AntiCommitment

PTSD

Mon, 06 May 2013 18:01:00 -0400

The gunshots used to just haunt his nightmares. Now they follow him into the day, threatening to take away the very fragile grasp he has on reality. Moments and faces are a blur. He gets embarrassed every time he has to ask someone their name; they always act offended because they’ve met at least ten times. There are no more large crowds or fireworks displays or movie theaters. He changes his daily habits, becoming a hermit as he struggles to function as a civilized human being.

You see, he is not civilized. He is a soldier.

And he is my father.

According to the law, he is an invalid. He is incapable of taking care of himself or being responsible for his own actions. The man who sang me to sleep, loves me unconditionally, taught me right from wrong, and continuously gives me a shoulder to cry on is considered insane and dangerous. 100% disabled due to Post Traumatic Stress disorder from 10 years in the Army and Secret Service.

We don’t talk about it. But what exactly are we not talking about?

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder affects over 31 million people in the United States. Any traumatic event such as rape or accidents can cause PTSD. However, the biggest concern stems from soldiers who have seen battle.

1 in 5 soldiers returning from the war in Iraq will be diagnosed with this disorder. Now that PTSD is being researched more thoroughly, they’re doing a better job of providing support. However, PTSD was actually not even considered real or a threat until World War II. Millions of soldiers suffered from the disease without it being reported, diagnosed, or treated. Even now society is uninformed and uneducated about what is happening to the men and women that sacrifice daily to protect our freedom as American citizens.

Hollywood has gotten its hands on PTSD recently, as it does with what they consider the “trendiest” new disorder. It sickens me. I mean I literally have knots in my stomach when I watch the way that they portray or discuss soldiers. They become monsters. They’re violent, dangerous animals that no longer have a heart, soul, or self-control. Or, sometimes, they become the punch line or scapegoat of whatever issue is happening in the most recent drama. I can never begin to imagine what someone with PTSD is going through. Honestly, I was also ignorant of what it was and it was staring me in the face for 18 years.

My dad had “quirks,” but who doesn’t? I thought it was normal, what was happening in our household. Once I began growing up, I realized that it wasn’t quite right, but there was never a name for it. There was no medicine and no therapy sessions where Daddy could release his pain. Instead, we learned methods to prevent anything terrible from happening. I learned how to speak in a soothing tone. I learned what to say so as not to scare him. I have been taking care of my father since age 12. I finally got him help when I was 18.

A piece of who they are is left in war. Something so large that they are never truly themselves anymore. My father has always described his life in two ways: pre-war and post-war. The way he talks about “pre-war” makes it sound as if he’s attempting to describe a total stranger. The stories he tells about who he used to be seem impossible - but it isn’t. Because he exists only as a shadow of himself.

There is little to be done for someone diagnosed with PTSD. With the different levels of severity come different treatments. There is counseling, anxiety medication, and training. Daddy has one of the worst cases recorded in the United States, actually, and is currently working on getting a guide dog to assist him when he has to go out in public.

There is no predicting behavior. I believe that’s the worst part about PTSD: the unknown. It can be something such as stress that sets off an “episode” or it could just be a bad day as soon as he wakes up. Sometimes it’s just a little shaking, sometimes it’s having to tell him who he is.

I have heard my father ask who I am. I have looked in his eyes to comfort him, only to see that there is no warmth, no love, and no recognition. I have seen him back himself into a corner, growling and mumbling unintelligibly, to get away from me. I have been called out of classes, out of sorority meetings by family members or policemen to let me know that he’s been missing for hours - only to have him show up with no recollection of where he’s been. I have heard the pain and frustration in his voice when the strongest man I know is overcome with fear at a loud noise or sudden movement. I have cried for hours, knowing that the demons that haunt him will never let him go.

Hollywood has no idea what that is.

“They prepared them to go to battle. But not to come home.”

Queen of the Exes

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 23:22:00 -0400

The things that I post on Twitter are, more often than not, the things that I’m having to tell myself on a consistent basis to continue reaching out for the world. At this point in my life, commitment is safe. Commitment is easy. Finding comfort and solace in someone else’s arms would be a defense mechanism because I’m too scared to figure out my future on my own.

