The Man Behind The Door

I hear a gasp as a man catches a glimpse of me in my current situation on the sidewalk.  As I lock eyes with him, I feel as if his face allows me some insight to his soul.  His eyes hold a greater darkness that resembles a starless night sky, and raven eyeliner heavily coats the underneath of his obsidian headlights.  Vertical creases lie between his eyes, proving his chronic unhappiness.  As I search the bottomless pits I discover his empty soul that is closed off to the rest of the world.  

My eyes divert from his charcoal blinders when he twitches his nose ever so slightly.  As my exploration of his inner being continues, I notice the weakness of his aquiline snout and begin to wonder about his character flaws.  The man’s angled muzzle resembles the beak of an eagle and leads me to believe that he is of depraved moral character.  His hollow spirit is exposed through the hook of his nose.

My attention is drawn to his mouth when he does not return the smile I flash at him.  His sanguine lips are in a tightly pursed position as if he is about to kiss someone.  His caved in cheeks sharpen his rigid jaw line that leads to his chiseled chin.  His face could have been sculpted out of marble if not for the seams surrounding the corners of his lips.  The cracks indented into his face tell a story about who he once was, before his prolonged period of sadness.  His story unfolds as I examine the laugh lines turned into grief lines that are taking over his weather-beaten face.  

I watch from the sidewalk as the man closes the small window on his large ebony door.  I ponder what I just saw in his handsome face.  He showed me his vacant yet wanting soul through his mysterious and cloudy eyes.  He let me discover his corrupt moral depravity, his only flaw, through his bent nose.  He told me his life story through the grooves on his face.  He revealed his entire self to me without saying a word.  His memorable face will forever be in my mind.  To me, he will always be known as the man behind the door.  

A Letter to a Toxic Former Friend

I'm stronger than you ever thought I'd be.

Dear Toxic Former Friend, 

You hurt me. You bullied me. You manipulated and embarrassed me. You shoved me down into my lowest of lows. You emotionally tortured me. You made me not want to live anymore. Yet here I am. 

I wonder if you even comprehend what you are doing. You are making the people you call your 'friends' feel like lesser beings so that you can raise yourself up and boost your own self-worth. There were times when I thought that friendship was supposed to be like that; they dealt with your drama, and you dealt with theirs. However, the spotlight is always on you, and the rest of us are only here for your entertainment. 

People asked me why I chose to be friends with you. They wondered how I could bear being around you all the time. And you know what? I always stood up for you. Always. Even when it seemed like I had no reason to stick around anymore, like I was just a chew toy, I was there for you. I was a friend, even if you were not. 

Looking back at this so-called "friendship" and evaluating it for what it truly was, I realize that it's time to move on from this relationship and the pain that I felt as a result of it. At the same time, with ending this friendship, I recognize how much I have grown as an individual, and how this toxic friendship may have even changed me for the better. While you may have attempted to belittle the people you call "friends" by filling our minds with anxiety and our lives with drama, I want to thank you. 

Thank you for teaching me that I do not need toxic people like you in my life. Thank you for empowering me to no longer sit back and take demands and insults, and to finally stand up for myself and my own opinions. Thank you for making me realize who my true friends are, the ones who really do have my back and care about me, rather than selfish people like you who only worry about themselves. Thank you for allowing me to discover my self-worth and all I am capable of doing. After the hurricane of drama died down, I finally saw that the real problem was not me at all; the real problem is you and your actions. 

If it weren't for you, I would not be able to spot other toxic people from a mile away the way that I can now. I am free from the weights dragging me down to feel lesser than anybody else, and I am happier than I have been in a long time. Thank you for teaching me these life lessons; now, I have some life lessons for you, so listen up. Friends don't turn on each other. They don't call each other names that are too hurtful to even be mentioned. Lying, deceitful, gossiping personalities aren't attractive. Lastly, karma is a bitch. Good luck with that. 

You broke my heart. You tried to shatter me, but you didn't. I am stronger than I ever was because I have found that I am able to hit rock bottom, and still get back up again. Thank you for saving me from becoming a toxic friend. Life is short, and it's time to make a clean break from this toxic friendship so I can move on to something better. 

Sincerely, 
The Girl You Used 

Bucket List: My College Essay

Bucket List

Growing up, I constantly wanted to participate in community service. This desire to help people with their problems, physical or mental, has turned into my hope of becoming a social worker. I want to spend my entire life helping others, yet at one point in my life, I refused to let anybody help me.

