Maybe It Is Time to Start Over Again…

I’ve been going on here every day, typing a sentence…starting a post…then deleting it and closing out the browser. There are so many things that need to be said, that I am dying to write…but I lost my voice. I lost that confidence. I lost what I always valued that most right from the start. My edge, my vibe, my personality…it all blended together in this giant blender and what came out was indigestible.

I have to find that again. Here is my step, finally writing the post that I have been dying to post. Saying “I have to find myself again” sounds so cliche and quite unfulfilling to me. Becuase the real question is…did I ever know who I truly was? I have been living with most of the things I have been diagnosed with all my life. When people say “You aren’t your mental illness,” I kind of laugh inside. It is nothing against them, as I know they are only trying to help and bring me comfort, but it is funny to even think that way for me. Maybe it is true for other people dealing with their individual mental illnesses and going about their days. Maybe, just maybe for them, that is completely true. They are not their mental illness. But for me, oh no my loves…I am definitely my mental illnesses. Before you start throwing your opinions at me, let me explain….

Think about it for a minute with me okay? From the age of 5, I had behavioral issues within school and home. Taking my opinions of my home life out of the picture and focusing on just me as a person, I was probably a nightmare. At the time, there wasn’t a really answer as to why I was the way I was. I had point and reward systems set up with the school guidance counselors for when I did and didn’t act out. Many of my early childhood teachers probably wanted to hurl themselves off a cliff and I wouldn’t blame them. I was a nightmare to deal with. Temper tantrums, fits, rages, hyperactivity, and deep sadness all in one miserable child.

Continuing into my high school life, I obviously matured a lot more from middle school, but I was still very childish. Depending on people to get me through the day, sad almost ALL the time…and when I wasn’t sad I was either extremely anxious and hyper or very sassy. I spoke out against a lot of my teachers. I mouthed off to almost every one that upset me in some way. Give me something I don’t want to hear? You are getting a fight back. I was constantly fighting in my brain. This turned into me lashing out to any authority figure that gave me the answer I didn’t want to hear. There was only really one that saw through it all and quite literally saved my life.

So what about currently? Almost the same as high school. In fact, one could even go as far to say that I am worse than high school ever saw me. I have to be an adult and a functioning adult at that too. I have bills to pay, school to pay attention to, and my own well being to manage now. I still throw tantrums. I still cry every day of my life over the dumbest shit. I still find myself completely depending on one person in my life and getting hurts every day because of it. I still lash out at professors or authority figures, in fact,t it would be safe to say that has even gotten worse over the years.

So really, think about it…I AM my mental illnesses. They are who I am and everything I do is because of them. There isn’t one thing I do with my life that isn’t a decision I made or an action I took part in that you could say was made or done without any mental illness influence. EVERYTHING I do is because of one of them. EVERYTHING.

So….maybe it is time to just start over again. Due to certain circumstances, I will be moving back to my hometown for the summer when this semester of college lets out. Part of me is embarrassed to admit this and the part is excited to reconnect with my sisters, my niece, friends, and my “adopted” family. I almost feel as if I am tucking my tail between my legs and running back home just like everyone thought I was going to do anyway. Truthfully, this is so much greater than my pride. There are a lot of things that I believe I need to reconnect with back in Luxemburg. I have my old friends, many of whom were the greatest friends I could ever have in my life. Reconnecting with the few is a fabulous idea. I have two of my sisters that I also haven’t had the time to spend with them, along with my little niece. With my littlest sister just moving out, me being home is good for her also. I miss my work family so much that is hurts sometimes. I love working there and am excited to go back for them. And lastly, to be around the people, besides my sisters, that I call my family. The people that were there for me when I moved out, supported me, and loved me through it all.