I date. Throughout my college career, there were a number of guys that I “talked” to, but none are ever really worth mentioning because they didn’t keep my attention past a month or so. I was in four or five actual relationships. So, yes, I have committed before.

It was important to me to let you guys know that I have been in relationships before. In fact, my friends like to call me Queen of the Exes. Not only have I committed, but I can’t seem to let go of them.

Commitment is not something that comes easy to me. If a guy keeps my interest longer than usual, then I begin considering making him part of my life. See, I’m an all-in kind of girl. I allow that guy to be part of my life, my family, and my heart. So when something like that ends, it’s almost impossible for me to break off and walk away. Not completely, anyway. I care about them. By the time we break up, I usually no longer want to be WITH them, but I want to be in their lives. I don’t understand how I’m expected to spend a year (or more) with someone, and then instantly pretend that I don’t want the best for them. I want him to be happy.

So a break-up is usually a long, drawn-out process. Neither one of us is willing to let go. Therein lies the title “Queen of the Exes.” They’re always still around in my life. They pop up with a random text or a phone call months after we’ve broken up. “Well what are you going to do about —?” is a common question coming from sisters.

The one ex I was truly in love with? Well that’s been ending for three years now. I keep going back to him. Friends and family hate him and sisters think I’m certifiably insane, but I do it anyway. I’ve loved before. Each guy I dated I loved. This one particular ex has been the one that I not only loved, but that I was in love with.

Our lives and emotions are so intertwined at this point that I always find it difficult to walk away. For example, with everything going on with Momma, he was the first person I wanted to talk to. I had so many decisions to make and doctors to talk to during that week that I never once had a chance to breathe, much less deal with the emotions that were rumbling inside of me. I saw him a week later and instantly began bawling. He held me, rocked me, and when I became overwhelmed with rage…he let me kick and punch at him. Literally three hours later, I calmed down. I needed that. And because he knew me, he knew he needed to give that time to me. I don’t know if I would have lasted if it had not been for him.

And the butterflies still exist. That’s what really gets me. The butterflies. I am such a firm believer in them. So he and I keep getting back together. Then, one of us gets mad two months later and storms out the door, swearing we’re done for good. Until three weeks later. I’m not sure when it will end.

I don’t know how to completely cut someone out of my life. No matter which ex it was, whether we ended amicably or he cheated, if he called me at two am and needed something….I would still be there. Honestly, even though people make fun of me for it, I like that quality in myself. I like that I’m incapable of shutting down my emotions for someone that was once so important to me.

Today’s reason I’m anticommitment? When I do commit to something, it’s not casual. It means something to me and will forever mean something to me. Not every person gets that kind of promise from me.

spiritualinspiration: The next time you feel like God can’t use...

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 20:43:46 -0400

spiritualinspiration:

The next time you feel like God can’t use you, just remember…
Noah was a drunk.
Abraham was too old.
Isaac was a daydreamer.
Jacob was a liar.
Leah was ugly.
Joseph was abused.
Moses had a stuttering problem.
Gideon was afraid.
Sampson had long hair and was a womanizer.
Rahab was a prostitute.
Jeremiah and Timothy were too young.
David had an affair and was a murderer.
Elijah was suicidal.
Isaiah preached naked.
Jonah ran from God.
Naomi was a widow.
Job went bankrupt.
John the Baptist ate locusts.
Peter denied Christ.
The Disciples fell asleep while praying.
Martha worried about everything.
Mary Magdalene was, well you know.
The Samaritan woman was divorced, more than once.
Zaccheus was too small. Paul was too religious.
Timothy had an ulcer…
Lazarus was dead!

And God isn’t finished with you yet.

Can you name three things that you are actually committed to?

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 20:42:33 -0400

1. Strengthening my faith and relationship with God.

2. My family

3. My sorority and the wonderful women that share my letters.

I’ll even throw an extra in there for you…

4. Believing and pushing my students to reach their potential.

And that is probably the full and complete list of the things I am actually committed to. For now, at least.

The House That Built Me

Mon, 25 Feb 2013 18:33:00 -0500

Two things you must know before reading this:

1.) As many of you know from my Instagram and the occasional Twitter slip, I am currently working in the same area that I grew up in. The community is made up of 6 small towns with one consolidated school system. After my father was discharged from the army, we came back home. I lived there for 8 years. I lived in all 6 of the towns at one point or another.

