I ask of you, is to try to understand those of us who have had to literally change our whole lives because of one person's choice.

"You were asking for it."
"You should have known better."
"You shouldn't have even taken that drink."
"What were you thinking?"
I've heard it all, unfortunately, through other people. I was blessed enough to have parents I could open up to, a therapist calling me every week, and great friends who supported me. I told my mom that next night, "This is something I've never wanted to tell my mother." And the fact of the matter is, no one wants to have to tell their parents that they were raped. They don't want to tell their friends, their family. They don't want to tell anyone. Because those comments and questions come up. We hear "I'm so sorry.." all the time. Don't take this as we are unappreciative of your sorrow for us. But I think what I've realized is that we don't want to hear that you're sorry. We want to hear that you promise you'll never be that kind of person.

What I thought was that I could put on a fake smile and continue with my life. I was sorrily mistaken. I laid in bed for three months, trying to find reason to live. I'd receive texts, but not want to even respond. I thought I could handle it and get past it. That's what we all think. "It was a mistake. I know better. It'll never happen again." went through my head every day. I thought it was enough reason to get out of bed and go to class. But I couldn't. Friends would come over, help me out of bed and watch netflix with me until it was bed time. I had teachers emailing me asking what they could do, how they could help me get to class, or do the assignments at home. I'd call my parents and cry. And a lot of times, I couldn't tell them what I was crying about. 

I grew up with people who I knew were raped. I said the "I'm so sorry. Let me know if there's anything I can do." I didn't understand the strength of these people. I didn't understand the horror they'd experienced. Rape is something we're too afraid to talk about. We're too afraid to write about it and post it on our social media. The thing is, we need to talk about it. To warn others. To educate them about the signs of rape and how to get to a safe place. I wish every day that I knew better. To not take that open drink from who I thought cared about me.

The reality of rape is that it ruins your life. It changes you. It breaks you down to the point where you don't even feel like a real person anymore. You're broken to pieces that you end up searching for for the rest of your life. You have to rebuild yourself as a person. You change your whole life. You have to wear different clothes. You can't go to certain places anymore. Your friendships change because you are. People stop understanding. They don't know who you are anymore. You don't know who you are anymore. You find yourself not able to talk about certain things. You're afraid. And fear can take you over. It's something that will unfortunately, never leave you. And although it's something you can work through, there will always be that piece of broken trust inside you. 

A year and a half ago, I was not the person I am today. And as much as I hate what happened, I took it on as a lesson and an understanding. Because that's all I could think to do. When someone rapes you, they take away your body. They're taking your control and your self away. It is by far the most inhumane thing to ever be on this Earth. Gaining my self confidence back has been the hardest thing I've done. Trusting others is a challenge. Life becomes just that. A challenge.

I could write about this for hours. But I'm not going to. Being raped was the most horrible thing I could ever imagine. What I've learned from this, is that it's made me the strongest version of myself I could possibly be. I would have liked to become strong from other ways. But the fact of the matter is that this is real. We walk around people every day and would never guess they were taken advantage of. It will never make sense to me why this happens, nor will it ever be okay. The challenge is what we do about it. Are we going to just sit here and pretend that this is okay? Are you going to be that kind of person? Or are you going to be someone who isn't afraid to hold someone and let them cry? I isolated myself from the world for too long. I'm finally starting to live again. 

To those of you out there who may stumble upon this, there is something my mom said to me that will never leave me. "Chloe. You are no longer a victim. You are a survivor."

We can survive. So why don't we do it together?