This doesn’t take away to immense amount of difficulty that I will have to face. Leaving the one person in this world right now that means the most to my heart is going to be the hardest thing I have had to do in a long time. My best friend and I have spent two years together and never being apart from each other for more than a week. The hardest part for me is knowing that me moving away makes her happy…this part absolutely kills me. I know I am a lot to deal with and probably the most frustrating person in the world to be with, but hearing that broke my heart art. I can’t understand how after all this time, spending so long apart won’t sadden her. I know this just leads into who I am and what I have, but this is going to be like dragging my feel through a sinkhole every single day I am apart from her. Maybe she will realize she doesn’t need me, maybe she sees this as her opportunity to leave. Maybe I am just overthinking this all and I shouldn’t even be thinking this way, who knows. I guess we will find out in due time. Either way, the cookie crumbles, I am going to hurt. That is how much I love my best friend. The idea of being away from her is almost too much for me to even process.

Anyway, this was a 2 am post and who knows how coherent I am even being right now or if anyone will read this. I am struggling and continue to struggle even more every day I keep trying to fight against everything. I am exhausted and emotionally drained. I can’t see much happiness for the next day. Or the next

Life with DPD (Dependent Personality Disorder)

There is a fine line between being everything anyone could ever ask for and being everything no one would ever think to ask for. Okay, maybe there isn’t that fine of a line between the two things, but for today’s purpose, let us imagine that there is.

Many days are awful, and the other days are even worse. What is a good day and where do I find one? And where can I fall to when the people I love, fails to be there for me when I need it the most?

I have the personality disorder called “Dependent Personality Disorder.” It is a real thing, it is more real than life itself. This isn’t something people created to give themselves and excuse to need other people. This condition is absolutely real and I deal with it everyday. I have been diagnosed with it by a professional. I don’t know why I have to prove that to anyone, but this is a disorder that many people think is “overrated” The official definition of the is…..

“People who are overly emotionally dependent on other people and spend great effort trying to please others. People with DPD tend to display needy, passive, and clinging behavior, and have a fear of separation.

Symptoms can include….but are not limited to…

Inability to make decisions, even everyday decisions like what to wear, without the advice and reassurance of others

Avoidance of adult responsibilities by acting passive and helpless; dependence on a spouse or friend to make decisions like where to work and live

Intense fear of abandonment and a sense of devastation or helplessness when relationships end; a person with DPD often moves right into another relationship when one ends.

Oversensitivity to criticism

Pessimism and lack of self-confidence, including a belief that they are unable to care for themselves

Avoidance of disagreeing with others for fear of losing support or approval

Inability to start projects or tasks because of a lack of self-confidence

Difficulty being alone

Willingness to tolerate mistreatment and abuse from others

Placing the needs of their caregivers above their own

Tendency to be naive and to fantasize

When you put all of these things together, you end up with a person that essentially will act like a child when something comes their way. When that one person can’t or won’t be there for me, I react in a very “unadult” way of handling things. I scream, I punch walls, I cry loudly. I become so emotionally impaired at doing anything else but go insane. EVERY single one of those symptoms is my ENTIRE personality and always has been. How do I get someone to understand this? People don’t try to understand. They hear me. They listen. But then move on. So when the situation happens all over again, they are surprised at it.

It is having the inability to make decisions and go on my daily life without the input of others. Then being extremely hurt when they don’t care enough to give me an opinion. I panic when I don’t have others telling me what to do. I depend on them to tell me what to wear, eat, where I should work. what I should do with the day, where I should go, who I should hang out with, when to go to bed, etc.

I am an introvert and I like being alone. I am also super depressed and I like doing nothing and laying in my bed all day. But I hate being along at the same time. But I only want someone to cuddle me or something that doesn’t involve me getting up. And by someone I mean my best friend. And by that I mean I literally don’t want anyone else to talk to me besides her. And all of that means….I go crazy every day.