2.) I am not currently “living” anywhere. Instead, I jump from place to place. There are seven or eight different houses in which I am always welcome. Don’t panic; it’s not as if I am ever in danger of not having a roof over my head. To me, this is nice. I like being able to wake up each day and decide where I’ll be that night. No obligations, rent, or complications. If I want to stay with my aunt for a few nights, I do. But, if I’m feeling down in the dumps and want to snuggle with my boy, I go stay at his house. A lot of the places I stay are back in my college town, which is a 45 minute commute from the high school in which I’m working. The drive is usually worth it.

Okay. Now we can begin.

It has been so long since I sat down to write a new blog. I’m constantly thinking of great ideas to center my text around but when I sit down to type it, my fingers refuse to move. I thought it was being overwhelmed with my new job, the move, or a million other reasons.

Today was different.

I drove by an empty lot and I was overwhelmed by the sudden emotion. You see, that empty lot used to be a house. That house used to be mine.

Some of the happiest memories of my childhood, or really my entire life, were in that house. It was just my dad and me at this point, and I had the world at my feet. We were poor, my dad was sick, and I had no idea where my mother was…but it didn’t matter. I was loved.

I’ve never known whether it’s me being anticommitment, bipolar, or a combination of everything that has created this ball of tension inside of me. Houses seem to swallow me up. If I stay in one place too long, the claustrophobia sinks in and I can’t breathe. This tiny two-bedroom house was different, though. I never needed space. I’m not sure why that is. I just know that I’ll never forget that feeling. The comfort of walking through a door and knowing I was safe.

When I bring it up with Daddy, he rarely will talk about it. He remembers that he couldn’t always afford food. He pictures the sagging floor because the foundation was falling apart. It reminds him of when my mother walked out on us and that same night that he and I just there and cried. Or the times that the PTSD took control and I came home to our living room in shambles because, in his mind, it was actually a war zone.

I had my first official sleepover at that house. It was the first time my crush ever called me on my landline. It was the tradition of cooking supper and having it ready for when Dad got off work at 9 pm - we would eat together, always, and then he would clean the kitchen while I fell asleep on the floor, talking about my day. It was watching Aladdin every single day (at the age of 14) and my father never complaining. The house where I found out I made the cheerleading squad.

Eventually my father became so sick that he could no longer take care of me and, even though I didn’t understand why at the time, I could not take care of him. I moved four hours away from my father that year and it still is such a life-altering memory for me. A month later, the house was torn down. All I’m left with now are the memories and that piece of land.

Today’s reason I’m anticommitment? Bonus. You actually get two today.

1. Everything in life is subjective. My father and I lived in the same house, day in and day out, together for 18 months. Our memories and our feelings toward that time could not be more different. He’s ashamed of them and I mourn for the loss of them.

2. I can never bring that house back. The bricks, the tiles, the windows…they’re gone. But that’s not what it made it a home. The love and the memories and the life-changing process of growing up made it the happiest times of my life. I don’t need the attachment of material items. My heart holds everything I need.

I know it was bad a lot of the times. But for me, the good outweighed it all.

Are you moving to South Korea then?!

Mon, 25 Feb 2013 18:01:05 -0500

I have until March 1st to decide. It’s February 25th….so who knows.

Butterflies response.

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 23:33:17 -0500

Not trying to sound creepy or anything, but I just wanted to let you know that I absolutely adore your whole entire site. And your writing is brilliant and I am a fan.

Butterflies

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 22:10:00 -0400

I’ve been in love. Once.

As a child, I always wondered how I would know that I was in love. I thought maybe there was some special message my body would send; I pictured it as fireworks that would erupt when my heart and mind met in this beautiful harmony. Then, I grew up. And I found out what special message my body would send me.

Nausea. Accompanied by raw hatred. The first time I saw him in public after it was over, I literally had to excuse myself to the bathroom where I did an awkward combination of crying and throwing up. It was the worst epiphany of my life; realizing I was in love while I had my head buried in my knees on the cold tile floor. It was heartbreak in its purest form.