My (almost complete) Pill Journey

I remember the day I walked into the doctor's office.
I was wearing a brace on my right wrist, due to the recent surgery I'd just had.
I sat down on the table and my doctor asked if I wanted to be in there without my mom.
I hesitantly said yes.
"Anything special going on lately?" She asked.
"It's my birthday today."
"How old are you?"
"I'm 15 now."
We continued on, talking about these feelings I had.
The ones where I didn't want to get out of bed, and that I didn't even want to be in this life.
I explained how alone I felt.
How badly I just wanted to feel normal, just like everyone else.
She stopped mid conversation and asked why I had that brace on my wrist.
I told her why. But she gave me this look.
"Is that really why you're wearing it? I've seen the marks on your body.."
Yes. It was.
But no. I hadn't stopped marking my body with something I'd never be able to rid.
I went home that day to set up for my birthday party.
Happy birthday, you've been diagnosed with clinical depression.
It started out with one medication.
Three months later, we changed it.
I waited, patiently.
Nothing was working.
My mom would hand me my pill every morning, and I'd walk back into my room and put it in a jar.
I never wanted this.
I stayed in my bed, blocking out any light that would come into my room.
I didn't want to be here.
I was suggested to see a counselor.
"Why do you feel this way? Why do you harm yourself? Why do you feel the need to die?"
I stormed out of there faster than a torpedo, enraged at the fact that I could not answer those damn questions.
I was never able to answer them. I still can't.
Months go by and I'm changed meds again.
"Add this to your other med. Take it with food."
I don't want to effing take it.
Five years later, four new diagnoses, and here I lay thinking of this video.
How someone finally said what needed to be said.
I cannot list off every medication I've been on or what it's for.
I can't say which one helped in what way or what the horrible side effect was.
All I know is that currently, I'm on what helps keep me alive.
You see, people don't really get it.
We aren't just handed one pill and everything is magically okay.
Every day is full of unexpected bull shit.
Like being kicked out of class, or your parents separating.
Then, you have to add on another pill.
Oh, a car accident?
Here's a very addictive pain medication that you can't sleep without.
Medication has never been what I've wanted in life.
I'd never wish it upon anyone.
But what I've come to realize is that even though I hate swallowing seven pills every night,
it's what keeps me alive.
So, if you're someone who has struggled, know that you're not alone.
If you're someone who hasn't been through this, take a second to try to understand those of us who need a pill to feel somewhat normal.
I'm not sure what point I'm trying to get across here, other than the fact that every time I watch this video, I cry.
For once, I feel understood. I don't feel alone. And neither should you.
There are strength in numbers.
And we should all stand together.

https://www.facebook.com/SOML/videos/775924189218664/?pnref=story

I Dreamt

I dreamt you called.

To come over and eat my birthday cake, that was the same colors as the pills I pop in my mouth every day.

Blue.

For depression.

Yellow.
For false happiness.

Green.
For the greedy want of life.

White.
For feeling like a blank piece of nothing.

I dreamt you called.

To take me out to dinner.

We laughed and we loved.
Like nothing had ever gone wrong.
I dreamt that you left me a voicemail.

Crying, pleading for me to call you back.
Because you needed me.
You didn't have any yellow pills left.
And I was the closest thing to it.
I dreamt you kissed me.

It felt so real.

Is this what love feels like?
A sudden urge to just.. jump and scream?

I dreamt you left me.

Because I wasn't good enough anymore.
That I wasn't who you thought I was.
That you saw all of the different colored pills I take.
And you finally knew the real me.

I dreamt that you still loved me.

For who I am.
For the pills I take.
The tears I shed.
And for not giving up.

I dreamt that I gave up.

There was no hope left.
I've amounted to nothing.
I am nothing.
I dreamt that I woke up from this nightmare..

But I can't.

To the Students I Will Teach Someday

To the band I will teach someday:

I don't know any of you yet. I'm merely 20 years old trying to get my music degree, so I can teach you about music. One day, I will get a job as a high school band director, and I will stand before you. To the kids who I will stand before, I will promise you one thing. And that is that I will always believe in you. 

Some of you have probably not been born yet, or have recently entered this life. You've come out with a clean slate. A white blank piece of paper. And you're going to soon start writing your story. I was you once. My pages used to be blank. But now I am creating a book. A book of my life. And what I have realized, is that I am the one who is holding the pen. 

You may encounter life and find how hard it truly is. You may find that at a young age, or somewhere later in your life. Regardless of what you have gone through by the time I meet you, I will only know what you chose to share of your story. What you chose to share with me is something I will not judge. I will not discriminate you. I will not think of you any less. Because, I once too, had to share my story.

I never anticipated the words I would write in my story every day. I never knew life could be so cruel. I look back on my life, only 20 years of it, and think to myself where I would be without music. I think of the day my band director pulled me into his office, and asked if I was okay. He had no clue a few nights before, I had been given a possible diagnosis of cancer. I was 16. Little did he know at the time, all I needed was someone to believe in me. To trust that I would pull through of what he had asked. I thought life was over. I figured if I had cancer, I was going to die anyway.. so why try anymore?

