Accept It.

PAST

Adjective meaning “gone by in time and no longer existing”

At one point, my parents were together & seemingly happy. Not too terribly long ago, I had a brother. More recently, a boyfriend emotionally abused me. Even more recently, I had my heart completely shattered by my first true love. That is my past. That has gone by in time and no longer exists in the present.

ACCEPTANCE

Noun meaning “the act of taking or receiving something offered”

Life has offered me some questionable opportunities, opportunities that weren’t offered to many others. I was offered a set of parents who, as much as they loved me, did not love each other enough to stay together. I was offered a chance to watch somebody I loved so dearly suffer to the point of exhaustion. I was offered the chance to watch my brother die. I was extended an opportunity to know what it felt like to have somebody control practically every move I made, every conversation I had, every moment available. Life gave me a shot at ridiculously great love, just to take it away.

It wasn’t until this summer that I really understood what acceptance meant. It means to take something given to you in a literal sense… I knew that. What I didn’t know was how important it is to not only take what is given, but to truly accept it and recognize that it is yours. In a literal sense it’s pretty self-explanatory, but let me just walk you through what I mean here in this more abstract sense.

Take my life as an example (something I clearly love to talk about). Life gave me a sick brother, divorced parents and a shitty relationship, followed by yet another terrible heartbreak. It doesn’t matter how much I hate these things; they are still mine. They are what have made me into the person I am today and the person I will become tomorrow. These crappy things were given to me and until very recently, I hadn’t truly accepted them. I took them, obviously, (because I had virtually no other choice) but I didn’t accept them.

Acceptance, for me, is an every day battle. Every day, I fight back tears as I remember the life that was cut way too short. Every day, I struggle past the way I’ve let myself be treated and how to break that cycle. Every day, I am nostalgic of the love I thought would be my last. I’ve realized it’s impossible to determine why life has handed me my particular set of cards. At the same time, it’s incredibly difficult to recognize that life happens as it does and I just have to roll with the punches. In my case, there have been quite a few, violent punches.

There have been nights (way more than I could ever admit) that these punches got the best of me, nights where nothing seemed worth it. This summer, I’d gotten to a point where I wasn’t able to physically hurt myself (I had gotten really good at emotionally damaging myself), but I had come to peace with having something else cause me pain. I didn’t care what happened, I didn’t even really know what I wanted to happen, but I knew that I would be okay with dying on “accident”. That night/week was the lowest, most embarrassing night/week of my life. Soon after that, I realized I needed a change.

           

It took what seemed like an eternity, but I can happily say that I’m on my way to a complete 180 in attitude. Yes, I still have my involuntary teary moments and nights that are nothing but straight up depressing, but I am getting better. I’m trying to keep myself busy (and boy, am I succeeding in that). I’m staying healthy in diet and exercise. I’m building a happier me but most importantly I’m becoming more open about my struggles.

Instead of ignoring and hiding my brother’s life (and death), I’ve embraced it. I don’t let it define who I am, but I don’t hide him anymore. I talk about what happened and how I’m handling things, almost 6 years later. Instead of letting myself dig a deeper hole in heartbreak, I’ve completely cut myself off from the men who brought me there. (I still think about one of them ALL the time and I can’t seem to quite shake the amount of love and care I will seemingly always have for him, but hey, you do what you can, right?)

I’ve grown so much, but still so little, in the last few months. It definitely wasn’t easy, but walking away from the only safe part of my life and forcing myself to be happy in my independence has made a world of difference. I’ve become the hero of my story, just by accepting what I cannot change.

Honey, we know you're new.

Freshman year.

For most people, their first year in college is a huge one.  You’re flying from the nest for the first time – out to fend for yourself in a new place with new people and new responsibilities. You’re given a new sense of freedom: you get to be the adult you thought you deserved to be throughout all of high school!

