From Sunset to Sunrise

Starting in darkness, ending in light

The positivity I strive to use as a driving force in my life hasn’t always been there. I had to search for positivity. I had to want to search for it. Most importantly, I had to want to want to search for it. It’s this initial want that I desire to seed in others. I want all of my friends and family, with a special focus on my emotionally meek female friends, to come to the same conclusion I did: that failure, living in dark hole as a fumbling mess, is a choice.

Strength is a choice. It’s the best choice. It’s not the easiest, but it is undoubtedly and profoundly the most rewarding.

Being positive isn’t natural for everyone. Being emotionally distressed is. So, naturally, the latter likes to take the best of us. It’s human nature. The anxiety from every day life can get so overwhelming at times… I know this. I know the pain, maybe not all from firsthand experience but from observing the depression that swallows everyone around me:

~From my immediate family: the loss of a precious human life that barely had the chance to experience an enriching childhood, divorced parents, an early childhood mostly devoid of a father figure, feeling sympathy for my struggling single mother and constant reminders about her emotional trauma for as long as I can remember, constant rumors about my family’s reputation and spiritual standing, and knowing that my family and its accomplishments have never been good enough for anyone. The list truly goes on.

~Themes learned from my other family members: more divorced parents, cheating and adultery, not feeling loved, strict households, feelings of failure, and income barriers, just to name a few.

~Other painful topics I’ve heard and learned about from family or friends: drug addiction, cutting, anorexia, bulimia, not feeling wanted or loved, house fires, losing beloved family members and pets, difficulty in earning academic accomplishments, no father figure at all, chronic depression, daunting family history, mentally drained parents, more prevalent income barriers, inadequacy, heartbreak, and death.

Did I miss anything?

So yes, I know pain.

But what about my own experiences? After all, the recurring theme of life experience is that it’s not until after you’ve personally endured the turmoil that you understand what everyone around you was warning against.

*SPOILER: I’m about to absolutely spill my guts for you guys. You’re basically about to read thoughts only my Diary would be lucky enough to see.*

~I lost an older sister. I lost the person that should have been there to lead our childhood role-playing superhero games, to teach me how to French braid, and to show me how to lose and win in love. I lost my pioneer partner to learn and grow with, my constant advocate, my ultimate confidante. I’m left with constant questions and What Ifs: What if my mom knew about carbon monoxide? What if Jamie hadn’t been on medication that day? Would I be a different person were she here? Would she have a strong or soft personality? How active would she still be? Would the color of her room be blue, red, purple, green? How would she treat me, Gianna, and Adrian? Would she be closer with either of my siblings than I am? Would she really be on the pedestal that I place her? And these are just my worries, and a few at that. I can’t fathom the guilt and questions Mom, Dad, and Adrian feel. As long as this system continues, there will be a hollow part in our lives because of her absence that cannot be filled. Her loss is irreplaceable to me and the rest of my family.

~My parents have been separated for as long as I can remember. One of my earliest memories is from shortly after my parents separated, when we lived with my Grandma for a time right before my mom found her own place. I remember sleeping at the foot of my grandma’s bed, Mom was sleeping with baby baby Gianna at the top. I remember being jealous that I had to sleep at the bottom of the bed so that I wouldn’t squish Gianna during the night, but the memory is really a prevalent reminder of, Dad’s not here. Throughout my entire life I have been torn between Mom and Dad; I always felt that I needed to equally please them. For example, we used to paint pottery as a hobby. Even at five years old, I knew that on the first trip I had to paint a giraffe for Mom and on the second trip a lion cub for Dad. I had to show that my love for each was even, so that neither would feel left out or disappointed in “who I chose.” I relatively succeeded; I was able to maintain a handful of control and balance of time and mental preoccupation between Mom and Dad. So imagine my grief when Dad finally remarried over the summer of 2013 and my equilibrium shattered. My entire world was thrown off balance because there was a bigger difference between Mom and Dad. The situations were no longer even, and there was nothing I could do to control it. Suddenly I was facing, “Oh, so you’re choosing your father and his wife over me now, huh?” and “Sorry kids, but you have to realize I have a wife now and she takes precedence.” Maybe that’s not exactly what they said, but that’s how I perceived it. I love both of my parents and I know they have sacrificed their entire lives to care for us, but these harsh sentiments planted dark thoughts in me: Maybe if I weren’t here at all, I wouldn’t disappoint them anymore. Maybe I should just stop trying, because nothing I can do now will please them both.