I'm not here to tell you that life is easy or that it's always fun. I'm here to tell you that I believe in you. In your darkest times, I believe that you will make it. I believe that you can pick up whatever instrument it is you love, and that you will play it with all the passion you have. That even though you may be in an abusive relationship, may have just lost a loved one, or even just flunked a test, I believe that I can show you that life, and myself, still believe in you. 

What is going to happen may suck. You may find yourselves hating life at times. I know I did. But if it weren't for the three directors in high school, I would not be sitting here writing this. Because music saved my life. I had lost hope. I was ready to give up. My grades were failing and so was I. My drumline directors made me come to rehearsal and do my homework. I was mad. I just wanted to play my music. I felt like I was failing everyone around me. But I picked up my mallets that next day in my concert class, and I played my 16th note solo, looked up at my director, and saw a smile on his face. And what I saw in that smile, was belief. He gave me that part, not entirely knowing if I could do it. I had worked on it and struggled to make sure I could do it. But I had never felt good enough. Until that day. I remember he stopped shortly after the solo, to tell me that it was amazing. Something inside me lit up. Almost like a candle being lit after being in a cupboard for years. What I received that day was belief. I regained hope. I knew that one day, I would stand before you. Because this is happiness. This is belief.

So, to the students I will teach some day..

I am not going to teach you just about harmonic minor scales and how music is "correctly" written. I am going to teach you that in life, we have to find ways to express ourselves. We all express our emotions differently. Mine, is through music and writing. When I pick up my instrument or my mallets, all of my worries and troubles leave. I don't have to think about the essay that's due tomorrow, or how much sleep I'm going to get tonight. I don't worry about the results of my shoulder exam tomorrow and if I'll need surgery. I look at the music, and I worry if I'm expressing it the way I want to. If someone were to hear what I was playing, if they could feel what I was portraying. 

What I worry about is you. I care for you. Because in my story, there was a time that my directors didn't believe in me. I had missed rehearsals, and they told me I couldn't do it. The most important thing I have done is not listen to them. Because I know what I can do. I know what I have done and what I can accomplish. And what I have accomplished has been the unthinkable for me. There have been countless times where I just wanted to run from a problem. It seemed too hard. But I don't want you to run. I want you to believe. In yourself. I will believe in you through your hardest times. Through figuring out what you want in life, who you are, who your friends are. I will put my baton down, and tell you, just like my director did, what you have accomplished. No matter how small or silly it may be. The fact that you made it to class, gives me every reason to believe in you. No matter who you are. No matter what you've been through. I believe in you.

You are amazing. You've made it this far in life and you have a lot ahead of you. You're constantly writing a story that someday you'll look back on. I want you to look back on that story and be able to say "Man. That day really freaking sucked. But here's what I did. I made it. And the next day, I woke up, and did it again." I don't want you to look back and be disappointed. You will always miss notes in your music. Mistakes will always be made. And I'm not just talking about music anymore. The fact of the matter is that in life, we will make mistakes. But what I am here to tell you is that those mistakes can either crush you, or they can make you stronger. Life may beat you down so hard to the point where you feel like you can't do it anymore. Come to me. Tell me. I will listen. I will believe that you will get through it. Because you deserve this life. You deserve every ounce of happiness that you could ever imagine. 

To the students that some day I will teach:

I haven't met you yet. But I believe in you.

The Unexpected: They Said It Wouldn't Be Easy

Someone once told me that life would never be easy. 
But they never said that it could be this hard.
I remember walking onto the field that day, pretending I was okay. That what happened the night before was just a mistake, and I'd be able to move on. What I didn't know, is that it wouldn't be easy. Was it easy to see him every day? To be in the very presence of someone who defiled me in the most inhumane way possible? No. It wasn't. But I walked on that field, I went to my class. I could have quit. Walked away. But I didn't. Because I knew it was going to be hard, but it wasn't worth quitting.

I'm no one special. I never have been. I hear comments every now and then that I'll be so great some day. But it's hard to believe. The day I knew something wasn't right, changed me forever. I was handed a pill, and was told to take it. "Will this last forever?" I thought to myself every day. I'm no one special. I'm just another girl who struggles. Takes pills to feel somewhat normal. I go to school, drive my car, and watch Netflix, just like the rest of you. I am no one special.

Was it easy to march thirty pound cymbals with a torn rotator cuff? No. It was constant pain and pain med after pain med. Praying every day that my car accident didn't really happen. That there isn't a possibility of surgery. But the fact of the matter is, it all happened. And still is. Is it easy to play percussion with this pain? No. So why do I do it? Because it's what I love. We often put ourselves through pain for things we love. Regardless of whatever consequence is tied along with it.

