Rainy Mind

Journal 8: “Who do you think of when you imagine someone saying, “I believe in you.” Now, write about a time in your life when just knowing someone believed in you made a difference.“

My senior year of high school I was suffering from depression, anxiety, and I self harmed daily. I wanted to die constantly and there were many times where I almost went through with it.

However, the one person that would make it hard was my English teacher. She was a young, beautiful woman in her early 30s with a PhD in English. She was passionate and intelligent- and she loved all of us so much.

I had always loved English and I wanted to pursue it as a career- I wanted to be an author or an English teacher. But I had a friend that always told me, “you’re horrible at spelling! Your grammar is terrible! You can’t even understand some of the concepts in composition, how are you supposed to be an English teacher?” She would say this to me often and the thing that really hurt is the fact that she was right. I am horrible at all that. I’m horrible at organizing my thoughts and placing them onto paper or technically the computer screen.

When I started that teacher’s class it was dual credit English 1 and 2. I’ve always been so afraid to speak my mind when it comes to my theories and analysis when it comes to literature discussions. But she made everything so... comfortable. She was so genuine and positive when any student gave input or their thoughts and feelings- no one felt like they could make a mistake and even if we did the rest of the class was still supportive and she was supportive. It was such a beautiful environment that she had created. A classroom grounded by respect for one another.

When we got to the composition part of the semester I struggled a lot and I felt so inept. I was in this more advanced class but I didn’t feel like I belonged because I struggled so much. I took the very first paper we were working on to her- asking her to go over it and help me with whatever I needed to fix. I had spent hours outside of class reading through the textbook trying to make the formatting and lay out perfect. I remember that day so clearly even though its nearly been 3 years since. She was sitting at a desk in the computer room, the dim lighting of the room making her usually warm aura even more comforting, as she skimmed through my essay, her face holding a proud smile the entire time. She looked up at me with a big smile, “you’ve done really well for your first essay! I’m really impressed! There’s only a couple issues with too much wording in this area...”

She started with such a kind and encouraging reaction then softly eased into what I needed to fix like it was a small, normal issue that people had. I remember feeling so good about myself, like wow! I can do this! She walked me through everything and for the rest of the semester it was so easy to go to her and ask for help when I needed it- and by the end I didn’t need it. I gained this confidence in myself that I didn’t have before. I realized that its ok to make mistakes- it’s ok to not have your writing be perfect the first time around.

This gets me to a huge thing that she did for me. There was one night where all the darkness in my mind took over and I wanted to take my mom’s pills so badly. I just wanted everything to be over. For 4 years I self harmed, but I always hid them. Putting them on my hips, upper arms or my ankles where they couldn’t be seen- no one knew I did it unless I told them.

I took the pills but I ended up throwing them up- I forced myself to. I backed out. It was at that moment that I realized I was out of control- I needed help. I cut up my arm where I couldn’t hide it. There was no way to hide it. Long cuts across all of my forearm- band aids couldn’t do anything.

I went to school in a hoodie, despite it being spring time in South Texas. It was so hot but I couldn’t roll up my sleeves. I finally gave in when I was in my English class, my sleeves rolled up a good bit but not enough to show all the bandages on my arm- but some peeked through.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when she summoned me after class, looking at me worriedly as she asked about my arm. This woman for so long made this safe place for me, gave me courage and strength. I broke down in front of her, crying and showing her what I had done to myself. She hugged me and comforted me, telling me that she was so proud of me for telling her. And that she will do whatever she can to make sure I get help.

I was 18 at the time so CPS wouldn’t be called by the school, but legally she was supposed to send me to the counselor. She let me know this and I told her that I’d willing go to seek help- its not that I had never thought of it- even at this time I had been to a doctor and had been given anti depressants. But they weren’t working for me, maybe because I didn’t take them when I was supposed to- that can make a huge difference.

I was sent to the counselor and she encouraged me to go home and tell my parents. I did just that and I returned to the doctor to get more medicine and my mother kept a closer eye on me.