Becoming a social worker has been influenced by my personal history. During my high school career I underwent two surgeries. I failed countless musical auditions. I always felt out of place because I was too mature for my age. In March of my junior year, I experienced my best friend turning on me, which turned into three girls from school posting about me on social media. This led to a significant change in my attitude, which was quickly noticed by my parents. I found myself sitting in the doctor’s office, where I experienced an unforgettable moment when I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.

My immediate reaction was denial. I thought I was a burden to others, and I felt as if I wasn’t worthy of help. I had no interest in talking to friends because I assumed they would make fun of me if I admitted my weaknesses. I wouldn’t tell my mother anything either. But then, during a therapy session, two words on a piece of paper changed my entire mental state.

I walked into my therapist’s office one day, and she was sitting at the table in the middle of the room with markers and blank sheets of paper. As I sat down at the table, she showed me the first sheet of paper where she had written the words, “Bucket List.” I took the paper from her and wrote a long list of things I want to do before I die. Then she gave me a new piece of paper and told me to write my ultimate life goal. My goal was to help others who believed they were not worthy of receiving help; someone just like me.

After that therapy session I slowly let more people into my life. I started with my mother, and then branched out and told two of my closest friends. I asked for their forgiveness because I hadn’t trusted them or allowed them to help me through my struggles. Then I told more of my friends, and I was relieved when not a single person judged me because of my illness. I stopped pushing people away, and I was more open about my feelings. When I started allowing myself to receive help from others, I found strength. I was able to fight the depression and anxiety, and today, I am proud to say that I am able to successfully cope with the stresses of life. I learned that life is not meant to be painless, but I found accepting help makes life a lot less lonely.

Helping others has always been easy for me to do, but receiving help from others turned out to be extremely difficult. I will always remember the day I was diagnosed, because I thought it was the weakest moment of my entire life; but another day I will always remember is the day I finished my treatment. My therapist looked at me at the end of my last appointment with a smile lighting up her face, and she simply said, “You made it.”  

The First Date

The First Date 

Roses

Sweet roses 

Ding - Dong

Flushed cheeks 

Candles

Flickering candles

Vanilla aroma

Dancing flames

Wine

Red wine

Clink! 

Tipped back glasses

Chocolate

Silky chocolate

Rich, dark sweetness

Giggling innocently 

Walk

Long walk

Cool, crisp air 

Prolonged chatter 

End

The end 

Holding hands 

A long, slow kiss

Closure and Peace

**Before reading this post, it would be helpful to read a previous post from September 2015 entitled "A Letter To My Ex," which is linked here.

I hand-wrote the letter linked above to an ex-boyfriend before posting it online as an anonymous open letter. I have kept it in an envelope in my desk drawer since September, but I removed it yesterday, March 21, 2016. I set the letter on fire and watched it burn. I was not aware of the healing power of fire, but this cathartic and therapeutic action has brought peace to my mind and heart.

While performing this action, a series of songs raced through my head. I think the combination of fire and music provided me with the closure and healing I needed in order to move on with my life and to accept that my life has changed. I believe that I learned a lot in this past relationship, and I can now keep the good memories without hurting when thinking about them. I invite you to continue on reading, as the following is my commentary on the music I thought of during the burning of the letter.

"A slamming door and a lesson learned / I let another love crash and burn" (Thomas Rhett)
I learned a lot from this particular past relationship, but I also let love crash and burn. Maybe I should have fought harder for the relationship when I let it go, but it is too late to change that now. The door has been shut on this relationship, and it is time to move on.

"You're one bridge I'd like to burn / Bottle up the ashes, smash the urn / I'm through with you" (The Band Perry)
Burning the letter I had written to my ex-boyfriend was, for me, equivalent to burning the bridge. It made me feel as if I was really through with him. I can now say I am at a point of no turning back, and it feels pretty awesome.

"So watch me strike a match on all my wasted time / As far as I'm concerned, you're just another picture to burn" (Taylor Swift)
How could I burn everything without thinking of this amazing song? Taylor Swift's country music may be the most cathartic and therapeutic experience for any girl undergoing a painful break-up. Seriously, her words are exactly what a girl wants to hear. ANYWAYS I am so glad that I lit that letter on fire. I have wasted a lot of my time on this ex-boyfriend. We started talking at the end of my sophomore year of high school, and now I'm a freshman in college. I now realize that he is no longer worth my time, because I have moved on to bigger and better things. He has become just another picture to burn.

Thank y'all so much for reading about my cathartic experience with fire and music. This activity has brought me incredible amounts of closure as well as peace of mind and heart. I am praying for all of my readers, during this Holy Week especially. I love you guys!