It wasn't easy when my dad left for prison. I felt like he didn't even exist anymore. "Where's your dad?" They'd ask me. "I don't have one." I knew one day he'd be coming home and I'd have to face the reality that he missed some of my proudest days. Id have to face the truth of the situation, and learn how to forgive. Was it easy? No. Has it been worth it? Yes.

It was so hard to decide whether to get sleep or to drive an hour to see if someone I loved was actually dying. It was already so late. But I did it. Knowing how exhausted I'd be. That I probably wouldn't make it to school. But I did. And I kept going that day like everything was just fine. That it was easy to hide what had happened that night. And that I almost lost someone. 

It's not easy to lay in this bed, surrounded by all of the hellish thoughts of my mind. 
"You're not good enough." 
"Just give up, it doesn't matter anyway." 
And I lay here for days. Noticing the sun is setting once again, feeling like another day has just been wasted on these thoughts I cannot rid. It's not easy to go to your mom and tell her you don't want to be in this life anymore. But I did it anyway. 
I didn't want to go outside and go for a drive with my dad. But I did. It's not easy waking up to this reality I hope to somehow piece together, when I cannot even find all of the pieces I need. Do I waste my time trying to find the missing pieces? 
"What's the point anyway?" 

I'm no one special. Just a girl with a dream, fighting her way through life. And at times, I'm tired of fighting. Trying to prove to everyone that there is something special about me. That something in my life does matter. Sometimes, it's the hardest thing in the world. But I do it anyway. And it's hard to know why. What this mysterious ambition is that's inside me, when every other part of me just wants to give up. 
Is this what they call hope? 
The light at the end of the tunnel?
I don't know. But what I do know,
Is that life is the hardest thing we'll ever encounter. 
But it will be the biggest success we'll have ever accomplished.

To The Friend..

To the friend who said they'd always be there.. 
We used to spend our nights together watching stupid shows on Netflix and vaping until we fell asleep. 
I was there when you cried, and you were there when I cried. 
And to my friend who promised we'd always be sisters.. 
I want to be happy for you. But now the only time I see you is on Facebook, or snap chat. 
With someone else. 
And it may be selfish of me, to be so angry at you for living your own life.. 

But as the friend I thought I'd never lose, I hate to see how much further we're growing apart every day. You were the one who broke into my room and forced me to get out of bed. 
The one who brought me breakfast on a day we wanted to get things done. 
You were the angel who carried me when I could not walk anymore. 

And to the friend who I always wanted to be there for, 
I just want to carry you when you can't walk anymore. 
To put a band aid on your wound, and tell you it'll be okay. 
I want to be selfish and tell you that you're not better off without me, but it's been about two months now. And although it may seem like I walked away, I still wish every day, that we could still be the friends who were always there for each other.

I understand in life that we all go different ways, and I've found people who I can carry, and that can carry me. It wasn't an easy change. 
And I miss you. Every day. 
I feel like I should have fought for you and chased you, but I also felt there was no hope in trying. 
So, to the friend who promised they'd always be there.. 
I really, truly hope you're happy with this new life you've found..
Even if I'm not in it. I may not be the friend I said I always would, but if you came running back to me.. 
My arms would be wide open. 
And I hope that one day, someone.. 
Will truly be there for you. For all of the right reasons.
To the friend who always said they'd be there..
I miss you.
And sometimes, I wonder if you miss me too.

Life: The Unexpected

In life,
I've come to realize that we never really do expect the unexpected.
We seem to be in the most ideal and right situation, how could it go wrong?
We worked hard for something, and continue to work hard, but yet, what has gone wrong?
For the longest time, I've listened to the voice in the back of my head.
"You're not good enough."
"They're right, maybe you would be better off dead."
"Is this the right choice?"
Tonight, I am here to say, enough is enough.

