From What I Broke Free

Eminem and Rihanna came out with "The Monster" on October 29, 2013, about two weeks before I completely lost my integrity for a time.

You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath.

And you think I'm crazy? Well, that's not fair.

I'd always liked Eminem (anyone who loves words should like Eminem. He is brilliant.), and I'd recently come to admit that I liked Rihanna (as a masochist who struggles with a porn addiction, she'd always hit a little too close to home), but "The Monster" took an unprecedented hold on me.

You know how I used to write in Purple and Green? That's because I used to THINK in Purple and Green, except that it felt like they were thinking for me.

I felt like my mind was made up of three distinct characters:  "Stephanie," "Purple," and "Green." We were each our own person with our own voice. A lot of the time, I--"Stephanie"--wouldn't get very many lines inside my own head. I would sit there and watch/listen to Purple and Green argue and discuss and joke until I felt like I was going legitimately crazy.

They wouldn't let me get a word in, and eventually I figured it didn't matter. Listening to them helped me process my thoughts anyway. I stopped trying to shut them up and started trying to use their interactions to reason my way through life.

Because life was bad.

It didn't always feel bad; in fact, most of the time it felt awesome. It felt like staying up late (to text PC, who I was supposedly broken up with) and saying what I wanted (which included a lot of profanity) and eating what I wanted (whether too little to be healthy or too much to be healthy) and going where I wanted (including to friends' apartments in the middle of the night so I could sleep on the same bed [i.e. dirty mattress on the floor] as PC).

I knew my life wasn't right, but a lot of the time it felt really great. I felt like I was really, truly, finally starting to Grow Up. I guess I thought growing up meant doing whatever you wanted and feeling really jaded about life.

But deep down, I felt so, so empty. I felt lost. I could close my eyes and see my heart inside of my chest:  dark, swirling, smokey fog. Empty. Insubstantial. Uncertain.

I lied to my family a lot. I told creative truths and lies of omission to Cassidy. I lost a lot of respect from my little sister. PC helped me do it all. I felt like he was really helping me though. I felt like he was helping me to Grow Up:  to be my own person and make my own decisions and fight my own inner demons.

He especially seemed to help with the inner demons.

First, he helped me to identify them, which included realizing how "arbitrary" my conditions for dating him were. (I really was being irrational and unkind. I couldn't reasonably expect him to get his life on track before I dated him again. Dating is all about understanding and tackling life together, right? I shouldn't demand that he get a job or become a real Christian first. That could come later.)

Second, he helped me figure out how I could combat the demons. For example, since I felt so guilty about constantly going farther in our physical relationship, we should set boundaries and stick to them. (He was also really patient when I didn't say No loud enough or push his hands away enough times. He constantly offered to draw the boundary lines again, and even offered to stop in the middle and go get protection when it looked like I really wasn't going to be strong enough to resist.)

Third, he offered educated diagnoses for my mental episodes (episodes such as changing my mind a lot, hearing Purple and Green, feeling really depressed, etc.). He gently cautioned me that I might be schizophrenic or have serious repressed sexual issues from childhood. Using extensive internet research and carefully constructed logic, he suggested that I might be a sociopath, and that he could see signs of psychopathy in himself (what a perfect match!).

Eventually I stopped resisting him. He was probably right about everything, and even if he wasn't, I had already gone too far down this particular Growing Up path. PC was not only the best I was ever going to get, he was also what I deserved.

I started hearing "The Monster" on the radio around the time I stopped resisting. I mostly skipped it; I never seemed to be in the mood to learn a new song, and sometimes I still liked to pretend I hated Rihanna. However, it was catchy, and it reminded me of myself in a way that made me smile wryly.

"I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed, get along with the voices inside of my head..."

That line always made me think of Purple and Green.

"You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath."

My heart would pinch as I thought about PC. He loved me so much. He was trying so hard to help me become my true self. He was trying to save me, but I knew I was beyond help. I was hopeless.