In true “first love” fashion, he would only appear back in my life when I was on the verge of letting him go. Yet, I couldn’t let go of the anger. Perhaps it was the only thing keeping me from falling off of the brink into depression. It was a shield from the vulnerable, fragile state I had allowed myself to get in.

What he and I had was casual. I met him at a fraternity party and things escalated quickly. It was my first experience with lust and as an inexperienced junior in college, I was enjoying it. It didn’t hurt that he was fun to hang around and joke with.

We were exclusive, but there was no pressure. He was busy with college athletics and I enjoyed the option of choosing my sorority sisters over him without any upset feelings. There were fights, but he always ended up at my door. He had a toothbrush in my dorm and I kept my mini-fridge stocked with red Gatorade even though I couldn’t stand the stuff. It wasn’t until a year later that it came crashing down - in the form of another girl. A girl that he was more than just casual with. Until that moment I hadn’t realized what I had been missing. There was little contact after that - he might drunkenly call me, I would drunkenly yell at him at a party. I usually ended up crying.

Fast forward another six months and, just like always, he was back at my front door. But later that night as we were cuddled up, I couldn’t stop thinking about how to get him out of my bed. Here was everything I had been praying for and I no longer wanted it. His jokes were no longer funny and I couldn’t care less that he wanted a Gatorade. I still see him occasionally (as most of you see on my Instagram or Twitter), but the nausea is completely gone. So are the butterflies.

My heart doesn’t beat faster when I get a text from him. I don’t get a pit in my stomach when I see him with another girl. I’m truly over him. It’s pretty great.

I’ve come to a brilliant conclusion. The first time I was with him, it was magical. He made me feel absolutely special, and that’s not something I’m used to. But, then he hurt me. He was embarrassed of me along with many other things, so I built a wall. So the optimistic fairy-tale emotions I was feeling didn’t exist anymore. And I’m not okay with that. I won’t settle for any other kind of love.

Today’s reason I’m anticommitment? He may have shown me what love was, but he also showed me how quickly it can fade. So I’ll keep going until I find the man who keeps the butterflies there.

Photo

Tue, 07 Aug 2012 12:10:01 -0400

I don’t care how you feel about Chik-Fil-A. This is...

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 21:05:43 -0400

I don’t care how you feel about Chik-Fil-A. This is funny.

So watch it. And lighten up.

Please and thank you.

My opinion, however, is the entry below.

Chik-Fil-A

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 19:07:00 -0400

Before I begin this, I have several disclaimers:

1. What I say will probably offend someone. Funny thing about the human race is that no matter what happens, not every single person will be pleased with an opinion, choice, or decision. Funny thing about me is that I stopped caring about pleasing most everyone by the time I was 15.

At least ten of you will email me, arguing against what I say…attempting to prove my facts wrong or saying that I took it out of context. I’ll read it. And then guess what? I’ll delete it. I’m not arguing with you. You’re allowed to have your opinion just as I have mine. Difference is you feel the need to defend yours against strangers. I don’t. Oh…and I have a lot more people reading mine.

2. I do not eat Chik-Fil-A under normal circumstances. My college town’s franchise constantly has the giant cow walking around inside and outside of the store - sometimes even touching you. I’m terrified of mascots. So it’s just not happening. I will cut a bitch. Things would get ugly.

Now that the pretty much unnecessary information is out of the way, let’s begin.

S. Truett Cathy is a businessman. I’m sure if I did my research, I may even find that he’s one of those charming little stories of a man who began with nothing…but now owns a huge chicken franchise. From what I understand, it is actually his son Dan Cathy who is in charge and responsible for all of the donations.

Anyway, my point is…he worked for the money. It is his hard earned money. I am not furious at the fact that an American tax-paying citizen gave HIS money to the cause of his choice. If so, I would have to protest every single person who has ever given money, time, or support to the belief that homosexuals are wrong. As lousy as it is, that would mean I wouldn’t be able to go to my grandparents every Sunday for dinner. It’s what they believe. I wouldn’t want to take that freedom away from them any more than I would want someone to take away my freedom to believe that one day I will marry the love child of Beaver and Cappie from Greek. Mine is somewhat more of a fictitious whimsy but damn it, it’s mine.