Graduation rolled around and I went to see the teacher- dreading the final goodbye. I hugged her and I told her how much she inspired me and impacted me that year. She hugged me back and told me how proud she was of me for staying so strong and doing so well. From the very beginning she always believed in me, she always let me know when she was proud of me.

She is the reason that I now want to be a teacher. I want to do for my students what she did for me. I want to encourage them to better themselves and I want to give them an environment that they feel safe in. I’m no longer afraid of making mistakes- no longer afraid to let my writings be seen and read. No, they’re not perfect. But I’m still a student, I’m still learning. With time and practice I’ll get better.

This has been hard for me to write. I’m always asked by my education professors, “is there a teacher who inspired you?” and I always bring her up. Not in full detail of course, but I talk about her. About how amazing she was and how she just had that passion and love for both teaching and English. And every time I feel the need to cry over how much I admired her and how much I miss her. 

Journal 7: “What place do you remember fondly from childhood?”

I was lucky enough to grow up in a nice area where kids could be outside late at night unattended and not have to be afraid of anything bad happening. My father would always fall asleep first due to his early in the night drinking, so my two friends and I would leave the house to relax in the warm summer air. We would lay in the middle of the road in front of the house, watching the clouds move by in the hazy sky- lit up significantly by the bright city lights. We could never see any stars so instead we’d watch the moon or wish on it instead as we told stories as well as our heart felt feelings.

The warm Texas summer night mixed with the coolness of the asphalt underneath us was always a calming feeling; the wind blowing over us enough to make us comfortable even in a hoodie. Every once in a while a car would appear and we’d have to jump up from our comfort to scramble to safety- just to have it pass and us return to where we were. We felt so independent and mature, as silly as that sounds, being middle schoolers out at such late hours of the night. How rebellious we were! Laying in the road in front of my house at 12am! We were so hard! Talking about the boys we liked and the girls in our class who made fun of us for being different.

If I could go back in time I’d like to be back in that spot. I’d like to be that young version of myself- comfortable with my friends while looking up at the sky. The biggest concerns in the world being a boy not liking me or my English teacher not liking my latest poem. Not caring if I was weird or different because of my music or my height. Laying carelessly in the road because I felt invincible and rebellious. Not caring about anything except my comfort and my friends.

Journal 6: "What’s the worst dream you’ve ever had?”

I’ve always had this intense fear of drowning- it’s the main reason that I didn’t pursue a job in Marine Biology despite my passionate love for sharks. Around the time of this specific dream I was suffering from diagnosed depression as well as suicidal thoughts. I was living on the ocean for university and I would go to a pier with a male friend at night quite often to keep him company while he fished. I would look down into the black water and it always pulled at my fear.

This dream started with me on that pier. It had been a bad night of stress and self loathing and I think it seeped into my subconscious.

I was barefoot in my favorite flowy black dress, walking down the boardwalk, the rough texture of wood scratching at my feet more aggressively than it would in real life. I got to the end and looked down into the water, like I did time and time again, feeling a pull on my body. I started to climb up onto the railing, my eyes never leaving the water. I felt afraid but at the same time I was resolute. Leaning forward I kept my hands tightly on the rail behind me, my body over the water as I tested myself- I felt nothing. All my fear was gone. I then positioned myself and stood up on the railing, jumping down into the black water feet first.

I was surrounded by pure darkness. The water was warm and it was like a blanket around me, but I could feel the pressure growing as I sunk farther and farther down. I looked up at the sky, the moon shining up above the water. I had always loved the silence under water, sitting at the bottom of pools and look up at the sky. That silence and stillness. That’s what this felt like- peace.

I could feel the discomfort rising in my chest as I started to need to breathe, my lungs beginning to ache. It was at that moment that I realized I needed to swim toward the surface, but I couldn’t move- I was stuck.

I closed my eyes, finally in my mind accepting my position- accepting the fate that I had.

I sucked in a breath and I drowned myself. But I didn’t feel pain. I didn’t feel scared or upset. I felt... free. I faced my fear.

I woke up crying, tears already wetting my cheeks as I sat up. I quickly wrote down the dream and started to analyze it.