"And you think I'm crazy? Yeah, you think I'm crazy. Well, that's not fair."

That line gave me pause. The rest of the chorus resonated so perfectly with me. But the speaker wasn't crazy? I was crazy. Wasn't I? Didn't I make up unfair, arbitrary conditions for dating PC; and change my mind all the time about how far I wanted to go physically; and hear voices; and have trust issues? I was crazy.

But what if that wasn't fair? What if...what if I could get along with my inner demons and voices in my head by myself? What if I could actually handle them just fine? What if PC's trying to "save" me wasn't really salvation at all? What if his saying that I was "crazy" wasn't true? What if it was a selfish ploy to get what he wanted? What if he was just posing as my savior and convincing me that I was crazy?

Well. That wouldn't be fair.

What if I wasn't crazy? What if I just wanted something different? What if I just wasn't who he wanted me to be? What if I just wanted a different definition of Growing Up? What if he was just labeling me as crazy so that I would trust him over myself?

That's. Not. Fair.

"The Monster" didn't change my life; it didn't inspire me to break with PC once and for all; but it was sort of an unintentional mantra for the next several months. I would listen to it every time it came on the radio, and I would sing along. The last line of the chorus always came out with more conviction than I anticipated:

"WELL, THAT'S NOT FAIR."

How dare he convince me I was crazy just to get what he wanted? That's. Not. Fair.

And now, every time I hear that song, I am reminded that I am my own person. I am reminded that I have to be careful whom I trust. I am NOT crazy just because someone says I am

It's funny:  ever since I really, truly, finally broke it off with PC, Purple and Green have kind of left me alone.

~Stephanie

S A

I'm procrastinating. To get the Baptist scholarship, I have to write an essay by April Fool's Day. However, since I don't have a lot to do this week {my spring break}, I have vowed to write the essay this week. Today. Before I rise again from this kitchen chair. Sooo yeah.

And I'm giving up Facebook for Lent, so I can't use that to procrastinate. So I'm really thinking outside the box here. I'm BLOGGING. Ohhhhh. Yeah.

*sigh* Really, this essay isn't going to be that terrible. It only has to be 400 words long and tell about my Campus Ministry. Who's the minister, what do they do, and how has campus ministry impacted me? {Honestly, not much, and about half the experiences have been negative.}

I really think a lot of my campus minister though. Her name is Faithe Beam, and she's one of the warmest, most genuine, and fun-spirited people I've ever met.  Campbell University students gather every Wednesday for "Connections," and she often introduces the speakers.  Reverend Beam also taught my Introduction to Christianity class. She made the course personal and informative. Instead of adding stress, the class became more of a time of reflection and learning.

Reverend Beam also helps counsel students. Freshman year, one of my good friends was subjected to some ridiculous, spiteful drama from her roommate. Reverend Beam met and spoke with my friend on several occasions, and gave her advice that my friend still uses and passes on today. Actually, through word of mouth, I've benefited from some of Reverend Beam's advice, even though I've never met with her one-on-one.

I did meet with my resident chaplain once, though. Her name was Amy Adams. I mostly don't ever ask official people for counsel {or at least that used to be the case}. I'll pick the brains of my friends and family all day, but making an appointment? That's for people who can't handle their own shit.

Well, when PC and I broke up, I could not handle my own shit. So I met with Amy. She mostly just listened to my story and in the end, I felt better about the situation. In talking to her and getting some affirmation, I realized that I wasn't so crazy, hopeless, or inept. She gave me some practical advice that I later tried to apply. {I mean, I failed, but it was practical and I did try.}

As far as the more traditional side of campus ministry {events and worship and such}, I haven't had a lot of experience. But you can tell that Reverend Beam's spirit of warmth and acceptance sets the tone for the whole thing.

Freshman year, I attended an annual event called "One Night." All the different campus ministry groups meet together for a night of worship and spiritual revival. I couldn't find anyone to go with me, so I went alone. The experience would have been a lot less awkward and more fun if people had broken apart from their precious little cliques, but the atmosphere was still good. Music swelled; voices soared; hands rose. The Holy Spirit descended for sure.

