Reading Escape

I’ve had the toughest month of my life. And even this week beat that month. Bad enough that I ended up going out to some random person’s field and crying to their horse. Granted, the horse likes no one else but me now, but it’s still a pathetic story. I’ve never prayed so much as in this past week. I’ve never eaten so little as this week. (A person my size shouldn’t have to look and see the section of my ribs protruding. There’s not individual ribs yet, just the entire thing as a whole. But it scared the crap out of me. Food… stay in my belly…) I haven’t felt as hopeless as this past week. 

I’ve taken up reading as my escape. Granted, I already read a lot. At least a pretty decent amount for a girl with a boyfriend, a job, and (sadly) Netflix. Now, however, I’ve finished two books this week. That’s a pretty big increase considering before it was about one every few months when I found time.

Reading is a pretty good escape, and the only thing that works right now. Other than sitting on the floor and trying to meditate by saying the word ‘hummus’ over and over and over again. That meditating attempt only works 1/10 times. There seriously can’t be anything else going on, or I think between hummuses.

See, part of my problem right now is that I don’t feel right. My anxiety is at a maximum level, and I do my best not to think. At all. And the only way I know how to do that is to read. Writing works once I get into it, but I haven’t even been able to get a sentence down before my brain disintegrates. After all, you have to think to write. At least that first sentence. Then it’s usually down hill from there.

I want to write. It’s just hard.

Do you all have any suggestions? On anything? At all? I realize these last few posts aren’t like my normal ones, but there’s seriously nothing else floating in my poor brain.


First Love

We all have heard those stories of a first love. The ones about the lover who got away but are never forgotten. We also have heard the happier stories. You know, the ones where they marry at 16 and surprisingly (at least we think) last until they die at a ripe old age of 96. Or something like that.

My question is, why do we have such things against a first love lasting forever? I understand it is different if they are 13 and falling in ‘love’ after a day. That’s a bit different. What I mean is when you know you’re in love. When you would do anything for that person. And I mean anything. You’d even die for them if the occasion arose. You’d even give up everything you owned in a heartbeat and live on the side of the road for them. It sounds drastic, but that’s the feeling deep down inside.

But, if you see someone in love for the first time, you automatically say it’s just a fluke. It’s guaranteed not to last. It’s bound disintegrate. Not necessarily because the couple isn’t right for each other, but because everyone says it’s not meant to be.


Because it’s the first love.

The question from this 19-year-old is this: What is so wrong with being with the one you love? The first one you love. Why do people get in the faces of the young adults and say it’s impossible because it’s only the first time they’ve been in love. They don’t deny it’s love. They just don’t believe in the fairy tale and I don’t understand why.


I’m sorry for my wishy washy post. One day I’ll get back to doing normal ones. But this has just been on my mind lately. Really, if a person is truly in love, why does everyone say it will never last.  Most of the stories of this I have heard, they lost their love because of what everyone said or because of having to relocate. But no one ever supported them and gave them the power to survive through it.

New Normal

A new normal, a new dream.

A new place to call my own.

With new fears and new sorrows,

Fear is all I see.


There are an unlimited amount of options,

But a plethora of consequences with each.

What to choose?

Where to run?

What new normal do I call my own?

I beg for for prayers,

I plead for encouragement.

I pray I make the right decision.


Sorry for the bad poemish thing. It just kinda happened. you may now continue on with your lives. 

Do I?

I need some opinions. And I need some opinions badly.

I’ve been considering going for my masters in creative writing. It’s my dream, after all. I’m only scared. With how things are going here at home, I don’t really know what the next day is going to be like. This is making me want to go for a degree that’s comfy. One that I don’t have to worry about anything. Like accounting, even though I completely despised every accounting course I’ve done.

But the only thing I can do with the creative writing degree, other than write, is teach. That’s something I’ve never really wanted to do.

I’m so confused. So very lost in my own brain. I want to write, I’ve always wanted to write. But do I really want to spend four more years in a very expensive school for a degree I don’t need to do what I want to do? Or do I search for a different degree – whether I hate it or not, to live the rest of my life not writing full time.

I’m really needing to sign up for classes for this coming semester. I feel like I need to decide this quickly. I realize I’m probably overreacting with this. It’s not like what I choose for this next semester decides what I do for the rest of my life. It only feels like it.

Is there any one else out there who has jumped and followed their dreams? Even though they’re considered irresponsible and childish by the rest of the population?