Your first weekend on campus will likely be a core memory to your existence; something you will never forget (or never remember, if that’s how you roll). You’ll probably shed a tear (or sixty) hugging your dad, as he gets ready to leave. You’ll probably laugh as your overprotective and crazy but adoring mom unleashes a waterfall of tears hugging her baby goodbye (as if you’d never see her again). You’ll almost definitely spend too much time clinging onto your newfound besties (aka your hall mates) and your phone because they’re all you know so far. You’ll probably end up in a house with a beer soaked basement floor, listening to the same club remix on repeat, feeling like a million bucks (and also disgusted because guys are gross and you’re sliding everywhere) for getting in to your first college party. You’ll feel like you’re on a vacation – like your dorm room is just a temporary weekend stay and those annoying habits your roommate lives by will just go away. It’s not just a vacation and those habits are there to stay. 

Somewhere between walking around town, dressed to impress, all night and waking up the next morning in a completely different place than the night before, you’ll realize you’re not in Kansas high school anymore. Maybe it won’t fully hit you until the end of your first month, but it will hit you. This is college. This is being an adult. This is you, on your own. Nobody is there to force you to study or do your laundry, to clean your room or to keep you from having casual sex with your neighbor. You’ve got the choice in your hands and that’s incredibly scary and completely liberating at the same time - a perfect storm.

Your first year of college will start to make you or it’ll break you. I saw both up close and personal. Luckily, for me, it was a positive experience. I enjoyed all of my classes (okay except astronomy because that’s bullshit) and excelled in them. I made the Dean’s list both semesters with, at one point, two jobs (hollaaaaa), but that came at a bit of a cost. Unlike my core group of friends, I chose to stay in and study most Thursday nights. I did all of my assignments and actually (sometimes) read the textbook for class. I let those crazy nights of house-hopping and loud music pass by to focus on why I was really there – to get an education. (Which was super beneficial and responsible of me, but I wish I would've gone out more. I deserved the break.)

I saw my friends go out all the time and I watched as they struggled to make it to class, for the sixth time that week. They focused on the “making memories” portion of college, instead of the degree and they suffered for it. Do yourself a favor and realize early on that if you fail out of your classes, your nights of “memories” go away really quickly. Your parents aren’t going to (over)pay for you to just party all of the time and come out 4 years later without a degree. Get over it and get serious.

I also split my time between two campuses; my own and my boyfriend’s thirty minutes away. It was totally great at the time. There was an awesome feeling that came with spending an entire weekend with your love, waking up in his arms, making breakfast at noon, and (the best part) not having anybody to tell you you can’t. However, relationships end and so does your first year. The only issue is you’ll never get (at least) one of those back. If I could do it again, I honestly wouldn’t change anything about the back and forth, my campus or yours situation but I do regret not being around my campus as often. My advice? Date somebody from your own campus, leave the boyfriend behind more often, or switch schools (just kidding, that’s ridiculous).

You’ll hear it a million and three times, but I’m dead serious when I say get involved. Do it. Join or create a club, hit up a hockey game, or go to exercise classes at the gym. Take full advantage of the free concerts and comedians you get to enjoy for just being a student. If you don’t do it for fun, do it for your sanity. Take a break from studying and partying and do something different. Open up your mind and explore stuff! That’s part of college’s hidden curriculum (or agenda, for you non-ed majors): to explore new stuff and discover who you are meant to be. I spent all of my first semester too wrapped up in my job, my boyfriend, and my studies to really get involved in my school. I found myself regretting my decision to attend that school a lot more the first semester, when I was less involved, than I did in the spring.

Ps you should join a sorority or a fraternity. You may not think you’re cut out for it, but going through recruitment doesn’t hurt a thing. I was COB’d during the spring (so I didn’t get a formal recruitment) and it was the best decision I have made in college so far. I’ve met the most amazing girls and they have become an amazing support system. My big is the sweetest and my grandbig (my big’s big) is the most precious. They’re the first people I go to when I need advice on new clothes or boys or really anything. They’re the ladies I’ll go to when I need to smile and they never let me down. Plus, you get more opportunities to meet people in Greek life, through volunteering for your philanthropies, and just in general. It also provides you with resume gold, so that’s awesome.

Freshman year will go by faster than you’d ever imagine. You’ll feel like you just finished settling in as finals week for spring comes around. The year will sometimes seem like it’s passing super slowly, but when you’re moving out of the dorms you’ll realize how much of a blur it was. You might never know how you made it through a grueling year of new experiences, higher expectations, and freedom but you did. You were able to live with your roommates annoying habits and made new friends outside of your floor. You started to grow up without realizing it and now look at you; you’re a sophomore in college!