Now, before going and getting all in a huff…FINISH READING WHAT I HAVE TO SAY.

I love the gays.

No, but really. I do not care about all of that bullshit. I care about the person you are inside. If I were to judge someone for being gay and voice my opinion by shouting out all of these random Bible verses…well, that would just be opening up a door for a gay to shout out a Bible verse about gluttony every time I drunk dial him/her. I was taught in Sunday School that God believes all sins are equal. So you being gay is the same as me back-talking my mother. Want to protest me, anyone?

The only reason I even care about sexual orientation is when I see a cute guy that I want. Then I ask. Because it affects me. Otherwise, you can tell me which side you swing on or you can keep it to yourself. Your choice.

I also find it humorous that probably 76.375% of these people standing in line for hours to show support have more than one sex partner. Or signed more than one marriage license. Because that is a definite no-no for the Lord too when it comes to love. Just another thought.

Do I agree with Cathy? No. Will I ever change Cathy’s mind - either by standing in line for hours to support or by never buying it again? No. The only reason people care is because America feels the needs to constantly have internal turmoil. We can’t just accept each other…especially when so much money is involved.

What really infuriates me is that SO much more is going on in the world. We have soldiers overseas dying for these stupid arguments. Two weeks ago, one of my high school friends was shot in Afghanistan. Did that get any coverage? No. Today I had a 5 year old beg me to take her home so she’d have somewhere to sleep, food to eat, and wouldn’t have to worry about getting hit. Is there a 100-person-deep line waiting to stand up for that little girl or the other 13 neglected children in my classroom? No. America is so hell bent on persecuting people for who they love that they’re not paying attention to the ones that aren’t loved at all. If you’re a man in a relationship with a man, I just thank God at night that you’ve found someone. Hell, if you want the right to have a child…I’ll fight to hell and back for your right to adopt just so my kids will have people of any gender or sexual orientation that won’t burn them with cigarettes or leave them in a dirty diaper for two days.

Hating Cathy for being anti-gay is the same as Cathy hating gays for being…well, gay. It’s a hypocritical circle that I want nothing to do with. It’s totally possible that I have such a belief because I am not personally homosexual. If he were donating money to anti-women I’m sure I’d have a bigger fire underneath me. But until then, I will just take my five dollars for chicken nuggets and donate it to an organization with a rainbow emblem.

³⁴“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. ³⁵By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

John 13:34-35

That’s the verse I live by.

This isn't a question but I just want you to know that yo inspire me to live my life to the fullest, & that I can't look at everything i don't have and live life by that. I should look at the things I do have and appreciate it. (: SO thank you.

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 18:28:39 -0400

This message is absolutely the reason for my account. Thank you so much!

Please feel free to send me any questions you have! You can send them to me through...

Fri, 27 Jul 2012 04:05:18 -0400

Please feel free to send me any questions you have!

You can send them to me through tumblr.

However if it’s a private question or you do not have a tumblr, just email me at anticommitment@gmail.com

I absolutely love interacting with all of you!

Even if you aren’t wanting to ask me anything feel free to just say hello, let me know what’s going on with you, provide some feedback about my tweets, or whatever your heart desires.

AC!

Wisdom teeth out. Owwwww.

Wed, 25 Jul 2012 22:35:45 -0400

Wisdom teeth out. Owwwww.

I woke up this morning from a nightmare around 3:30 am. Even though I was exhausted, I could just...

Tue, 24 Jul 2012 18:27:00 -0400

I woke up this morning from a nightmare around 3:30 am. Even though I was exhausted, I could just not fall back asleep - I was far too rattled.

So, instead, I took a really long shower and actually did my hair for work rather than throwing it in a ponytail. I also put on a little bit of make-up; my boss is hot, I can’t help it.

When it hits nap time at work, I am desperate to get my kids to sleep. The hour and a half that they’re zonked out is the only time I’m able to do paperwork, clean up the room, eat, or really even sit down. So I cuddle with them, I pat their backs, I read them stories…literally ANYTHING.

Today one of my babies was curled up in my lap with three or four kids surrounding me on their mats. Little boy looked up at me as his eyelids were drooping and asked me in that adorable almost-asleep little-kid way:

“Ms. J? Are you a princess?”