I have fought my whole life for what I believe in. I don't run away. I don't just quit. I can't say that I've never given up on something, because we all have. There comes a point where there is no fight left in us. We've given it our all and even though we want to go down with a fight, sometimes we just have to go down gracefully. 
I'm not here to say to quit fighting. I'm not here to say to give up. Life throws curveballs at us that don't always make sense. And it hurts. Like hell. We swung our bat at what we thought was the perfect moment, but the ball moved at the last second. Leaving us there at the plate, distraught, and confused. We were ready.
I was ready. I was motivated. This was going to be my semester. This was going to be my year. Then, I started listening to the voices again. "Maybe this isn't my year." And on a side note, this post has been inspired by someone else's words, and I wanted to put it in my own. 
Life hasn't always come easy for me. It doesn't come easy for all of us. What we're willing to fight for is what makes us who we are. How we respond, our choices, our friends. Every aspect of our life makes us who we are. Whether it be good or bad, it doesn't always mean it's permanent. 
These past few days have been rough. I didn't know I could cry so much. When I was left with a choice, one of the hardest choices that has ever come my way, I could not find what to expect out of either decision. What I love was being taken from me. I wanted to go down with a fight. I want to say "Get the hell out of my way, I can do this." But that is not always how it ends. And it sucks.

So, tonight, I've made a decision, one I never thought I'd make, and say enough is enough.
Enough with the hurt.
Enough with the drama.
The pain.
The confusion.
It's no longer worth a fight I'm bound to lose. 
It is not in my best interest to fight what has already been done.
And for those of you who know me, you may ask if I've given up. No, I haven't. There comes a point in our lives where we have to stand up for ourselves. That may mean standing up to someone, saying something that needs to be said, or simply just doing what is best for ourselves. Standing up for yourself doesn't mean you have to end things with a fight. It doesn't mean you have to spend days and weeks trying to justify what your decision is. Standing up for yourself is making the decision to let yourself be happy. To let go of what's holding you back, and move onto something much greater.
It may be the hardest thing you'll ever have to do. It may mean leaving friends who you love. Leaving a place that you once loved. And finding a better place and better people to live in your happiness,
The happiness that everyone in this life deserves.

It's not easy to walk away. 
It's not easy to say enough is enough.
It's so much easier to let these things bring you down. To let someone win. To give up. It is so much easier to let ourselves live in a false happiness.
But in the end.. who are you?
Will you be able to say that you took a stand?
Will you be able to tell your story of how you became happy?
What you've accomplished?
What you've conquered?
So, yeah, it is easy to just take the easy route. Just live by what everyone else expects you to do.
But.
What if you do the unexpected? What if you say no? What if you do stand up for yourself?
People are going to assume that you'll listen. That they have these strings tied to you and you'll follow their every command. And that, is not me. I live my life to do the unexpected. I am here to conquer. Not to be defeated. 
I had the choice of doing the expected, or doing the unexpected. Something came my way that I wasn't ready for. I wasn't ready for this curveball, but then again, are we ever really ready? 
I'm ready to stand up for myself.
I'm ready to say this is enough.
Tonight, I'm ready to go to bed and know that tomorrow, I will do the unexpected. There are no strings tied on me. Nor will there ever be.
Tonight, I made one of the hardest decisions I will ever have to make. 
And that decision, was entirely,
unexpected.

Dear You

Dear You,

Today, you may have woken up and not wanted to get out of bed.
Someone might have said something hurtful, and just ruined your day.
Maybe you're going through a break up.
Life might really just suck.

But.

I'm here to tell you something.
Something that has taken me my whole life to realize, and I'm still figuring it all out.
So, here is what I am here to tell you.

I love you.
I don't care if it took you a half hour to convince yourself to get out of bed.
I'm so happy that you got out of bed.
Because you're here.
I don't care what you wear, or if your hair is a mess.
I don't care if you wear pajamas to school, or if you didn't do your homework.
It doesn't bother me if we don't have the same beliefs.
If you pray to Buddha or to a God, it doesn't matter.
What matters is that you prayed.
Because that made you happy.
And I don't care about your pajamas or your missed homework.
I don't care what people say about you.
It does not matter to me what lies or rumors I hear.
What I do care about is your happiness.
I don't care who you like, or who you don't like.
I really don't care about the petty worldly things in this life.
What I care about is you.
And if wearing pj's to school is what makes you happy, or praying to whomever you believe in,
then by all means, do it.
Because even if others don't agree with what you do, or think you need to comb your messy hair, I love every part of you.
Those pj's, the missed assignments, the days it's hard to get out of bed.
That is what makes you.. you.
And there is nothing more valuable that you.
I've learned in this life that judgment is cruel.
And I may not know your story, I only know what you show and tell me.
What matters to me, is that you're happy.
And today, it took me three hours to get out of bed.
I wore pj's to school.
And I missed an assignment.
But I'm here to say, I am not ashamed.
Because those pj's made me happy.
My messy hair.. I didn't care.
I'm here to be me.
And that,
is the best thing, I will ever be.