I have an intense fear that people will leave me or end the “relationship” that I get emotionally incapable to react in any situation of being criticized about my character by doing anything else than crying. I cry all day. I cry at night. I cry when I get yelled at. I cry when I am yelling at someone else. I cry when I fear that this will be the last straw. Then my anxiety takes over. I am literally always internally or externally crying. My inner monolog is just constant tears.

I expect people to get angry. I expect them to not understand who I am or how I work. But I also expect them to try to understand, to try to not get mad at me when I do these certain things, because I seriously can not help it. I expect them to show me that they are caring and trying to understand the reasoning behind what I do and why I do it. Do I get that? Nope. I just get, “Well you can’t always depend on me” “I am not going to be here forever” “It is unhealthy” “Grow up and be an adult” Blah blah blah, the list goes on. I know these people may mean well, but little do they know that they are hurting me more than they could imagine. Simply put, because I CAN NOT do those things. I get blocked. I panic. I can’t make these decisions. I can’t be okay without being held. Without cuddling. I can not function like a normal human being would like to function.

Anyway, I just had to get that out there. There really was no inspirational point to this post, just happened.

When Running Away Isn’t Enough…

Further and further the building behind me go as my feet are pounding against the pavement, running as fast as they can go, and yet….it isn’t nearly far or fast enough. What am I running from? Where am I going? The only thing I can know for sure is the sound of my feet hitting the pavement. I can know that my legs are already tired and growing weaker, my throat gets all scratchy until I feel like I can’t take another breath. My face feels cold and numb. My arms are tense and unmoveable like dinosaur arms, causing them to cramp later down the road. I know that when I strike the ground, in happens mainly on the outside of my right foot, causing my ankle, hip, and knee to have issues. I know that my right knee will soon ache, the same ankle will try to give out, and that hip side is already popping in and out of place. I know that my clothes are now too big for me and I will be pulling my pants up the entire time. I know I will pull my shirt down, again and again, trying to hide my body even further. I know that I will have to fight through the self-doubt of not being able to go any further. I know my side will soon ache because I haven’t eaten a proper meal. Soon my eyes will tear up and I will be crying against my will. I also know that I will feel more in my own skin than I ever do and ever will. I know I will feel again and I will claim my legs, stomach, arms, and face as my own. I will soon feel more alive than I have felt all week or all month. I know I will claim all the pain and aches as my being alive. These are things I can know for sure. These are the reasons why I keep running….or so I keep telling myself…

I am still running from something. I have the false hope in the back of my mind that I can put miles between me and the world. Between me and my past. How many miles will it take? Where am I going? I have always run for purposes that are not clean. I have mainly always ran to prove something. I have run to try to fly away from my past and life in general. I keep trying to run further and further away. As if the miles and building getting smaller and smaller behind me can change things that have happened and the answer will suddenly become clear in the muddy waters. I’ve tried running away from my childhood. I have tried running away from the rape. I’ve tried running away from the sexual assault. I’ve tried running away from the self-harm. I’ve tried running away from the eating disorder, the starving of myself to try to achieve some form perfection that didn’t exist. Most importantly, I have tried running away from myself, who I am, where I have been, and who I could become. I ran to prove to everyone who told me that I couldn’t do it, that I could. I ran to be able to have something others could look at and be proud of me. I ran to make other people happy who wanted me to continue running. I ran to try to beat the shadow I lived in my entire childhood when it came to running. I ran to prove to those people that there wasn’t just one person who could do something great. I ran for everyone else. To make them smile…to gain their approval…to have them be proud of me.

I forgot the most important part of running. I forgot to run for MYSELF. I forgot to have fun. I forgot to be thankful for having the ability to run. I forgot to run to prove things to myself and only myself. I forgot to run to have something I could be proud of. I forgot to run just to run. I forgot about the moral I wanted about running.  What about running when I feel good? What about running just because it is a beautiful day outside and I just want to run? What about running because I love it? What about running for the sole purpose of running?