A Letter To My Big Sister

Amanda, 

I have often wondered what my life would be like if you were not a part of it. I cannot imagine a single event of my life that would be the same without you. You are attached to all of my memories. Like when we made the Lindsay and Amanda Club. I'm pretty sure that cardboard sign is still in the laundry room in the basement. Or that time you did my hair and you told me to go to school telling everyone it was "ghetto" and you laughed your ass off when I repeated it and then told me I probably shouldn't say that because I was in preschool. I am going to blame the truck driver mouth I have today on you breaking me in when I was so young. 

Growing up, we were always there to make each other laugh, even in your moody teenage years when you never came out of your room. I would get in trouble and mom or dad would be yelling at me and you would come out and tell them to leave me alone. Even so you teased me all the time because it was your job as my older sister. And I annoyed you be freaking you out about boohbahs because it was my job as your younger sister. You were the mean older sister, and I was the annoying younger sister. 

I always wanted to be just like you. I wanted to wear the same clothes as you, listen to the same music as you, watch the same TV shows as you, and have the same friends as you. You, of course, did not want any of that. I was the Stephanie Tanner to your DJ Tanner, but it worked for us, because at the end of the day, we had each other's backs. 

You have always been there for me, even in my most desperate times of need. High school wasn't easy, and college isn't any easier. But you're always just a text message or phone call away. You have always been on my side no matter what. You have saved my ass more times than I could thank you for. Even when I roll my eyes at you, I know you're always saying what you're saying or doing what you're doing for my benefit. I've learned from your mistakes, and I appreciate that. 

You're the most wonderful big sister a girl could ask for. Sometimes you still see me as a little girl copying you, but ultimately I am glad to see how our friendship has evolved throughout the years. No longer are we singing *NSYNC or Backstreet Boys or Britney Spears, but we are actually singing Luke Bryan and Miranda Lambert and Rascal Flatts. Thanks for being my best friend throughout all of the ups and downs. You're my partner in crime, and I cannot thank you enough for that. Love you always! 

Love, 
Your Favorite Little Sister 

What Social Workers Make

Every time I tell someone that I am a social work major, the response I get is something along the lines of "oh, you're never going to make any money!!" I usually just nod and laugh, because the truth is, I don't want a job that's going to make me rich if I can't help anyone while doing it. Currently I am taking the intro to social work class, and my professor shared the following article with us. For all those people who think I am going to make nothing, please read the following story, written by Mary S. Sheridan, PhD, ACSW, a social work professor at Hawaii Pacific University. 

The dinner guests were sitting around the table discussing life. One man decided to explain the problem with social services. He argued, "How's a person going to benefit from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a social worker?" He reminded the other dinner guests what they say about social workers - "bleeding heart liberals." To stress his point, he said to one of the guests, "You're a social worker, Bonnie. Be honest. What do you make?" 

Bonnie, who had a reputation for honesty and frankness, replied, "You want to know what I make?" She paused for a second, and then began. "Well, my colleagues and I make safe places for abused children and battered wives. In the process, we do our best to make them feel that they didn't deserve the treatment they got, so they can go out and do better in their lives. We make arrangements for the elderly to go home from hospitals with adequate care, and run support groups so their caregivers don't burn out. When a young widow or single mother doesn't know where to turn, my colleagues and I make sure that she knows - whether people like it or not - what benefits she's eligible for. And we do the best we can to make sure she doesn't get lost in the bureaucracy. We make plans with clients so they can get jobs and homes. And this is only a start." 

"You want to know what social workers make?" Bonnie asked again. She paused and looked at every person at the table. "We make visits in neighborhoods that a lot of people wouldn't go to on a bet because we know that people there are in need. And we make friends there who invite us back to their weddings, their luaus, and the opening of the community center that we campaigned for. We make time to listen to the elderly, the mentally ill, the lonely. And we have knowledge and skills to help them make real improvements in their lives. We make appointments with officials and testify before the legislature to get everyone in the community a fair shake. Some us teach, to make the next generation's social workers. And sometimes, we make plans with our friends and families - and then have to break them because there's an accident, a fire, a disaster here or in another state or even another country, and a social worker is needed."

Bonnie paused one last time and then continues. "So when people want to judge us by what we make, we can hold our heads up high and say, 'I make a difference...what do you make?'"  

 My future profession is not all about how much money I am going to make. Yes, survival and comfort are both important, but so is helping other people who are in need. So if and/or when I tell you I am a social work major, I would really appreciate it if you would respond with something other than "oh you're always going to be struggling!" because to be honest, the people I will be helping are going to be struggling much more than I will be.