I should get involved in SOMETHING campus ministry has to offer. It can't possibly ALL be snotty and superficial.

*shrug* At least I like Reverend Beam.

Huh. This post is 547 words long. I bet you I can use some of it in this essay.

Awww, I see what you did there. You sneaky little beyotch.

Yeah? Good job. Now go write.

Fine.

~Stephanie

My Life

{getting ready to leave jazz dance class}

I am so exhausted. It must be eighty degrees in this room. Did I even sleep last night? I must have, because I woke up. My head is full of buzzing cotton. I could probably cry if I tried. I’m so tired.

It’s so hot. Good lord. Why does everyone wear long pants to this? I can’t be the only girl who wants to wear dance shorts instead. I also can’t be the only girl who shows up in booty shorts though. Not gonna do that.

It’s hotttttttt. Just wait til I get back to the dorm…

Should I talk to that girl again? Should I wait for her to gather her stuff and walk out with her? That might be weird. I might seem needy. No. Don’t want that. Can’t have that. I’ll just leave.

{Walking behind two girls having a conversation about dance}

Should I contribute? I mean, I’m right here. I wouldn’t mind if someone did that to me. So yes.

“Yeah, it’s definitely difficult when she just tells us to reverse a combination.”

Punk chick:  “Well, I’ve had dance since I was little.”

Oh yeah? You have nothing on me. Believe me. Er, ahem. “Oh, awesome! I have too. But it’s still challenging sometimes.”

Punk chick:  “What I didn’t like was that thing she called a padabure. Um? I’ve always been taught this.”  *does a ballet padabure*  “What was that other mess?”

It was a JAZZ padabure. “Ooh, yeah, it is different. Well, I’ll see you guys Monday.”

{making a beeline for my dorm}

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Glorious sleep. Forty-five minutes of sleep. Or should I read for BritLit? I could just do that at lunch. But what about Western Civ reading? He goes over that in class. I don’t have to read it. It’ll be fine. Sleeeeeeeeeeeep oh my goshhhhhhhhhh. I think my eyes are about to rot out of my head.

*arrives at dorm room*

It’s. So. Hot. What the heck. How. You know what, Bekah’s not here, it’s burning up, I MUST SLEEP.

*rips off shirt and flops onto bed*

Alright. Commence sleeping.

What if Bekah came back right now? That would be so incredibly unfortunate and ironic. She’d probably think I just lay around in my underwear when she isn’t around. That’s not true. This is the only time. IT’S SO HOT AND I’M SO EXHAUSTED OH MY GOD.

*door opens*

Are you kidding me.

Bekah:  …O_o

“Hey, Bekah. I just got back from dance class and…yeah.”

Bekah:  “Mhm…”

Great. Awesome. Dammit.

*Bekah gathers things for a class and leaves*

Okay. Sleep. She thinks you’re creepy, but whatever. Sleep. You now only have thirty-five minutes.

…

You know what, screw it. You’re not sleeping and you know it. But now at least you have time to look nice before class.

-___- I hate you. I don’t care about looking nice. Screw nice. I’m wearing these yoga pants and a T-shirt. Just try to stop me.

That’s fine. Tons of girls do that. You can totally do that.

*looks at self in mirror* See? It’s fine.

…yoga pants. Yeah.

OH COME ON. WHO AM I KIDDING? I CAN’T WEAR YOGA PANTS TO CLASS.

*puts on jeans, a Papa Roach T-shirt, several rings, several bracelets*

My life.

~Stephanie

The F Word

freewriting. for thirty minutes, i do nothing but write down every conscious thought that runs through my mind. while petting my dog, Licorice. outside in the dusk as a storm brewed.

Now my hand smells like dog. It didn't for a while. Weird.

I should repaint my toenails.

I wonder why my stomach is so loud.

Is that cloud or sky?

People tell me I'm pretty a lot. I hope it doesn't get to me.