Running will always be my outlet. It will always be something I turn to when I am angry, upset, or hurt. I am not saying that will ever change, it is after all my free therapy. I am not saying that I will stop running to get away from craziness, anger, bad days, breakdowns, and everything else that happens to the emotional wreck of a person that I am. I am not saying that the days I have 5 panic attacks that I will be out running because I am happy. Or when a reminder of my past pops up that I won’t be trying to run away from it. Or that I won’t be running those runs with the thoughts of making someone else proud of me. That is how I am wired and sometimes you need different motivation for different types of runs. I need those angry runs, those sad runs, and those “holy shit, what the fuck is going on” runs. But it is time that I start actively trying to run for more than just my sanity. Time to try to run more than just to run away from my life and past, even if it is just once a month.

Time to try to start running for myself. Like I said, even if it just once in a great while. Here’s to training again hopefully, and training again for all the right reasons.


What is Rape Culture? Well….let me educate you.

General Trigger Warning: Post may contain images and words you may not want to read about graphic sexual assault and demoralizing women.

“It’s just boys being boys right?” “It’s just locker room talk, it’s completely harmless.” Many of you have heard these statements or say them yourselves, pushing away the notation of how wrong these can sound. Pushing away the notation of how normalized talk like this has become. These phrases all help play into something that is sadly growing in today’s society, Rape Culture.

[I see everyday people come forward about their experiences and being so incredibly brave. It is time for me to come even more forward on Facebook. Thank you to everyone who has been following me from day 1, it is time to show all of you that it is okay to step forward. Your story desereves to be heard. You have a story. So….] For those who don’t know My Last Secret….about abuse.

That is right everyone. Rape Culture does exist and you are either the problem or part of the solution. But what is rape culture? There tends to be a lot of grey matter surrounding the term. WAVAW define rape culture as “Jokes, TV, music, advertising, legal jargon, laws, words and imagery, that make violence against women and sexual coercion seem so normal that people believe that rape is inevitable. Rather than viewing the culture of rape as a problem to change, people in a rape culture think about the persistence of rape as “just the way things are.”” Okay, cool….but what does this mean in relevance to everyday life. Just a few examples in today’s social media….KeepCalm.jpgdesignall2.jpgcccbb2a3e892e6db2f1d3e465e3571d8.jpgwhat-she-says-e1417459866870.png45740610.jpgshe-knows-she-wants-it_o_1813741.jpg0a7bf0011acdf4dd85efcf992a370f8b6062890c.jpg

These posts are not funny and shame on you if you laughed when you read them. Shame on you. We need to stop seeing rape culture as some magical unicorn. Stop seeing it as a notation that some crazy people think exists, stop seeing it as a figment of your imagination. There is nothing magical or rare about this.

Rape culture is being like raped everyday while being forced to laugh. When I first came to attend La Crosse, I had this crazy notation that I was escaping the “small town” talk. The sexual harassment that I saw and heard everyday in my high school and town was immense. If you have been keeping up with my blog, you know my past and history. I thought the presence of the horror of rape culture would die down and I could finally be safe. I was absolutely wrong. Within my first year, I was appalled by the amount of derogatory comments and male dominance that I witnessed not only at drunken parties, but even around the campus. The side comments the guys make about so and so’s ass. Or “so and so’s boobs.” “Oh those legs.” “That ass.” “I’d fuck her.” The comments such as….”yeah, I’ll just put a bag on her head and fuck her,” “Well, I asked and I think she said yes,” “Dude, I fucked her so hard last night” and so on…you know how it goes. I still had this crazy notion that I could escape it. That I could be immune to it. Once again, I was very very wrong. At different parties I have experienced many different comments thrown at me, once even being approached rudely by someone.