Use your second year as a way to make up for the mistakes you made the first time around. You only get one, second year. Go kill it!

Sunday Drives

Something kind of cool happened today.

I started out my day in a kind of shitty mood. Well, okay, in a really shitty mood. I continued my current trend of tears in the morning, tears in the shower, tears all over, all of the time. This time I actually had a legitimate reason (shoutout to you, boo boo) but that’s not really the important part.

For the first time in months, I felt an actual emotion. I felt something other than numb. I was angry. It’s not necessarily an improvement, but I’ll take it. I felt anger and it was actually kind of awesome. I felt like I was actually getting somewhere in my adventure to find myself again. What truly shocked me was how quickly that anger went away… and how quickly I found something else in its place.

Maybe it’s a maturity thing and it has nothing to do with the person or the current state of our relationship, but I found myself typing incredibly bitchy things and then deleting them. I got really, really nasty in my drafts, but when it came time to actually send something I couldn’t bring myself to explode. I realized how much I value this person, how hard it would be to say such horrible things and try to rebuild a friendship later on, and how shitty I would’ve felt tonight after I calmed down.

Not only did I completely save myself from a shit ton of regret, I felt a sense of closure. I got mad and I got over it. I got confused and I got over it. I got a little bit nostalgic but I GOT OVER IT. It was then that I decided to get out of the house and just drive. I’ve always dreamed of getting in my car and driving until I run out of gas or break down or reach some cool destination. Now, if you know anything about me you know I don’t really like to drive. I hate road construction, semi-trucks, rain and snow, traffic, and getting lost. I dislike driving in any condition that’s not perfect.

Well I challenged those fears today. I realized once I backed out of the garage that it was raining. Actually, it was pouring. I had half a thought to go back in the house and call it a day. I had a few episodes to watch on Netflix, I could go back to those, but I didn’t. So I drove. I left the neighborhood and I aimed for downtown. I wasn’t planning to get out of the car (it was raining and I put zero effort into my appearance) so I just wanted somewhere cool I could realistically get to and not waste allll of my tank of gas.

I know my way to Minneapolis from home. What I had forgotten to remember was the road construction that prevented me from getting there like I normally do. So I braved those ugly orange and white cones and I fought my way to the cities. I took semi-random exits that sounded like they’d get me to St. Paul (but actually brought me more towards home) because why not?  I took peace in not having anywhere to go, anywhere to be, or anyone to see. I blasted Hilary Duff’s new album (totally obsessed btw) and found myself exploring highways.

Even though I usually despise traffic and the stupid people who create it, I found myself wishing there were more people on the roads. There were plenty of people out there (enough to make me flinch on any other day) but I wanted more. Pushing the speed limit (by like 10 mph, lol much rebel so wow) in the pouring rain, passing people who don’t know me, who don’t know my story, who don’t know my pain was incredibly therapeutic. I had finally found some peace.

I made my way around the cities, around a few neighborhoods, and back onto a road that’d bring me to a familiar place. (I have zero sense of direction, so being able to find my way around and not get lost or stressed out about it was just the icing on the cake.) I spent two hours just driving around and it was truly the greatest part of my week.

This little adventure changed my attitude for the day. I started out with a huge wave of depression and all of my sad emotions, but I came home with a real smile on my face. A smile I had put there all on my own. I had found a way to make myself calm. I didn’t need to have somebody with me. I wasn’t doing it to make anybody else happy. I spent some quality time with myself and it was great.

Something really great happened today. Something really great will happen every Sunday from now on. J

The Story of (the End of) Us

This summer has been, in a word, tough.

Most people go into summer extremely excited. School is out so we all get a much-needed break. Its warmer, its sunnier, its freedom. The three months of summer break are the most anticipated of the year. I, too, was super ready for summer. I was ready to spend my days on the beach, hanging out with my best friend who I’d been separated from for the first time since 4^th grade, and doing cute summery dates with my boyfriend. But when summer finally came around, one major thing was different.

It’s definitely not a secret that I am no longer with my boyfriend. I mean if you’ve read any of my blog posts, you’ve probably got a pretty good idea of how I’m handling the break up. (Spoiler Alert: Not well.) Finals week came and so did the final days of our relationship, sort of.

