As The Sun Sets On 2014...

... I find myself reminiscing on the past year and pondering the year soon to arrive.

2014 has been a rough year, just like 2012 was. I've had to trek up many thornbush-covered mountains this year; much more frequently than the few times I was able to stroll through smoothly rolling valleys. It has been a dark year, but there has been light.

I've faced a lot of challenges this year, and quite a few new experiences; probably the widest range of any I've ever seen or went through in any one year of my life.

A fantastic Scottish singer and a friend of mine - George Donaldson - passed away from a heart attack earlier this year, leaving behind a then-13-year-old daughter and his wife; and it twisted my life upside-down. This was a man whom had been a father figure of mine since 2011, because of his warmth, generosity, kindness, and gentleness. And suddenly he was just gone.

In summer, a man who had been a huge part of my childhood committed suicide - Robin Williams. And though I didn't know him personally, all those years of looking up to him and being cheered up by his antics had made me feel like I did.

There was a light side to those tragedies. A faint light, but a light all the same.

After George's unexpected death, I began to ask questions about theology that I had never asked before; I sought out answers instead of accepting whatever ones were handed to me pre-baked on a platter.

After Robin's death, I grew closer to already-close friends. In the midst of people calling those with suicidal thoughts things like 'selfish', 'greedy', and 'hellbound', those that knew the truth stuck together and comforted one another. When I was sobbing the night after Robin's death, because I had lost a man I had looked up to all my life, and because someone had basically just told me I was hellbound because I had suicidal thoughts, my friends were there. They comforted me and kept me from completely breaking down. I tried to return the favour as best I could.

And through those trials, we grew closer.

As for friends... I made some new ones this year, and - as I mentioned above - grew closer to others. I also got to see more of my friends in this one year than I have in any other (considering up until recently, I only had one or two friends that could even visit on a half-regular basis).

In March, I got to meet two of my friends for the first time and another of my friends for the second time - Matt, who visited in October of 2013. I spent an hour or two hanging out with them in Seattle; it was only the second time I had ever visited the city and actually walked around.

In April, I visited a friend and her family for the first time in years. I also got to play with their baby lizard.

In August, I got to see Matt again and we spent an afternoon in town before going to a concert, where I had the pleasure of meeting our friend Alex for the first time. This was another first - it was the first time I had ever been allowed to go anywhere with a friend without a parent tagging along. It may sound like a little thing to most, but it was a huge milestone for me.

And again in November, Matt dropped by and we hung out with our mutual friend Brenna for a while.

From November to the end of December, a friend was living in our back room for a while as well.

All in all, I got to see nine friends - some of them multiple times - this year; six are mentioned earlier. The other two I spent time with at my high school graduation.

There's another milestone of this year. Two, actually - I graduated high school and, while I've been enrolled in college since March of 2013, went to my very first on-campus classes this summer.

Those were two experiences I won't soon forget. In June, I graduated high school at the age of sixteen. It was also the first time I ever got to try a coffee from Starbucks.

My long-time buddy August - whom I saw a few months prior for a while - came to watch my graduation, and I had a blast talking to him again. Then I met a girl who was friends with another friend of mine - we hit it off great, marveling at the coincidence that we would be graduating at the same time and that she would recognise my name from our friend's Facebook page.

During my on-campus classes, I got to see lovely scenery in the hiking trails at my college, and I met two new friends in my P.E. class. Another similar milestone was that taking these classes was the first time I would spend any longer than an hour (usually four hours) away from anyone my mom knew. And it wasn't within walking distance - it was a twenty-minute drive most mornings. And I would hang out on campus and in classes by myself. It was scary, and finding my way around without having a breakdown from overload of emotions and senses was a challenge.

I guess I learned a lot - not everything, but a lot more than I did - about being an adult this year.

I had to learn responsibility for my on-campus classes. I had to arrive on time, make sure I understood the information, and turn everything in on schedule. I had to remember to keep an eye on the calendars, and I had to get up early each morning so that I could get dressed and make sure everything was in my backpack before heading out the door.

I had to learn to put aside my own desires and fears in order to help my mom through some very rough times that she is still going through now.

I had to take responsibility for the friend who moved in with us. That was a challenge - I needed to exercise patience, calmness, punctuality, and persistence. All things I have trouble showing. I needed to make sure everything they needed was taken care of, and remind them of their day-to-day duties.

And while it is not a particular skill or attribute to learn, I was allowed to spend time with friends in town by myself (without parents) for the first time ever this year. For our family, that is a definite step towards adulthood. It may sound silly, but it is.

I had to ignore my fears and insecurities during the summer and tell someone exactly how I felt about them, despite the anxiety that they would 'run away' or push me away. (They didn't. And our friendship is even stronger now because I was honest, praise God.)

I had to destroy a knot of negative emotions in order to confess to my mother and my friends the struggles I have - the fear, the self-loathing, the guilt, the shame... it all had to be obliterated just long enough to confess. And that is probably the most adult thing I managed to do all year.

I learned patience, I learned more about logic, I learned how to schedule my time better... I learned that it is wrong to judge others for their own struggles, and I learned that even the people you trust have the ability to mess up big-time... and above all - I learned from a close friend that the best way for me to be is just to be me.