I laughed and said of course I was, understanding that he was half asleep. I didn’t think a thing about it past those few seconds. But, when my kids woke up, I realized they had not forgotten. For the rest of the day I was referred to as Princess. If they refused to listen all I had to do was tell them that the princess really needed their help. It was such an easy day after nap time!

It shocked me how easily they accepted that. Without proof, without doubt. They saw me as a princess because they wanted me to be a princess. It was adorable and reminded me of why I love my job so much.

Today’s reason I’m anticommitment? Life is what you make it. So, I never want to get so bogged down in my day-to-day life that I don’t remember that I can be a princess by simply saying I am.

I love playing Hungry Hungry Hippos. White Christmas is my favorite movie, even in May. At 21, when...

Sun, 22 Jul 2012 20:23:00 -0400

I love playing Hungry Hungry Hippos.

White Christmas is my favorite movie, even in May.

At 21, when you see me, I am more Cosmo Girl than Cosmopolitan. I look young. I’ll appreciate it more when I’m 50.

When shopping, I gravitate towards bright colors because I believe colors can brighten your mood. Well, that and the fact that my skin complexion/tan looks twenty times better in them.

I jump on the bed. When I’m excited. When I’m staying in a hotel. When I’m bored.

The movie’s on. I’m laying on the couch. At some point during the two hours, I will be laying upside down with my head hanging off. Without fail.

Sunshine cures anything.

Seeing a butterfly land on me is still amazing.

I gained the Freshman Fifteen pretty much every year. I had such a blast in college that I don’t regret it. Now that I’m out and I’m seeing all of the weight gain in pictures, I am bound and determined to do something about it.

New crafting ideas excite me.

A bad day can totally be turned around for me just by spotting an old man in suspenders.

I’ll take a compliment on my smile over being called “hot” any day.

I believe happily ever after can exist. It takes work and it takes patience. So many people are determined to rush through life and live the life that someone else said was normal. I believe I’ll get my fairy tale by experiencing life on my own before Prince Charming comes around. Then, when he does, it’ll be about compromise. I never want to lose myself. If two people fall in love it’s because of who they were - keep that mindset and it’ll be worth the fight. Grow together and then ride off in the sunset.

The smell of new books makes me happy.

At least once a week I retreat into my little world of nostalgia and memories. The good, the bad, and the embarrassing - the past has made me who I am and I feel as if I need to take time to appreciate that. It’s good to reflect.

Life can be such a grand adventure. It’s cliche, but I believe that wholeheartedly. There are so many things, places, people, cultures, recipes, games, ….just so MUCH to experience in the world. Why limit yourself to the very small scope that we live when attached to a routine? I genuinely love the fact that some of my perspective is still very child-like. Don’t mistake me for immature, however. I do love the occasional perverted joke, but I grew up a long time ago. I know what is expected of me and I know how to take care of myself. But that doesn’t mean I want to stop smiling every time a cute boy notices me or refuse to build Legos with my kids at work. I’m open to the world because I’ve maintained my childhood curiosity. I’ve maintained my free-thinking, not-tied-down world that a lot of people lose when they’re trying so hard to grow up.

Today’s reason I’m anticommitment? Because I find pure joy in the very simple moments of life. And I’m not ready to give that up just yet.

Out of Control

Thu, 28 Jun 2012 21:09:06 -0400

I need you all to do me a favor. It’ll be quick and relatively painless, but it does require some trust.

I need you to think of a moment when you were completely out of control with emotion. Any emotion: happy, sad, angry. I’m talking about everything - the event, the people around you, the absolute lack of control you had over yourself. Allow yourself to remember how you were consumed with that mood, pushing everyone and everything else out of your brain and your heart. Close your eyes and recall every single detail.

Now, are your eyes open? Haha. Get it? Get it? Alright. Moving on.

Welcome to my life on a daily basis. At sixteen years old I was diagnosed with Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder.

Yes, there are medications and while I believe that sometimes they are necessary, it’s difficult for me to always accept that I’m totally dependent on a chemical substance for the rest of my life. So, I slip. I stop taking them.