The way I see it is I had finally reached my breaking point. I was so scared all the time, so constricted by my depressed and my anxiety. I was letting it consume me and allowing it to keep me from doing things. In my head, in my dream, I forced myself to face my biggest fear- and with that I showed myself that I can do anything.

I realized that I had the strength to live on. If I can face the darkness of that water then I can face the darkness in my mind.

While I consider that to be my worst dream... I also consider it to be my best. Because it encouraged me to take that extra step to not only seek out more help from professionals- but to also change everything about myself and my life. To change my way of thinking. I’ve faced my biggest fear- I can do anything.

Journal 5: “What is your type?”

This is a fun topic that I’ve given myself.

What is my type... I have no clue! It’s changed so much over the years and I’ve liked so many different types of guys.

My current kind I like is... Well I’ve always loved dark hair and eyes. My childhood best friend had black hair and dark brown eyes and I was just obsessed with him. Of course with age I fell into blonde hair and blue eyes- keeping with this look until my freshman year of college when I fell into a fling with a tall, handsome, tan skinned man who was part Japanese. Oh, he was so handsome. Dark eyes, long eyelashes, dark thick hair. He had a killer smile and his build fit perfectly with mine.

The only issue was that we were not compatible AT ALL when it came to personalities. I was too hyper for him, which says something since I’m an introvert for the most part, and he was too emotional for me. If you’re into horoscopes- we were an Aquarius (me) and a Cancer (him). Not the best match.

Even trying to sit here and think about it is hard. I don’t know what my type is when it comes to personality. I like intelligence as well as modesty. I’d like him to be humble... but at the same time I contradict myself because I do find cockiness to be hot at times. Maybe that means I like someone who is spontaneous- who can be different depending on the day or situation. Someone who never ceases to surprise me. A book that keeps getting more complex and interesting with twists and turns.

I love loyalty and ambition. Passion and strong work ethic.

I fear I’m being too high maintenance. I know that no one is perfect and of course I will be lenient and open to different people and types. But at the same time I’m picky because I don’t want to settle.

I guess it’s also hard right now to say because I’m avoiding men at all cost- just focusing on my best friends and school... And men on the tv/computer. I live a fascinating life.

Journal 4: “What experience has changed you?”

I had a falling out with a friend of mine a few months ago- she was someone who I could have considered a great love of mine. We struggled together with our mental states for so long, we found ourselves together, and we cried on each others shoulders. It was a pure friendship that many people openly claimed to be jealous of.

I made many mistakes in the final hour of our friendship- but ultimately I do not regret any of it. I spent so many years allowing people to walk all over me- to allow them to take advantage of my kindness even though I could easily see right through them. I allowed bullies to walk among my friends because I was too soft to tell them to stop when they lashed out.

For so long I told myself that I had to be nice to everyone in the form of giving into everything and that everything needed to be sugar coated... But with this mindset came a great burden on my shoulders. A feeling and a responsibility that became too much. With all of this I finally realized that it’s ok to want something for yourself. It’s ok to not be a perfect friend.

The reason we ended is because I finally fell from the pedestal that she had me propped up on. I fell from my throne in her mind and the dirt on my face was shown into the light. I was not as perfect as she thought I was- I didn’t meet her expectations. I no longer allowed people to walk all over me. I no longer allowed people to treat others badly and I wanted nothing to do with negative words or hate towards people.

I wanted to put myself first sometimes, to feel comfortable and not have to worry about someone crying or feeling horrible about themselves by the end of the night.

The months following the falling out I had nightmares for weeks. I dreamed about her- being reckless and upset like she can be. I dreamed about my mistakes and I would apologize over and over again in my dreams. I would cry and wake up in the middle of a panic attack because my throat closed from the sobbing.

It wasn’t until I looked in the mirror and took a moment to reflect when I decided that I did what I had to do. I did what I felt was best. I shouldn’t beat myself up for it, I should live and learn and move on. So I did. 

I don’t have to give in to everyone. Saying no does not make me a mean person, nor does it make me a bad friend. I’m an adult- I have a life ahead of me. It’s ok to put myself first, to want to take care of myself and my friends; even if it means hurting one in order to help many others.