Still think that rape culture is harmless? Every action has an equal opposite reaction.(Okay, hate me I did just insert a Hamilton lyric reference, but it’s true) There is a sense of empowerment that men feel because they can get away with these sayings every single day. People don’t bat an eye. People don’t sit there and go “now….wait sir that is just inappropriate” You know what rape culture aids? Yeah, you guessed it. Rape. Sexual assault. I should know. My freshman year I was attacked for the 6th time, this time on campus. I was walking home and I was attacked from behind. He grabbed my neck and waist and held me there trying to take my pants off. Luckily (can I even say luck anymore?) he was so drunk and I was able to struggle away. Some of you may be asking the basic question…”Was she drunk?” “What was she wearing?” “Why was she alone?” The answer? It. Does. Not. Matter. It doesn’t matter if I was by myself ,walking down the street stark naked, and drunk off my ass. None of those factors says “Yes, please come attack me. I am so asking for it.” I didn’t really tell anyone about this happening, only a few really knew about it. This was one of the many cases I have experienced.

Thought I could forget. But how could I when I go to a public university that men (can I even call them men?) okay, boys get kicks and giggles about this….1.jpg3.jpg

We live in a world where guys think this shit is funny. Where this content is “just a joke” and shouldn’t make the girls on campus “be afraid to be alone.” It is the acts like this that promote rape culture. Will I hide their identity? Absolutely not. Men who do these acts are not allowed to have the privilege to hide behind blacked out name bars or blurred lines. The campus did take the necessary steps to calm the campus, but why should they have to? Isn’t it sad that this is something we have to teach young adults? Isn’t is sad that we have to tell boys that these comments are not okay. They are not funny. And they are downright disgusting.

Let’s talk about one last thing that I have been holding my breath on. Donald Trump. Yup. Here we go. What is this “locker room” talk he is trying to defend? One….THIS IS NOT LOCKER ROOM TALK. Many athletes have com forward about this…


Trump is brushing the talk such as “grab her right in the pussy,” as some small talk. As in it is like saying hello or goodbye to someone. Like a greeting to an old friend.


Do we really have a person in this country that promotes rape culture this much and that has gotten as far as he has in this election? Someone who could possibly run this country that objectifies and demoralizes women as much as he does. I have never been more ashamed and hurt by my own country.

This wasn’t meant to be an overly political post, but it ties in to this election so well. Do what you think is right America, I sure hope you can tell the difference.

I made the possible…impossible.

It’s time to fess up.

It’s time to stop avoiding.

It’s time to stop denying.

It’s time to have regret…

As many of you know I have a love for running. It all started my senior year and even with bumps in the road, I still love it to this day. Even though the love is there, now an even more intense feeling is taking control of my head….


See, through the years I have been horrible to my body. It all started my with eating disorder that, to this day, haunts my every thought and then went to self harm. Through the damage I did to my body I now have heart issues, which in turn would lead to breathing issues. I was advised to never smoke and always take my training easy. Since my heartbeat gets irregular when doing activities, this wasn’t good news to hear relating to my running career. I vowed to take it easy and not tell anyone, for I didn’t want people to worry. I did smoke occasionally throughout high school, would vowed I wouldn’t in college.

During guard camp at the beginning of last school year, I was having issues that I didn’t reveal to anyone or even write it down on my health form. My heart was giving my issues, making my inhaler basically useless to help my lungs. I started passing out after practice, or when just getting up. I vowed to never smoke again, never ruin my lungs the way I know I could.

I vowed never to smoke again.

Well, my medication failed and I turned right back to those death sticks. I was smoking multiple in one sitting. I was vaping. I was doing anything that I could to get away from my brain and get some relief. Now hear this, I was not addicted. I could go days, weeks, months, with it. But when I chose to do it, I just did.

So why is this coming back to bite me in the ass?
I’m starting my training again. I have the hopes of getting back up to full mileage by August 20th. I got into my groove and have been finding it very hard to breathe on my runs. My inhaler does nothing. I thought “Oh well maybe I am just really out of shape.” Wrong. I was approaching this bridge when I suddenly I got extremely dizzy and had to sit right where I was. Get this…I was only a mile and a half out. So I sat there looking at this bridge wondering “What have I done to myself?”


