"Get a life!"

In the past I've struggled a lot with anxiety, depression, PTSD, and bipolar. Lately I've been struggling with agoraphobia, or the fear of going outside. I've been indoors 90% of the time for a number of years, and I'm trying to work through it now.

I stopped going to public school sophomore year. I can't handle the environment, with timed expectations and feeling like people have their eyes on me when I mess up, so I take classes at home through the school. Every so often I have to go to the high school to do paperwork or something. My anxiety gets to me pretty often, but I try my hardest to relax and keep my head up. Keeping happy is my way of getting back at all the misfortune in my life, even if it's difficult. 

One day as I was getting ready to go to the high school to do some errands, I decided for the first time in forever that I wanted to dress up a little. Feeling confident makes it easier for me to go outside. It makes me feel like if people look at me, they won't judge what they see. 

As I was getting ready to cross the street to go home, someone sped by in a car and screamed at me, "GET A LIFE!" 

I stood and stared at the street for a moment. I felt like a paper thin glass bottle getting dropped on the ground. I wanted to sit down and cry, but I wanted even more desperately to just go back home and be inside. Indoors, nobody would call me names or tell me what to do with my life. 

I wanted to stop that car and shriek into his ears, "Do you know what you've just done to me? Do you know what I am going through? It took every single ounce of my energy to get out of bed today, and you have the audacity to tell me to get a life. I'm trying. I'm TRYING to get a life and I'm TRYING to maintain it. You don't know what it's like to get up with the intentions of going outside, look at the front door for fifteen minutes, undo the deadbolt, and then start crying and go back to bed because people like you make me wish I had never been born. I hope you're happy with yourself. I worked up every last bit of courage I had to walk out the front door today and you shattered it. You took it and threw it in a trash compactor." 

The three words he screamed at me made me feel empty and alone. It kept me wondering what I did wrong. What did I do to deserve that scream? What did I do to make you hate me? Just exist? 

Since then I've been working on going outside more. It isn't as scary now as it was then. I went out all on my own today and applied for a number of jobs. It feels good to smile and look people in the eyes, shake their hands and introduce myself. Even if I don't get the job(s), I'm happy with myself because I tried. 

I have a life. I'm doing all I can with it. With what I've been through in my life, trying and succeeding even at little tasks is more than just "enough." 

I'm excelling in places I never thought I would, and that is what makes me happy.

Amazing Nurse

I was in one of my last semesters of nursing school with a teacher who was known to play favorites. We were doing a simulation on a mannequin, and I had to start an IV with supplies I wasn't familiar with. I stopped for a moment to look at the equipment, and the teacher said to everyone, "That's the kind of nurse we do this to!" She then proceeded to push me aside and do the simulation herself. 

I dropped her class the next day and then went on to become an amazing nurse.
 

"You have a great smile."

I work at a movie theater in my hometown. On a particularly hectic day in which I had already made many mistakes, I began to help an older gentleman. Although I was frustrated and preoccupied, I still tried to be friendly to him. 

After paying for his ticket he asked my name. I was afraid he had a complaint for a manager about me, but I gave it to him. Then he addressed me by my first name and said, "You have a great smile." 

I tried not to cry, it touched me so much. Now, whenever I smile, I think of that gentleman who made my crazy day so much better. Thank you.
 

"College?!"

As a kid I always knew that college was the end game of going to school. You do well in school so that you can get into college. It was an assumption I had. 

Then one day when I was about 7, my college dropout mom said to me, "College?!" Followed by hysterical laughter. "You won't ever go to college! There's no way we could ever help you pay for it. And good luck paying for it yourself!" 

I've struggled in school since then. But not because it was hard. I always tested well. I just never put in any effort. I wasn't going to be a doctor or a lawyer, so why did it matter? I just wanted to be a mechanic or a construction worker after that. That was what everyone in my family did that had dropped out of high school, and they had their own lives, nice trucks, houses. I just wanted to quit school and get to it. I felt like I was wasting time there ever since my mom made those comments.

But I had to stay because my family wanted me to have a high school diploma. 

The same people that told me I could never go to college.
 

Girls Like Me

The night I was raped, my rapist told me, "To girls like you, no means yes."

This has stuck with me, because in a way its true. But not the way he meant it. 