All that said... what do I hope to see in 2015? What are my resolutions?

I never do fulfill my resolutions. But here are some goals, wishes, and resolutions I have anyway:

~ Fly out-of-state to visit friends; either in Virginia, Texas, Ohio, or Florida.

~ Go to Emerald City Comicon with friends.
~ Learn how to drive.
~ Write a novel for the first time in years.
~ Start some sort of project designed to help the needy.
~ Get into acting somehow; by joining a drama team if there are any nearby.
~ Complete the 365 Photography Challenge

~ Attempt to get a job.

We'll see if any of those get completed this year; I do hope they will!

Before I close, I want to give special thanks to the people who made my year so much easier to bear and made me smile and laugh, and comforted me through the dark times: thank you to Sian, Hayley, Charity, Matt, Andrew, Eli, Brendan, William, Elizabeth K., Mark, Ellen, Elizabeth A., Ophelia, Adrienne, Joel P., Jasmine, Annie, Gael, Kitra, Seth, Hannah L., Jenni, and August. I love all of you so very much. Thank you for being yourselves, and for caring about me even when I'm at my worst.

To all of you reading this... here's to a new year - may it be bright and blessed and shiny. Keep on keeping on, all of you; every last one of you is amazing and strong and so very special.

Happy New Year, everybody!

God bless,

Theodora Ashcraft

A Confession

I want to say something before I continue—certain readers, especially those of you who are younger, might do well to proceed with caution. I don’t go into explicit detail about anything, but the following subjects might not be something some people should be reading. If something said starts to make you uncomfortable, definitely stop reading if that is what you think you must do.

~~

It was a fairly ordinary day when it started. I think I had recently turned thirteen. I was browsing YouTube. It started out as an innocent search for something-or-other (I no longer remember what), but the videos in the sidebar, the ones I continued to click on, began to get considerably less innocent.

I kept going. Something was pulling at me; and while a part of me knew that my mom would be very upset if she saw me, another part of me… wanted to keep going. And I did.

At first, it was just YouTube clips and videos. But then it progressed to other websites.  I began actively searching things out, sneaking onto the computer late at night when I wasn’t supposed to, simply so I could proceed with my dealings in secret.

Well, there’s the premise. Here’s the main point of this blog post in one simple statement:

I was, and still am (though to a lesser extent), a porn addict. Another lust-based addiction developed some time after that addiction began.

Those of you who are squeamish probably want to stop reading here. As I said, I don’t go into explicit detail, but I do go into the very basics. 

I regret to inform you that this isn’t a blog article with a happy ending—not yet. I’m still struggling, and I’m still giving in. I haven’t found healing or redemption yet.

That’s not what the point of this blog article is. The point is to confess, because this has been festering inside my mind for nearly four long years. Judge me if you will; and I’m sure some people are going to drop contact with me. But this needs to be put out there, if only because a select few that I can think of deserve to know the truth.

I didn’t tell anyone for two and a half years. The WiFi I used (sneaking onto the neighbour’s) stopped working after about six months, and since the only other internet access was in sight of others during the day, my little secret stopped.

So I had two reasons for not telling anyone—one, I had ‘stopped’ and I wouldn’t ever do it again (or so my childish mind told me), and two… porn addiction was a guy thing. After all, society said so, right? If only guys had this problem, what might happen if I, a girl, were to admit I had the same problem? I thought I must be the only girl in the world like this; something was seriously wrong with me, it had to be!

Well… I did do it again. It started, I believe (I’m not totally certain), right after one of my favourite singers and a friend of mine, George Donaldson, passed away.

You all heard about that somehow, I’m sure (most of you probably heard of it from me). Call me stupid, but the death of that man broke me beyond imagining. My entire life twisted upside-down along with my shattered heart—I became furious with God, and basically defied Him, turned away from Him.

And, I suppose, my subconscious turned back to my poison for solace—porn.

A vicious circle was put into motion. I would spend a few days indulging in my particular poison, and then I would sink into guilt. I would go a short while without looking at any inappropriate images or videos… and then it would start up all over again.

Around this time, another lust-based addiction surfaced. I hate the word, so I won’t use it—but basically, this was an addiction to self-stimulation, because it felt good. Yes, I know. I think it’s disgusting too, but I still do it. It’s a fight to stop at this point.

About a month after George’s death, the guilt and pain got to the point I started to do something I never thought I’d do—cutting.

I never went and I have not gone too deep—my knives are too dull for that. But I have gone deep enough and drawn enough blood to leave scars. I now spend most days, even the hot ones, wearing hoodies or long-sleeved shirts to hide my arms.

Well, at some point—I don’t remember exactly when; the last few months are a bit of a blur—I joined what is essentially an online dating site.

Most, if not all, of you know what roleplaying is; those actions written within asterisks, *like so*. The things I roleplayed while on that dating site started off small, but ended up too hideous for me to put here. The one good thing that came from that is that the guilt and shame I felt after the last roleplay session was so strong, I—with my mentor and my adoptive mama urging me to—left that site.

The viewing of inappropriate content continued, though.