So. To all those out there who had a bad day.
Go to bed knowing that tomorrow is another day.
And that your happiness is what matters.
I love you.
Not for what you are,
But for who you are.

The Expected: I'm Chloe

There's something here I need to clarify.

If you have not actively been a part of my life and the trials I've gone through, you don't have a right to come up to me and assume or to judge.

So, to answer everyone's questions of "who are you?" or "what are you?" here it is:

My name is Chloe. I attend Weber State University. I'm double majoring in music education and social work. I'm part of the ROTC and hope to become a mental health specialist in the reserves. I love people for who they are. Not for what they are or what they wear or what their hair looks like.

To end this post,
Don't try to swindle into my life when you haven't cared when I needed you back when it happened.

Dead Sea

"You're like a dead sea, the finest words you ever said to me.. oh lord, you're like a dead sea.."

Today, August 26th, 2015, I am a survivor.
I made it.
Here I lie in my bed, Netflix in the background, and tears in my eyes because one person changed my life. 
It was so simple.
The kindness, the invitation, the hug.
How was it so easy?
It scares me, the fact that it was that easy.
One little slip of a roofie, and my life has been changed forever.
A burden that I will have in the back of my head until I see my Lord and Savior again, some day.

But.

Here I am. 
And never again, will it be that easy.
My lips will never touch a bottle.
My guard will not be let down so easy by kindness.
A hug, isn't always just a hug.
Playing xbox isn't always just playing xbox.

Today, I am no longer crashes and waves.
I am a dead sea.
The finest words I'll ever be.
I have calmed, my waves are no longer crashing upon my sand.

I am no longer the girl who cries rape.
Instead, I am the girl who says, "I survived."

Dead Sea
by The Lumineers.

The Unexpected: The Worst

Sometimes things come our way that we may never understand.
We wake up every morning and don't think about what could happen, good or bad.
We don't expect what happens.
It sucks. 
Because what we do expect is our dreams to come true.
Our true love to come riding to our rescue.
We expect the very best in life.
But what I've come to realize is that sometimes,
we have to expect the worst.
Because when we expect the worst, it can only go up from there.
Sometimes life takes you down so hard, the only thing you can expect is the worst.
But, wait.
Why would we want to expect the worst, when we could expect the very best?
What a lot of us won't admit, is that life,
really, truly, sucks.
We fight with our friends.
We lose the ones we love.
Our dreams become only that. Dreams.
But what we get out of that, is the worst.
The bottom.
Emptiness.
So, what do we do with the unexpected in life?
The car accidents.
Flunking a final at school.
Making mistakes we promised we never would.
I'm not an expert, but I have a mom who is.
The worst is sometimes the best place we can be.
The worst is what motivates us.
It drives us.
Because we don't want to be at the bottom anymore.
We want our dream, and we want it to become a reality.
So we take the worst,
and we make it our best.
And by best, I don't mean perfection.
I mean we give it our best.
We give it our all.
We take the pain from our car accident and let it motivate us to become the best we can with pain.
"What doesn't kill us, only makes us stronger."
And tonight, I can attest to that.
Because when my life seemed to be at its best,
it took a turn for the worst.
And at my worst,
I've found the bottom of my heart.
And at the bottom of my heart is the unexpected that doesn't matter.
Because if we always expect the unexpected,
we'll never be our best.

Repair

I did it once, I did it twice. The third time didn't make it right. 

Two good friends, one bad choice. Led me to the end of my voice. 

One more shot, two more laughs. Soon this night would pass. 

I saw no harm, I felt no fear. Didn't listen to the voice whispering inside my ear. 

Passed out on the couch, my alarms blaring loud, don't make me get up, don't make a sound. 

I trudge my way with my keys in my hands, two hours of sleep, this toast tastes bland. 

I turn the ignition, car into drive and make my way to my lesson to die. 

Literal, metaphorical, whatever you please. This hangover was the last dance for me. 

I cannot explain the break in my heart. Knowing the choice I made ruined my art. 

I slammed on the brakes, as the car behind me did. This time, it didn't end with a skid.  

But stubbornness came and I gave it my all, leading me to my most treacherous fall. 

I cannot perform and I cannot compete. This sling tied to my arm, I feel my defeat. 