That sounds like a cartoon rocket--no, meteor--about to strike.

The street lamp turned on. Narnia.

My phone vibrating on concrete sounds terrible.

My hair looks really good.

Lightning.

Licorice just walked away while I was still petting her. That's literally never happened before.

I should write that script.

American flag.

I never blogged about Independence Day. I should've. Wish I had.

Remember when Taylor and I both thought it was "independAnce?"

I miss dance. I miss Mrs. Lauren.

Good lord. Gotta send her her present.

Ellie's wedding present.

Remember when we found Narnia?

Tree frogs.

Remember when the trees talked and we heard Susan's horn and saw a wolf?

Remember when you thought you controlled the wind?

It's really pleasant out here.

Dog.

I have to work tomorrow.

Tomorrow is me and Sam's three-monthiversary. Hm.

Lightning bug.

The trees look so dark.

Remember--lightning--when you used to talk stories? Why don't you anymore? Not everything has to mean something, get finished. It's for fun. Just 'cuz.

Chill bumps.

"A lacy flood of goosebumps." I like that.

He does not give me goosebumps. Shit.

Why lie?

How come--come XD--you get to lie and no one else does? Because I can already trust myself.

Your mouth gets all tense when you write. It's 'cuz I can't get my hand to move fast enough--innuendo--and it's borderline stressful.

I could walk to Greensboro. What if I did? It's totally possible. I could stab threatening people with my hair clip.

I know how to rip someone's ear off.

Theoretically.

Wardrobe.

My nails are bad.

My shoulder hurts. It's tense.

He rubs my shoulders. Why is he so nice to me? I'm not nearly as nice to him.

I should be.

Gah, how? I don't even...*sigh*

Lightning. Me gusta.

I wanna live outside.

Ew, sit up. This isn't your shirt. The concrete will pick it.

Sarah said "shit" the other day. It's all my fault.

These shorts are probably too short. How come Mom and Daddy let me wear them? That's so weird.

I wonder how strict I'll be. PC thinks he'll be really strict about clothing. That's hot interesting.

He--hm, let's not go there. Go away.

Lightning. Blue.

I wanna go to Campbell right now. New place. Work for my brain.

Friggin' Ryan. Good god, how--he could write a book called How Not to Get Stephanie to Like You. Ignore my relationship status; ask me my bra size, how far I've gone, what I wear to bed, if my boyfriend and I behave; tell me I'm pretty six million times. GOOD GOD. I hate him sort of. Not yet. But ugh. F--screw off, Ryan.

It's dark.

Lightning bug.

I gotta get Licky out of the garage.

I have double standards.

That was such a weird sound o_o

I've gained weight. I think.

What if I lived on an island?

Remember that story about kids on an island? That's actually really good.

Aw damn. Neighbors.

I cussed in the pool parking lot. This has to stop. What if someone had heard me?

Is this freewriting?

I should journal.

Or script.

Ughhhhhh.

I think no one should ever see this.

Whaat? It hasn't even gotten dirty.

Good lord, do NOT even think anything--stop it.

I've been clean for 18 months.

It was--it has been--difficult. Is.

Yeah.

I wonder what would happen if I married him?

What do you mean "happen?"

Just...hang on. Lightning.

Dammit, I keep missing the good lightning.

Is that the only swear word you use?

Shut up.

You should talk more. Don't lose the intellectual aspects.

Spider. Ew, what if it crawls in your shorts again?

You should go inside. You can hardly see this paper.

Yeah.

No.

Sigh.

~Stephanie

To See You Again

My nostalgic reading-of-old-journals has continued over the past couple of months.

I really need to quit. I don't want to claim that I write well, but I write at least well enough that I end up delusional for a while after reading my journals. Things that pissed me off two years ago get me furious again when I read about them now. After reading about a really happy or sentimental day, I end up all ridiculous and glowy. Entries that are heartbroken or talk about betrayal fill me with mistrust and rake at the scabs over my heart.