I remember the day so vividly. He asked if we should try some time apart & I reluctantly agreed (“Um, I guess”). The next 24 hours came in waves of tears, anger, depression, confusion, and pain. I let little baby tears slip during lecture. I full out bawled on the phone to my roommate as I drove myself to his apartment to get my things before he came home. I curled up into a ball, under a blanket in my almost empty dorm room and cried my tear ducts dry.  I was nothing short of a mess.

That night, through the hurt and the tears, I put on a revealing outfit. I let my roommate do my makeup. I took shot after shot and I posted not-so-subtle pictures to my Instagram and Snapchat, letting him know what he was missing. I went out with my girls and I was ready to find somebody new. I wanted nothing more to get his memory, his face, his name out of my head. What I really did was come home after two hours and drunkenly cry myself straight to sleep.  I was starting to realize how over it was.

We continued texting and swapped stories of our post-breakup drinking adventures. He told me he had made a huge mistake and was extremely sorry for the hurt he had put me through. I loved this guy so hardcore, but I was emotionally down for the count. I explained that I didn’t want to just jump back into the relationship because I needed to have a little self-respect. He agreed and we set a day to go get coffee and talk. We continued to stay connected and tried to rebuild what was broken.

Our coffee date turned into a lunch date and it went well. We had fun just talking and being with each other; something we'd been lacking in the weeks before. He dropped me off and I just kind of left, without really saying goodbye. He was confused but I reassured him that we weren’t giving up on each other yet. We had a week or two where we were practically together (without the label) again and things were looking up. Obviously that’s not where this ends.

He has since told me he doesn’t have feelings for me anymore. He was over the relationship when it ended. He’s been seeing somebody else. But our story wasn't over. We were still seeing each other every once in a while. I was bored, horny, and missing him and he wasn’t going to say no to sex, so we got together again and again. Each time things were great until I realized this wasn’t a relationship, it meant nothing to him, and it wasn’t because he loved me. We had sex purely because we wanted it. I wanted it because I wanted him back in my life. He wanted it because he wasn’t really getting it anywhere else.

We went through four or five cycles of friendship, flirty, sex, Kiana freakouts, not talking, and back to friendship. Each time the consequences got more and more severe for me. (I’m an emotional person, what can I say?) I wasn’t stopping though. I wanted the connection. I was lonely and missing my other half and yeah, I was horny. Who isn’t these days? To make things harder, my silly brain thought that if I gave him something he wanted and tried really hard to be supportive, he’d realize how much dedication I had and how badly I wanted him and then he’d want me again. (I still kind of have this mentality, even though I know it’ll never work.)

All of this came to an end just over a week ago now. I was blamed for my own pain, because I was the one who suggested sex over and over. Which, sure, yeah, it was mostly me, but he wasn’t saying no. He made it clear that once he officially made this new girl his girlfriend that we’d be done with our little shenanigans (good for you bro, don’t cheat on your girl) and that was that. He stopped replying to my texts (I only sent four, okay? And the first 3 were part of the conversation we were having. I’m not obsessive and annoying) and I haven’t heard from him since. This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since last July when we started things.

It’s taking every bit of restraint I have to keep myself from reaching out to him. I’ve had drafts of texts ready to send multiple times. I’ve been watching who has seen my snap stories to see when he sees it. I think of him almost constantly and I still spend most of my nights in tears, missing him. However, its time, I have to move on. I’ve let myself build hope for a second chance that’ll never come for 3 months now. I’m pathetic, honestly.

I’ve been starting to focus on bettering myself though. I’ve been going to the gym regularly, trying to avoid fast food, and drinking water instead of pop. I’ve dedicated myself to my job and having a blast with the kiddos I take care of before I move back up to school. I’m actually blogging for real sometimes. I’m expressing my feelings and letting things out for the first time in years. (Thanks for that, homeboy; you were right.) Most importantly, I’m taking this crappy situation as an opportunity to improve (even if it started out as a way to get him back).

With moving back to the place we spent most of our relationship and our would-be one-year anniversary coming up, things are going to be tougher still. I’ll be okay though. Just going to keep taking this one day at a time and keeping busy. My heart may still be his for now, but hopefully not for much longer. Things will get better. Slowly, real slowly, but surely. 