~My academic strife added to my depression. This one is a bit more brief, but prevalent nonetheless. It started my Sophomore year when I joined the Yearbook staff. As a new staff member with a strict Editor-in-Chief, I was held to high standards. I’m surprised I even made it because I didn’t make it to the auditions, but the Editor-in-Chief and Yearbook advisor were kind enough that year to meet with me at a later time. Over the subsequent years, I progressed through the ranks. I was the Assistant Editor of a section my Junior year, and finally a section Editor by Senior Year. HOLY COW I thought I would be ready for the position since I had two years of familiarity under my belt, but I was so wrong. Nothing could prepare me for the immense pressure the Advisor would put on me that year, or the amount of responsibility I would need to meet deadlines, or the necessity to be creative and idealistic. In addition to this responsibility was AP English IV. I surpassed my AP English III teacher’s expectations more than I had anticipated. So, naturally, I thought I would do well in AP English IV. Wrong again, I thought. The instructor and I started off all wrong at the beginning of the course. Because I so disappointed her from the start, I had to prove my worth as an English student through data sheets, essays, and poem analyses. Unfortunately, throughout the year I continued to disappoint because whatever I was doing still wasn’t good enough. I guess I never caught on to her lessons, because for her my writing wasn’t ever to her expectations. These two classes, Yearbook and AP English IV, added more burden to my life than I could ever imagine. Of course they conveniently occurred at the time of great stress with my home life. Maybe if I weren’t here at all, I wouldn’t disappoint them anymore. Maybe I should just stop trying, because nothing I can do now will please them both.

~Constantly trying to please the love of my life. This is the part that hardly anyone truly knows about. For the majority of the past couple of years I have had an on-and-off interest with someone. To save a novel, I’ll do my best to summarize in generic themes and statements what happened and what I’ve learned: I’ve been cheated on, lied to, ignored, disregarded, and left with extreme feelings of hate and disappointment in myself because I couldn’t anything right for this man. I even stooped so low that I tried to OD on sleeping medication: I didn’t want to die, I just wanted his attention. Yup, I was that girl. So why did I stay with him? Because I loved him, and, c’mon guys, love can’t be explained, right? That’s what I kept telling myself. As much as he hurt me, I knew that deep down he needed me. I needed him, someone to open up to and talk with during my dark times. He knows more about me than anyone could possibly comprehend. I felt special because I broke down his walls, and he broke down mine. I’m not gonna say we had some kind of miraculous connection that no other person had ever felt in the entire history of humankind, but I will say that we connected to the point to keep persevering together. However, he also showed me just how true it is that the closer you get with someone the more disappointed you will become. He made me cynical, but realistic, yet determined. He filled me with so many conflicted emotions that still swirl through me today. In a spectrum of ways, he taught me how to love, how to hate, how to fly, and how to fall; with him, I’ve felt both deathly hollow and thrivingly full. And what of our “relationship” today? I’ll neither confirm nor deny it, but will admit that it’s still a work in progress. Take that as you will.

~My “friends” don’t stay friendly. True friends are certainly hard to come by these days. Save one tremendously blithe spirit that I absolutely cherish, and one other girl who’s brash “I don’t give a f**k about any of you” attitude that I admire, every single girl I have ever gotten close with has let me down. They find other friends, they change for other people, they leave for such-and-such circumstances, or they cause drama that create rumors about my family and then don’t want to develop the friendship further because they succumb to the rumors that they created. (Yea, you know who you are). The girls I became friends with were all risks, because [I’ve learned that] friends come and go. My family used to be those people that always, always, always went to you. I got tired of it because the recipients hardly reciprocated it back, so I greatly stopped trying to maintain close friendships. There was a time that I had hoped to see someone would make the effort in return. No one did, and no one has. Or, at least, it hasn’t lasted.