As time passes by, I say I am fine. I am fine. But I lie, and lie. 

Soon it'd be known I screwed up my dream. This was much worse than I thought it had seemed. 

A tear in my shoulder and a disc in my neck, oh how I wish I could change that car wreck. 

Pills and stretches hoping to relieve the pain, I keep pushing and pushing, feeling the strain. 

I did it once. I did it twice. The third time didn't make it right. 

Crushing my dreams and leaving me with despair, I can only wish what it would take to repair. 

I leave the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth time alone, 

this time my heart will take me home.

Age

Twenty.

I wake up on a bright summer day to notifications from social media sites.

Excited to open them, my heart drops.

"Go to hell, you transgender piece of shit."

I scramble to look for a name, something to tell me who this is from.

Who would send me this, and what in spite of.

Nineteen.

I wake up in the morning and take my daily medications.

I go to therapy and talk about my daily life.

Try to mend the things that has broken my heart.

But I laugh and I smile as I take the floor for competition every weekend.

Eighteen.

I'm finally an adult.

I can do what I want.

I can be out late.

"Want a drink?"

Where am I?

Who am I?

Seventeen.

I wake up at 6:30 AM every morning to go to high school.

Hoping that I won't get another nasty look from some person I don't even know.

My dad's coming home soon..

That should make it all better, right?

Sixteen.

The big birthday.

But it isn't so big.

I'm trapped.

I'm being abused and my emotions are lost.

"NO!!"

I scream into the phone,

Yelling at my father trying to tell me who to be.

Rehearsal after rehearsal.

Another punch to the face.

And another..

Fifteen.

I'm diagnosed with clinical depression.

"Here, take this pill every morning. Come back if it doesn't work."

I wearily walk into my home and set up for my party.

Aching inside and what has been revealed to me.

"Hi. I'm Chloe. I'm here because I self harm."

I say to a lady I don't even know.

Fourteen.

He's gone.

Taken.

I'm in the desert trying to understand where he is and how he got there.

Dad, where did you go?

I look up at the stars and can't help but think,

God, how could you do this to me?

How could ANY of you do this to me?

Thirteen.

I practice my new instrument in my room.

Hoping to become something out of nothing.

Life was easy.

Friends were still around.

Life hadn't become that complicated yet.

Twelve.

I ride my new bike down the street and glow with happiness as my dad comes home from work.

I tell my mom about what I saw and what I did today.

How it poured rain but I still made it to the recreation center.

Because I could do it.

I knew I could.

Eleven.

Blink.

Ten.

Hold my breath.

Nine.

Something is wrong with me.

Why do I feel so different?

Eight.

I'm being dunked under water for this religion I don't understand.

That I don't know much about.

Seven.

Help.

Six.

I run outside in the bright morning to see my best friends.

Five.

My mom does my hair and makes me breakfast.

She tells me that I tend to get grumpy when I haven't eaten.

Four.

Things are simple. 

Life is easy.

All I have to do is play and be happy.

Three.

Blink.

Two.

I'm becoming part of this family.

One.

I open my eyes.

The day of my birth.

I never expected to be where I am today.

Nightmares

Nightmares.

The one thing that keeps us up on the nights we need sleep the most.

We toss,

and turn,

sometimes we cry.

It may be about our big job interview coming up,

the concert we're supposed to play at in two days.

But nightmares are not just dreams.

Nightmares are many things.

They are the reality of life,

the fear of living,

even the hell some of us have to live with such as depression, or some other mental disorder.

Nightmares can consume us to the point where we can't get out of bed.

Some of us carry on as if we aren't living a nightmare,

that we didn't spend the whole night crying, doing everything we could to sleep.

Some of us live in a nightmare.

A hell that not everyone can understand.

A nightmare can taunt you,

follow you,

it can become you.

Nightmares are the voice inside your head saying,

"You'll never make it."

"You're just a disappointment."

Nightmares are the things we never imagined would happen to us.

We look at others and say "Thank god that isn't me."

Well. 

Sometimes that person is you.

You are the one living that nightmare that people are looking at.

A nightmare challenges you.

It feeds off of your fears in the night,

the day,

your every thought.

Some of you out there,

if you're even reading this,

may be living in a nightmare that you don't know how to shake.

You feel like you can't find that sword and take it down.

Whether it be dreams,

reality,

or it has consumed your every being.