And that’s a good question…what the hell have I done? I have starved myself to the point of my heart almost giving out in the past, leading to problems now. I continue to not eat as I should, again leading to more problems. I smoked so much in a short period of time that my lungs and heart are even more compromised. I sat there and cried for a good half hour. I dreamed so much more, have bigger goals…

So what now you may ask?

There’s a question that I can’t answer for anyone, not even myself. Today was a defeat. Regrets? Yeah, I have them…and the choices I made in the past…well…they have ruined me.

Acceptance is Key. Can I ever get there?

Denial. The first stage of acceptance. Sometimes this can be the longest and most grueling stage. In fact, I have spent 19 years of my life in this very stage. I haven’t been completely truthful with you guys. I know I seem open about everything, but truth is…I was basically pretending. I was putting on the facade that I could be open and okay with everything. I wanted to believe this was true. Many people believe that the five stages only relate to being chronically ill or losing a loved one, but it can relate to many different things. As looking back, I find that I have gone through the stages with accepting being horribly sexually assaulted at age 14. Most of them happened all within one night.  The post isn’t easy for me to write, but here we go. It is about time that I stop hiding from myself and my experiences.

I wish I could say I was recovered from everything. I want to be someone people look up to and say “Wow, her story has helped me with my life/experiences”  I have to face reality. I have not even come close to overcoming my eating disorder, my PTSD is becoming more of a problem every day, all the memories of my sexual assaults have come back, and I have been failing to grasp my bipolar disorder.

Focusing on the sexual assault.

It all comes back to the denial stage. After all these years I still refused to accept the true details of what happened to me at 14. While I am not ready to share the full story with all of you nor should any of you have to know the awful truth. It isn’t a story many people want to hear. I have been hiding and denying the details for such a long time. I pretended to be open and telling you the story, when in truth it was worse than what I said. I want to come slightly clean. I went through a couple different stages these past few days/week.

Anger. I hit this stage hard. Really hard. I was angry at myself and him for hurting me all these years. I was angry at myself because I keep thinking that I was at fault. The reason I have had so many different sexual assaults against me had to mean that I was doing something wrong right? Well as many people have told me, nothing was my fault. Even so I was still so angry at myself. I was angry at him. I was angry at the others. I was angry at the world. I thought that the world hated me. I wanted to scream at nothing. I went for a run last night. I went 7 miles out (way out of training. Haven’t done that many in months..anger fueled me wrongly) I found this area, away from everything. A place where no one could hear me. Something came over me. I screamed. I cried until I couldn’t breathe.  I threw things. I yelled at the sky, like something or someone would hear me. Let’s face it, there is no god. No one was listening, but that didn’t fully matter to me. I felt oddly lighter. This may sound insane to some of you. But I overcame my anger. Sure, I still hate myself and I hate what happened, but being angry about it wasn’t worth it. The next stage hit me, absolute and utter depression.

Depression: This stage has always been with me. It hasn’t left. But I was walking back, the tears didn’t stop. They kept coming. I was no longer angry, I am no longer angry. I guess you could say that I am half in this depression stage and half in the acceptance stage. While I accept what happened to me and I know that there is nothing I can do about it, I am still in a depression about it. I wish it didn’t happen. I am currently in the mindset of “If it is happening to me, well at least someone else didn’t have to deal with it.”

I am coming closer to accepting this fully and realizing it for myself. I want to send a random shoutout to everyone who has stuck by my side through this whole process. This never ending process. It isn’t easy guys, in fact it is the most difficult thing I have ever had to do in my entire life. One day, I aspire to rise above all of this. To be someone people can look up to. Maybe when that happens, I can tell you the full story, but until then…

As usual, my email is for any of you! I love your emails, with your stories. Please feel free to contact me whenever. 🙂 Love you all.