~My family’s reputation declined. I hinted above about the drama and rumors regarding my family. We’ve been accused of apostasy, crumbling spirituality, dismissive parenting, allowing young people to sleep together in our household, of helping our friends sneak around so they could defy their parents, disrespectfully and unlawfully allowing underage drinking, and others. Depending on your perspective on life, any or all of those things could be the absolute end of your life because of how absolutely horrendous an act it is. Or maybe none of them mean anything to you. It doesn’t matter and I won’t say what’s what, but keep in mind the words rumor and judgement. Think about the friend that interacted with us to create these rumors, and then ponder the ability of said friend to use said rumors to turn against us. Not very encouraging now, huh? Also, you probably picked up on some other things along the way, such as the divorced parents, my father’s new marriage, and the various focal points of our lives. Well, where should our focus in life be? Lots of people would say their career, relationships, or family. However, ask any Jehovah’s Witness and he/she would say, Serving Jehovah. I agree, because with this system coming to an end I think we should do our utmost to be in good standing with our Heavenly Father. But what I’ve found is the severe judgement that comes along with this service: as many spiritual lows as my family has experienced (mind you, on one end my family of four was run by a single mother who constantly struggled to make ends meet, and on the other the end was a disfellowshipped father, both of whom bared the burden of failure from losing their daughter) I can barely recall a time that a brother or sister made advances for encouragement. If they did, it didn’t make a lasting impression. A lot of them have stared down on us from afar, because simply living after the tremendous loss we endured wasn’t enough. People might say, “Losing a daughter isn’t an excuse anymore because it’s been too long.” You know what I say to that? Read the above four bullet points and multiply that by four to incorporate my other family members and then multiply that by a myriad of emotional scars to maybe even begin to realize the struggle. For my family in particular it seems, there’s always been more to do, more expected of us, and more to prove to others of what’s in our heart. The loving ones in our congregation that have been there for us, Thank You.

So there ya go. A glance at the pain, loss, and absolute disappointment I’ve personally experienced.

It would have been more than easy to give up and give in.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t want to. I don’t want to.

I opted for strength instead, because strength is a choice. It’s the best choice. It’s not the easiest, but it is undoubtedly and profoundly the most rewarding.

More importantly, I decided I wanted to be strong enough to instill strength in others so they could learn to pull themselves into the light like I did.

But how did I do it? Did I just wake up one morning and say, “Oh, I’m going to be strong today,” and then it magically appear?

Hardly.

It was decision I made to over time take the steps I could to develop strength physically, emotionally, mentally, socially, and spiritually. I took it a day at a time, because that’s what was possible.

I didn’t want to be sad. I hated laying there in bed, crying my eyes out, feeling sorry for myself. It wasn’t any kind of appropriate life to live. I hated feeling weak and not doing anything to help my life. At 18, I realized the potential I have for greatness. It is a potential engrained in all of us, including you. I tapped into the innate strength God forged in us, and I maintained a determination to do the things I wanted to do. They were simple things, like writing and working out. Once I started doing the little things I wanted to do, I wanted to do more. The little things in each day made me feel grateful, successful, productive, and, I daresay, happy. Once I conquered the baby steps, I realized I could conquer the world. I told myself that I was worth more and that I would prove it. I wanted to do it because I knew it would make me happy and stronger. I made myself busy, a fluttering Busy Bee.

It was an evolution, a slow attitude and mental change. I can’t say I did it all by myself, though. Yes, the absolute strength I gained was from my own perseverance and determination, but I had the support and love of my brother and sister. I had the help and encouragement of other friends along the way that stuck with me through it all and listened to all my gripes (you know who you are). I found love in the Jehovah’s Witness organization when I ventured to Peru, from my family that resides there (gosh I wish they lived closer). I held on desperately to the words in Ecclesiastes 7:8, “Better is the end of a matter than its beginning. Better to be patient than to be haughty in spirit.”

I cannot express how true this Scripture is, because if I’ve learned anything at all it’s that things will work themselves out.

God truly knows the burdens you carry. He knows what makes you happy and what makes you sad. He knows how to help. Even though we should not necessarily focus our lives on “worldly pursuits,” I know that, even in this system, God will allow us to do what makes us happy. Even if I cannot prove what’s in my heart to the men around me, I know that God knows me to my core and most vulnerable emotions. And in the end, it is only Him that can judge my sins. In the end, it is through Him that I have made any sliver of accomplishment, and because of Him that I have been provided a source of positivity to guide me through engulfing darkness.

(I have to admit, though, that during my transition I didn’t feel like I was gaining strength from God. But I felt compelled to write that last paragraph, as if somewhere in my being I know that it really was His Spirit that guided me along).

Deciding to advocate and exemplify strength has helped me to successfully jump across canyons and down waterfalls. I’ve become more positive, healthier in all aspects of life, and more aware of my body and mind. I don’t mind sharing the traumatic, private parts of my life because I’ve moved on from them. Yes, I face the same battles repeatedly because they’re not issues that will just go away, but I’m finding that as the war progresses my bravery shows its face more, my commitment becomes stronger, and my spirit glows brighter. I have found multiple strengths, and conquered many worlds. I’ve learned that we are all stronger than we think we are, and I’ve learned that, no matter what, failure is not an option.