Every person's nightmare in life is different.

My nightmare?

Never being good enough.

But on this Friday morning after horrifying nightmares in my sleep,

I have come to realize that this is not me.

This nightmare,

these worries,

are not me.

They are not my life.

Nor are they yours.

So, grab a cup of chamomile tea,

kick back,

turn on some Netflix,

and tell yourself,

this is not me.

Why waste energy on something that you can, but also can't control?

You can control the things you do to take the stressors in your life away,

but that doesn't mean you can control your financial situation,

or even a relationship.

A nightmare can be anything to anyone.

To me:

A nightmare is a challenge waiting to be beaten down.

Tonight, I'm conquering my nightmare by writing.

How will you defeat it?

Entitlement

As a person, I am entitled.

To my own feelings.

My own thoughts.

I am not entitled to the gorgeous mustang on the road next to me.

Not to the cell phone I see someone holding at the mall.

I am entitled to being a person.

A decent, considerate, person.

Someone who cares and doesn't feel entitled to the materialistic things in this life.

I am not entitled to my parents house.

I am not entitled to the clothes I am wearing.

I am entitled to being a person.

I am a person.

And as that person I have come to be,

I am strong.

I am loved.

I am heartbroken.

I am not entitled to waking up every day.

I am not entitled to my every breath,

the health I have,

nor the people I am surrounded with.

I am blessed.

For who I have become,

for the family I have been given,

and for the people who love me.

But in this life,

we become sad.

Downtrodden.

We may pick up a beer,

maybe a pill.

Take a few swigs,

maybe one too few.

Pop too many,

more than we knew.

And times we forget the mother at home we are risking losing by doing these things.

The risk we are taking,

is greater than us.

The entitlements of life are your emotions as your person.

I am entitled to my days to lay in bed and cry, rather than going to school or work.

We don't always know who has what or what they've gone through.

But in this world,

I am entitled to happiness.

I believe in a God above.

And he believes in me.

Sometimes I may disappoint him,

but one day I hope to present him with the greatest accomplishment of all:

That I made it.

I hope to run to His arms, full of tears,

Crying, and just saying "Father, I made it."

Most days, I feel like quitting.

That I am not good enough.

I'm making the wrong choice.

But God reminds me,

I am entitled to what I know to be true, deep in my heart.

And whether it be true, He is the one telling my heart what is right.

Not just for everyone else.

Not for my cat.

Nor my acquaintance.

But for me.

Because I am a person.

And I am entitled to who I am,

To my feelings,

And to the days from hell.

Entitlement is not materialistic.

Entitlement is happiness,

It's sadness.

It's the days we laugh at the store with our mothers for locking the door.

The days we cry after a performance.

Entitlement is spending Easter with my family,

because I know that wherever we may be,

I am entitled to my family.

They have forgiven my mistakes,

taken me back,

and love me more than I deserve.

But that's the greatest thing about entitlement;

Is that I can send this link to my mom and tell her:

I love you.

And mom, you may cry.

You may scream and cuss and ask "God, why me?"

And I'm here to tell you,

Mom.

You can cry.

You can scream.

But.

You can laugh.

You can smile.

That smile never ceases to warm my heart.

The adversary sucks.

Mom, I know that you're hurting.

And right now, I'm writing this because I am hurting too.

Because I think for once in my life,

I am truly starting to understand what you have been through.

I do not resent you. 

I respect you with the highest regards I could ever imagine.

I am not entitled to you.

I have been so, so very blessed to be given you.

I have taken this life as an entitlement, but tonight, I feel the angels in heaven begging to be here.

The ones who didn't get to be here,

The ones who don't get to feel pain of the world.

I feel the angels around me.

And I know you do too.

The thing you've taught me about entitlement,

is that they're feelings.

You've had to make the hardest decisions in this entire world.

But you've never made a wrong choice.

Because I am here,

I am alive.

And I have your love in my heart at all times.

Mom,

Things really suck right now,

I'm sure for all of us.

But God has entitled you.

In fact,

He's titled you:

My Mother.

A teacher.

A caregiver.

And the best mom a Chloe could ever ask for.

I will stand by you.

I am going to become temple worthy again,

Go back to church,

Because I want to be with you forever.

That, is not only an entitlement my Father in heaven has given me,

But a choice.

And I can't live in a world, a kingdom, a galaxy, without you.

And I am blessed. 

To have you.

Forever.

I love you, mom.