The experience changed me because it showed me the extreme side of guilt. It taught me the ugly feeling and the pain and remorse that it brings. But it also taught me how to face it head on and how to defeat it.

We as humans grow from these experiences and we better ourselves. 

That’s living.

Journal 3: “How has travel effected you?”

My parents were always adamant about traveling out of the country rather than in. Because of this my sister and I were able to see many different cultures and meet many different amazing people. Also because of this we have grown to have a great interest and love for foreigners. This is not where I’m going with this journal, but I’m just giving some back story for my response.

When I was in the 5th grade my sister married a man from Turkey. He was/is an amazing man with a big heart. My family loved him immediately and he was welcome in with open arms. It wasn’t until my junior year of high school that I was able to go to his home country with him, my sister, my niece, and my mother.

When asked how has travel effected me- I think of Turkey first. What a stunning country. My brother in law is from a place called Alanya- and it’s GORGEOUS. The ocean on one side then the rest is mountains all around. Within a few hours of being there I was introduced to the Adhan- the call to prayer from the mosques. We were in a little restaurant having lunch when 4 mosques on all sides of us started the call. It is still the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

I had never felt a feeling as strong as I did with the mosques.

It’s extremely hard to explain. At that point in time I was no longer religious but I felt something- I felt a pull and a presence in that town. Or maybe it was just a connection all together. There was a pull to that culture and a deep respect that I gained for it. My experiences in that country were all positive when meeting his family and traveling around.

Since that trip I’ve felt a greater need to just want to give love and respect to others. To be more active in my family and to take care of them more, as well as take care of my friends more.

Traveling has changed me and made me more open minded as well as more accepting to change.

There is beauty everywhere.

Journal 2: “Have you ever been in love?” 

Love, what a scary thing for me. I have no clue if I’ve experienced it. I could make a list of all the guys in my life who I thought I loved. In those moments I felt such extreme feelings, but looking back I was so young.

I know that I had a bad habit of confusing the different kinds of loves. I loved my male friends deeply so I would mistake it for a romantic feeling when it was truly more like family; this happened far too often. As I got older I realized, “do I love them in a way that makes me want to kiss them? Or is it weird to think like that with them?” If it felt weird then I knew it was friendly love, if it was the former then I would think more into it.

Is this lust or love? What is this emotion I am feeling?

Usually it was lust. “Can I see myself marrying them? Being with them forever?” The answer was usually no- except for this one guy. The guy who my lovely male cat is currently named after. I feel like maybe he was my first love, however the relationship was long distance. I never saw him in person- ever. Could it still be love?

He ended the relationship and I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. We only lasted 6 months but it felt like so much longer. I can remember that pain even now- 5 years later. I’ve never felt like that again except for when I had to move away from my best female friend with whom I lived with for a year and a half.

That leaves me to question again- I felt the same feeling when leaving my female friend, which if anyone ever asked at that time I’d tell them I was in love with her. Not in a romantic way, we’re both straight females, but a pure friendship love. It was deep and strong. When we were forced apart it felt like a divorce- I felt like I lost my other half.

So then again, what love did I feel for him? Have I been in love? I’m still not sure. Maybe I’ll figure it out someday. Until then I’ll continue to give all my love to my cat.

Journal 1: "Who are you and who do you wish to become?”

Who am I? I’m just a normal woman. But what is normal? What does it mean to be normal? I’m not sure. I am not unique, nor am I one of a kind. I like to write and read, listen to music and my friends. Talk about boys and fawn over men on the television that I’ll never meet or have a chance with. You know, normal things.

I am a sister and a daughter, an aunt and a sister in law. A friend and a student, as well as a stranger. I like to volunteer at a small food bank garden in the spring and summer time and I’m studying to become a teacher.

I’ve made friends and I’ve lost friends. I’ve experienced death and birth. I’ve seen the ugly side of homophobia as well as prejudice and hatred. I’ve struggled with how to react to these things.

Who do I wish to become? I wish to become smarter. I wish to become stronger and more aware of the feelings of others. I want to teach and help let people learn as well; I want to see my future students grow and excel. I wish... to be the best person I can be.

I wish I can be a person who can make a difference- even if it’s just in the life of only one student.