The Rest is Still Unwritten.

Take one look at my Facebook or Instagram and you’ll believe I’m just another happy, basic college girl. There are literally hundreds of pictures of me smiling with my sorority sisters, my best friends, my family, my ex-boyfriend(s), and, probably most frequently, myself… You’d think my life is pretty fantastic. I mean, I’d think so too, but I can’t really see how great it is.

Sure, I know I’m lucky. I am so blessed to have a family who loves me, friends who are always supportive, and anything I’d ever want in life. I have an amazing job, a reliable car of my own, a closet packed full of clothes… I have it all. And believe me, I am so thankful for everything I’ve got.

But I’m not happy. I haven’t been 100% happy for a long time.

I can’t pinpoint a specific time where it all changed, but it’s probably got something to do with my 8^th grade year. I lost my brother to cancer (everybody knows that, right?) and I have never fully grieved that loss. I don’t even think I know how to. How does somebody get over or move past losing somebody they were supposed to die before? If all goes right in the universe, the older sister is supposed to die before her younger brother. That’s not a crazy concept.

However, all did not work right in my universe. I watched my brother suffer for almost 5 years. Between chemotherapy, radiation and scary face-shielding masks, spending nights on a hard hospital couch, too much nasty hospital food, and watching him slowly deteriorate our life was tough. I can’t even imagine what it was like to actually experience this tragedy – just watching it happen was hard enough.

My brother, Kyle, fought and boy, did he fight hard. He went through years of cancer, remission, cancer, remission, cancer before he let the disease do its thing. He lost his hair to grow it back to lose it again. He got strong and then got weak, weak, and weaker still. He faced the hardest battle you could imagine, but he never stopped smiling.

Ask anybody who knew him and they’ll tell you something like this: “He was such a heartwarming, loving little boy,” “Kyle always knew how to make you smile, even when he was in pain,” “He’s the most selfless person I’ve ever known,” “He gave the best hugs.” To explain him in one word would be impossible. He was tough, courageous, hilarious, clever, sweet, selfless, and all around awesome.

This story isn’t just about Kyle. The majority of my first 13 years of life (except the first 3.5 where it was just me) were all about him. How could it not be? He was sick. He was suffering. He was fighting. He got all of the attention. This story is about how he’s changed me. Well, okay, yeah, this story is mostly about him.

As horrible as it makes me seem, I sort of resent him. My childhood was stripped from me. I had to grow up quicker than most. I spent half of my time with my grandparents while my mom took care of him. I took second string because I was healthy – what a horrible thing to be, right?

There are no words to describe how much guilt I have for feeling this way. My brother is dead and I’m mad that I didn’t get the love and attention I thought I deserved as a kid? What kind of person feels like that? Well, people like me. Don’t get me wrong, I love that little fuzzy headed kid with all of my being and I miss him terribly. There hasn’t been a single day in the last 5.5 years that’s gone by where I haven’t thought about him. I tear up thinking of him (like right now? All the tears). I can’t say his name without losing it. I would give anything to have him back; giving me shit and telling me silly knock knock jokes. 

He’s my inspiration and my motivation to live more selflessly. His lack of a life pushes me to continue mine. On the nights I feel like nothing was worth living for, I think of him. I think of the kids he’ll never have, the wife he’ll never meet, the career he’ll never love. I think of the family and the friends he left behind. The people, like myself, that have struggled to survive after losing him. It seems strange, but thinking of what he never got to have only makes me want to have them more. Part of me wants my own things, things that don’t revolve around or involve him, but part of me just wants to live the life he would’ve loved to have. I want to do it big and do it right, just for him. His memory and this mentality have saved my life more times than I can count.

Though I haven’t figured out a way to cope with such a tremendous loss yet (I still struggle all the time and sometimes this loss makes other, smaller ones harder), my story is still a work in progress. In my story, there are more than a few chapters solely dedicated to Kyle (he deserves nothing less), but there’s still more to me to be written.  I may not always be happy or satisfied with how my life is happening, but I have a life. That’s the greatest gift and it’s one I plan to cherish. I would not cherish my life as much as I do without the help of my little superhero.

This one’s for you, SuperKyle. I miss you so much, but I love you more.