Every time a teacher told me I wasn't smart enough, I studied harder and longer so I could tell her, "Yes I am."

When I was told I would never advance at work, I improved my numbers to prove to my boss that, "Yes I could."

So I guess he was right.
To girls like me, no means yes.
 

"I would never date her"

When I moved back home, I worked at a restaurant with this guy whom I had previously known and always thought was really handsome. I was excited to be working with him and getting to know him. I couldn't wait to go to work and see him and spend time with him every day .

I'm pretty sure it was obvious how much I liked him, because one night he brought me home and we got together. At first I was hesitant because I was afraid of getting hurt, but I liked him so much, and he was really nice to me, so I took a chance.

We saw each other for about a month, until he got promoted. It was shortly after Christmas, and I remember getting him a present and everything. I couldn't wait to give it to him.

I walked out onto the porch and overheard him saying, "She gives a really good blow job, but I would never date her because her family is crazy and she's not attractive enough for me." 

I walked away. 

We never saw each other outside of work again.

"It's the end."

My mother was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer on Father's Day 2014.

Before and still shortly after her diagnosis, I didn't know how cancer worked. I wasn't sure what the stages mean't, I only knew that stage 4 mean't the cancer was really bad.

The months after her diagnosis my family heard, "I'm sorry" and "I've been praying for you" and the like.

My mom was only given 6-9 months to live, but my mom and the rest of my family had faith that she wouldn't "give up that easy." We were very positive after getting the diagnosis and everyone knew that.

But one day, out of the blue, about three months after the diagnosis, I was at work and a woman that I was actually pretty close to outside of work said, "You understand stage 4 means your mom's dead, like it's the end."

I remember those words so vividly. Even a year and a half later, they still bring tears to my eyes.

However, my mother is still fighting her fight and has been surprising her doctors on a regular basis. So no, her diagnosis wasn't the end.

Too young to remember

As we approach September 11th, it pains me sitting across from young co-workers who didn't experience this day the same way I did. To them, it's just a regular day. It doesn't occur to them that to me, being ten years older, this day and the days that follow are filled with memories and sadness.

Is anyone else here at work thinking about this already? Does anyone else annually dread the beginning of September?

These rhetorical questions are questions that I doubt anyone else is thinking about. And that's what makes me sad.

Wondering what this next generation will end up remembering - much like we aren't scarred by Watergate or JFK's assassination.

I had just started a new job a few days before and was trying to find a parking space in the employee deck. I noticed a couple of cars lined up but not running, and I didn't know what they were doing. A car was pulling out of a spot in front of the line of cars so I drove around them and parked.

After I got out a woman in one of the cars I had gone around (I hadn't even been able to tell someone was in there) rolled down her window and started yelling at me for being so rude to just pass the line of people waiting for spots like that.

It turns out the lot can get so overcrowded that people can wait for over twenty minutes for a spot, so they will turn off the car completely. I immediately said that I was sorry and that I hadn't realized that was what they were waiting for. I said that I would move my car and she could have the spot. As I turned to go back to my car I said that I was sorry again. The woman replied, "You should be." 

I have always been shy, self-conscious, and had very low self-esteem. After she said that, I felt terrible and guilty. My confidence was shot. Even worse, I couldn't get it out of my head. Almost every time I parked in that deck the memory would get triggered and I would feel bad.

It was over a year later when I had an epiphany. Something had caused me to think about that incident when a switch flipped in my head and I suddenly thought, "Wait a minute. Screw her." It hit me that I had made an honest mistake and as soon as I found out, I fixed it. I had no intent to be rude and she certainly didn't suffer any. If an extra ten seconds waiting for me to move my car ruined her day she had some serious issues. There was absolutely no reason for me to feel bad and she had no reason to say I should.

“You’re really intense.”

It was an interview for a company and position I had dreamed about. I’d be studying for weeks. Met with three people in the office and was feeling awesome.

Then, in walks the VP. He sits down, spreads his legs out, puts his hands behind his head in a cocky manner, and asks me to tell him about my interests. I start talking and he almost immediately interrupts me with this statement.

He asks me to start talking again, then interrupts me again: “Yeah, you’re intense. Has anyone ever told you that? Like, really intense.”

Turns out, he was testing me. But I’ve never left a room feeling so unsure of myself.