The world completely overwhelms me. That one split second in which you think, “Wow. That’s a pretty sunset” becomes a twenty minute episode for me. I can’t take my eyes away from the sun. I can’t blink, I can’t move. I have no control over my own body, as my mind races with a million different things. In that one sunset I see the possibility of the sun’s rays soaking up every bit of darkness and evil that currently exists. Then, I’m immediately desperate and heartbroken when I realize that the evil is here to stay. I crawl in bed and I cannot leave for two days.

What you feel, I feel twenty-fold. I don’t want to. I am never a willing participant in my emotions controlling my life. A mood swing keeps me from eating, sleeping, seeing friends. Whatever it wants to take from me, it does. And all I can do is be swept along with the current of the moment’s mood. They don’t always last for seconds like Hollywood portrays. It’s not a comedy act. My episodes last anywhere from a minute to two weeks. I can be so high that I feel as if God is literally holding my hand and letting me walk the clouds. Then, with no warning and no reason, I can’t drive my own car out of fear I’ll try to run it into a tree.

I wake up each day not knowing how I’ll feel. I’m 21 and I’m just now coming to terms with how I must sometimes adapt. I finally feel comfortable talking about it, and telling those closest to me (and 12K followers…) because I can’t change it. As I become more mature, I realize that I was given this disorder because I can handle it. I can handle the knowledge that I am only me because of the way I am: the good, the bad, and the needs-to-be-medicated.

Today’s reason I’m anticommitment? I’ve learned to live life to the fullest with my disorder because I had to. Bipolar disorder can control me. You can’t.

Rebelling

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 13:36:00 -0400

Rules I learned as a young girl:

1. Children and women are to be seen and not heard

2. It is a woman’s job to make a man happy, no matter what.

3. Men and women cannot sit at the same table

4. A woman is to walk one step behind her significant other and all authoritative men in her life (for example father, grandfather, brother, etc…)

4. There are jobs for men and there are jobs for women. No discussion.

5. The above rule also applies for household duties. There should be no crossing of the two.

My family has always been one of the most amazing things in my life. I’m blessed beyond belief with two living parents who would walk across hell to make sure that I’m happy. They’ve sacrificed and outdone themselves for my siblings and me.

But, there is only one downfall. I was raised in a town with a population of 400, where old southern ways were still the dominant forms of discipline and lifestyle. Especially in my family, a Native American family plopped down in Arkansas in order to become farmers for the government. This meant that I, along with many generations before me, were taught these rules as soon as I was old enough to understand them. After growing up, I realized most of them were taught only to females of the family. Being born male was a completely different story; at one time this upset me, but then I realized that being a boy in my family created a whole different set of pressure - something I am not jealous of. So while my parents raised me in a house of love and security, there were rules dictating what I could or could not be.

I should be married at 18, mother at 20, and either a teacher, nurse, or stay-at-home mom. It’s funny, though. You’ll have to understand, my family was my life. I never left home for more than a night and certainly never travelled outside of my hometown area much. So, I thought this was the way it was everywhere. I assumed that the entire USA had these rules. My giant extended family (which made up about 200 of the 400 population) all lived this way, so it was only reasonable to conclude that.

But it wasn’t. Not at all. At 17 I entered college. After my arranged marriage had fallen through, I chose an university in Arkansas where I could be within hours of my family. I remember crying the first time a sorority sister laughed at my values and ideals of the way the world worked. She didn’t mean anything by it, I realize that now. She thought I was joking.

They all thought I was joking - every time in the last four years I’ve been unable to do anything because it goes against the way I was raised, or because I just didn’t know how. For instance… I learned how to cut up my own steak very recently. At 21. Growing up, my dad or brother just always took care of it for me. But, I wasn’t joking. So friends, sisters, and even boyfriends have opened me up to new experiences and helped me along the way. For that, I’m grateful. Although sometimes certain practices in the “new” world make me want to return to my naive bubble that my family sheltered me in.

I wasn’t abused. The men were never violent or aggressive. It’s the way my father was raised, so it’s how he raised me.

I don’t necessarily agree with the entire lifestyle, but I do appreciate it. Even after seeing things could be different. I graduated with an Education degree, I’ll get married, and I’ll have a bundle of children. Honestly, I’ll probably revert back to a few of the rules. I do believe that there are gender roles and I still don’t understand why people fight so hard against them.