It's really a terrible idea to keep reading my journals, and I always tell Cassidy I'm going to quit. But clearly, I've been lying. *sigh* Maybe I'll quit.

{But we all know I won't.}

So far, I'm up to the fall of 2010, and today I came across a piece that really got to me. It did not make me laugh. It did not make me cry. It did not depress me. It did not empower me. So I'm not really sure how to explain what I mean "it got to me."

It's unusual. It's melodramatic. It's oddly written. I hesitate to publish it because it's so...raw. And emotional. {I used to be emotional, guys...XD} But I actually really, really like it, so I'm going to share it with you.

It's an encounter that I anticipated and wrote about two days before it happened. The actual events weren't necessarily like this. To be honest, I do not remember the actual events as much as I remember this piece I wrote predicting them.

Without further introduction, I give you

"To See You Again"

9.17.10

September 19th, 2010.

Stephanie sat there on the couch at church, talking to Cassidy, trying to stay calm. No one knew yet. She didn’t want anyone to know. Like, what if he didn’t show? People knowing would make that worse. A lot worse. She took a deep breath and continued smiling and chattering.

“So, I thought ‘como’ was used for ‘what’ like that, but I watched Finding Nemo in Spanish the other day, and—”

Cassidy’s eyes lit up with surprise. “You really did?” She smiled and laughed.

Stephanie grinned. “Yeah, I did.” Ex dee, she added in her head. Her stomach dropped through the floor. She swallowed and controlled her expression. “Yeah, so they use ‘que’ instead of ‘como’ in the movie.”

Cassidy frowned. “Oh, that’s weird; didn’t the book say—”

“Yeah, it did. But maybe that’s one of those things that people don’t follow grammatically…like a little—”

“—nuance that you only pick up when speaking it,” Cassidy finished.

Stephanie nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking. We should ask Mrs. Melanie—”

“Senora Millen,” Cassidy corrected, grinning. Stephanie laughed. Her eye caught a car coming down the road. Her stomach did the dropping thing again. It was a red Jeep.

Suddenly she felt stupid and scolded herself. Getting all worked up over a boy. I thought you promised yourself never to do that again, stupid. Stop it. Just stop it.

Easy for you to say when he’s on his way, isn’t it? You’re not so tough when you’re missing him like hell.

…I know.

“Mrs. Griffin and David say ‘que,’ don’t they?” Cassidy continued.

“I think so,” Stephanie answered, her eyes clearly focused into the parking lot. Cassidy raised her eyebrows and turned around.

“What? Who is it?”

“I…I’m not sure. Be right back.”

Cassidy’s eyes followed her questioningly. Stephanie could feel that Cassidy was guessing, and guessing correctly.

Stephanie walked to the door, trying to go slowly. What if…As she pushed open the door, her heart began pounding loudly. That’s embarrassing. What if he…whoever that is…can hear it?? It might not be him. There were other red Jeeps that came to church. Sometimes. Okay, not often, but…

For God’s sake, if you don’t chill out and stop shaking and being a complete idiot, you’re not allowed to talk to him anymore.

I know…

She could see him getting out. It was him.

Of course he’d come, how could he not come? You’re awesome.

Thanks…not really.

He walked towards her, grinning. She didn’t move. She just stood there. She could feel a smile pulling at her lips; he always did that to her. But she fought very hard to keep the smile inside this time. It wasn’t right. It had been over two months. That’s a long time.

She wanted him to speak first. One, because she thought he should, and two, because she couldn’t speak yet.

He stopped a few feet in front of her.

“Hey,” he grinned.

Why do I feel like I got the breath knocked out of me?

Because you’re a hopelessly romantic drama queen who wants to be able to write about these kinds of things so she embraces them whenever she comes across them in real life.

Oh, right. Thanks.

You’re also in love with his voice.

Also oh, right. She winced inwardly.

“Hey.” I hope this isn’t really awkward for him. Because I’m perfectly fine. I need a moment. But I don’t want him to be standing there like “Why-o-why did I ever come back?”

She looked him in the eye for a long time. She didn’t smile. He smiled bigger. Somehow, he didn’t seem awkward. He was good at that.

“Sup?” he said.

“Hm…” she said, acting like she was thinking. Oh my God. He’s here. He cares?

You what they say about assuming, chick. It makes an as—

Don’t call me a chick.

“Not much. Just talking Spanish with Cassidy.” She didn’t make any move to go back inside. She was practically embracing the awkwardness. Creating it. Feeding it. But still, she just stood there, watching him.

“Awesome…” he said.

“Yeah.”

I want to hug him. So much.

You forgive too quickly.

…I know.

She walked forwards, he walked towards her. Her heart hammered. Her last thought before they touched was Oh no, what if he can feel my heart beating??

They hugged.

She closed her lips over any sort of inappropriate breathing. Her stomach dropped through her feet and kept dropping. She didn’t want to let go. She wanted to hug him tighter. She wanted him to hug her tighter.

Retard, he doesn’t like PDA, remember? Get off of him!

She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled away, feeling like she was pulling her heart in two.

Drama queen.

I know.

She didn’t want to let go all the way. She wanted to hold his hands. He had small hands. Her fingers were longer. But she knew he wouldn’t like that. Not for real. Maybe in chat. Not in real life.

Her fingers curled into fists by her side. Why did she have to feel everything so intensely? Why couldn’t she be like every other person in the world and just hug the guy and MOVE BACK INSIDE?

“Wanna go talk Spanish with Cassidy?” she joked, swallowing her heart. It was like she could actually feel it in her throat. That huge, squeezing knot had to be something. She wasn’t just making that up.

“Alright,” he said.

She turned around quickly. The way he said that. He always said that. Like that. She loved his voice so much.

“Awesome.” It didn’t sound like her voice was breaking. That was good. She reached for the doorknob and yanked the door open. The blinds swung out and banged loudly against the door.

“Oops,” she mumbled. She hadn’t realized how hard she was jerking. It wasn’t her fault. All the hidden emotion had to go somewhere. All the emotion she’d been blocking and stamping out for two months. All the emotion that sat behind her teeth twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. All the emotion that pushed the insides of her chest until she hugged herself to keep from exploding. All the emotion that screamed inside her brain, drowning out thoughts of chemistry and algebra.

He didn’t need to know about all that. That was just her.

“Look who’s here,” she said lightly to Cassidy, going over to join her on the couch. Cassidy raised her eyebrows.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. He sat down on the couch with a loud sigh and leaned his head back.

This is where you ask if he’s tired, and he’ll tell you why he stayed up late, and you can tell him why that wasn’t smart, and pretend like everything is back to the way it used to be.

But it’s not.

I know.

~Stephanie

Loose Ends

Thanks for joining us, Valentina!

It's like I just got good at this whole living life thing, and now I have to uproot myself and go do it somewhere else.

Yeah. Everyone feels that way.

It doesn't feel like I'm going to college. It feels like I'm dying. I have to take all my chances NOW, because I'm leaving. I have to set everything straight with people because this might be it. I have to say goodbye to everyone and let them know what they mean to me because I'll probably forget later.

You feel like it's now or never, don't you.

Yeah. Like if I don't try things now, I'll miss my chance. I'll wonder forever what would have happened if...you know. Fill in the blank with a million things.

But think about it this way: if you tie off all the loose ends now, you won't be able to pick them back up later. Or you'll have to UNtie them first. It'll feel like having to start all over. Whereas if you leave some ends untied, open, you can come back to them later. You're so sure that this is the end of everything as you know it that you're actually MAKING it that way.

...oh. I never thought about it like that. Like maybe it's a better idea if I don't...truncate my life.

Um, yes. Non-truncation is generally preferable.

So...I don't have to try it all now. Or end it all now for that matter.

Definitely not. In fact...please don't XD

Huh. Well. This...this isn't so bad after all, is it?

It isn't :)

~Stephanie