But I do know now that I will never walk one step behind any man.

Today’s reason I’m anticommitment?

I’ve got to prove to myself that I can survive on my own two feet.

Mourning

Tue, 26 Jun 2012 13:27:00 -0400

She was eleven months old. She was beautiful in that homey-little-kid way. She loved Dora, and hated Snow White. She was totally stubborn and illogical when I tried to explain that Disney princesses were classic and much better than any bilingual, bowl haircut girl involved in a very strange relationship with a monkey. Now, she is dead.

Have you ever seen a casket for a baby? I hope to God you never do; it isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy. It seems impossibly small. Placed in the front of the church, flowers overwhelmed it. I felt as if I were at a garden show. A very sad, morbid garden show. I wanted to swipe them all into the floor. It shouldn’t have looked like a table with centerpieces. She was the star of our lives, always clamoring for attention. Even in death she shouldn’t have been overshadowed by the blood red roses.

My mother refused to be sedated at any point. But when she thought no one was looking, she’d glance down at her arms. They held K as she died. Now my mother was cursed with them; they were lo longer her arms but K’s “deathbed.” I had no idea how to help her. Two years later, she still glances at her arms occasionally as if she doesn’t recognize them. And I still have no idea how to help her.

Burying a child takes something out of you. It breaks apart your entire belief system, and casts a cloud of doubt over the human race. It’s hard to prepare for something like this. I guess no one really can.

My followers have asked me what makes me tick. What moment in my life made me so anticommitment. I never know how to answer. It’s never just one giant “Eureka” moment in which I swear off contracts and long-term relationships. My entire life has been made up of moments, tiny or large, that create the person I am today. Mourning the deaths of my loved ones have made me realize even more that life is short. I refuse to take for granted what they weren’t given. I have so many blessings and opportunities - not a single thing or person will cause me to stray from experiencing every single moment of my life.

So instead of trying to sum it up in 140 characters as to why I have this outlook on life, I will begin explaining it on Tumblr. Maybe you guys will love it, maybe you guys will hate it. I’ve decided since writing this excerpt I don’t really care. As an English major, I’ve forgotten how great it is to write with no destination in mind. Instead, I allowed my fingers and feelings to lead me down a path. Each section will probably be different. Today, I felt the need to write this story down as just another method.

Today’s reason I’m anticommitment? My method of mourning is to live with everything I’ve got.

"Shout-Outs"

Sun, 17 Jun 2012 22:04:01 -0400

So I’m going to be honest. Brutally honest. I may lose followers, I may get nasty emails, or maybe everyone will suck it up and move on with their lives. But I’m going to do this anyway.

How I feel about “Shout-Outs:”

I do not mind helping out Anon accounts that are either new or just lacking in followers. I’ve had this account for almost a year, and I definitely did not begin with 12 thousand followers. BUT, I also did not follow a bunch of giant accounts and then proceed to ask them to help me gain followers. I tweeted. I talked about life, love, not settling down. I used quotes and real life stories that people could relate to.

I’m not a bitch. I swear. I love every single one of my followers and realize that no one has to follow me. No one has to care what I say. Honestly, I would still tweet whether I had 20 followers or 20 thousand. This account is more than just attempting to get retweeted. It’s helped me get through this past year as much as it has others. I do have to remind myself each and every day not to settle for less and to remain optimistic. I say this to say that I’m not against helping out new accounts.

So how do I handle it when people ask me for shout-outs? I never retweet the original tweet in which they contact me. I go to their page. If it’s nothing but asking big accounts for help or having personal conversations with another smaller account, I do nothing. Sorry. But if you have tweets that are relatable, make sense, or are funny then I follow you. And I retweet you. That helps spread the word of who you are, and if you continue doing a great job with your tweets than you get more followers. So for me to help you, you have to help yourself. Does that make sense? I’m not going to expect anyone to follow a rando just because I said it. People are not stupid. They’re going to follow someone that they like, someone that has a voice of their own.

Most of you may have a few issues with the way in which I handle this type of thing. Can’t please everyone, now can I?

Love you guys!