Anyway… I’ve stopped looking at online content. For now. The other addiction of self-gratification continues. Am I trying to stop? Well… I’m trying to avoid the online content altogether. The other addictions (the one I mentioned above, as well as self-harm) will come later. One step at a time.

In case anyone is wondering, no, I haven’t turned back to God yet. I’m confused, and still angry with Him, for various reasons. I’ve tried to go back to Him, I really have—I just can’t yet, I guess.

So… that’s the real me. Or, rather, one aspect of me I hide behind my daily mask. I’m an often-suicidal porn addict with various mental disorders, people. That’s the only way to put it. And I’m the last person most people would have expected to turn out this way. A lot of people call me things like ‘innocent’ or ‘sweet’, or tell me they see the light of Christ in me, or that they’re proud of me.

When I hear that, I want to scream or cry or hurt myself or something. Because nothing is further from the truth. Nothing. Then again, it’s what I wanted people to believe—the mask I wanted them to see as real.

Why did I write this? Because I needed to confess (I’m just now deciding to tell my mom, for goodness’ sake), and besides that, a few people I know who will read this—especially new friends, and old ones who have known me for a long time—deserve to know the truth. And now they do. I’m just… well, like I said above. Just an often-suicidal porn addict with various mental disorders.

I won’t fault anyone if they drop contact with me, so if you feel the need to, or your parents tell you to, then do so. I won’t get upset; I completely understand. And those of you who decide to stay in contact… I will never understand you people, but I can’t say that I’m disappointed that you did decide to stay.

Until next time,

Theodora Ashcraft

Goodbye To a Gentle Giant - Reminiscing (Part 1)

This is a series (probably just two parts, but it may end up as more) I'm writing solely to try to give myself a sense of closure over losing one of my favourite singers and a person I considered a friend.

George Donaldson - a gentle giant, Scottish singer, father, brother, and son - passed away March 12th. This post is me reminiscing about how I came to know of Celtic Thunder, and, through them, George. You don't have to read it, but I'm putting it up anyway for the few people I know would want to read it.

~*~*~*~*~

I first came across Celtic Thunder (and consequently, George Donaldson) in either late 2011 or early 2012. Up to date, 2012 was the hardest year of my life. I was looking for some Irish music in the CDs at the library, and I happened across a CD called, "Celtic Thunder: Act II". I looked at the front and saw several men on a stage, wearing kilts. I thought it looked interesting, so I took it home.

I was immediately hooked. The wide array of music captured my heart; all sorts of genres of music were meshed together. As I listened to more and more of the Celtic Thunder CDs, I found more and more genres - hymns were sang, original songs written by the singers, rock 'n' roll, pop, old ballads, country music, and, of course, traditional Irish music. And best of all, most - if not all - of the songs were clean.

In 2012, I had turned away from God. As a result, the only things keeping me from giving up on life were my friends... and Celtic Thunder.

Yes, I had other music, but it was full of depressing things, some of the songs had cursing in them... basically, most of what I listened to was horrid. But not Celtic Thunder. They sang songs that taught me determination ("Ireland's Call"), taught me about history ("Christmas 1915"), taught me about the love of fathers and children ("The Old Man" and "My Boy")... taught me a lot of things. And it kept me going.

Okay, skip ahead. In 2013, I met my mentor (though he wasn't my mentor right off, obviously) and new friends that were godly Christians, and I found my way back to God through them. But Celtic Thunder remained and remains a huge part of my life.

I love all of the members, past and present, for different reasons. When I first found the band, I probably talked more about the younger men of the group, obviously... I was a silly teenage girl with her priorities in a mess.

But George Donaldson always had a special place in my heart. He was the kindhearted one... the wise one... the fatherly one.

I don't have a good relationship with my own dad. So I tried to fill the dad-shaped space in my heart with other people; George was one of them. Listening to his interviews and watching him sing made me feel like he'd be a wonderful dad.

As I said, though, in 2013 I met several older, godly men, my mentor included. Now that I had father figures to look up to in my life, I no longer needed to cling to my daydreams of what it would be like to have George as my dad. But I still looked up to him; his generosity and kindness was inspiring.

In November of 2013, I was blessed enough to go on the Celtic Thunder Cruise. I never expected to get to know any of the band members... but to my joy, I met George not once, but three times. I talked to him a little more each time.

When I asked him for a photograph with me, he readily agreed. I was shaking; I had had a rough night before, and was homesick and anxious. George noticed. He has his arm around my shoulder in a side-hug, and when he felt me trembling, he tightened his hug reassuringly, smiling that smile of his - a warmhearted, sunshiney smile.

I thanked him, and left. I met him again later on, outside of a lounge. I said hello, and he started a conversation. We were headed the same way, and instead of trying to get away from me, a random fan, George walked with me and continued talking for a short while before we had to part ways.

Finding out about his death felt like a physical punch in the gut, and I'm still kind of in denial about it. The funeral services were held today, about a week after George passed away. I had gotten to know him through social networking and on the Cruise, and I felt like I had just had a friend taken away from me.

In a way, I have. He was one of the people who kept me going in 2012, and he was the one I looked up to as a father figure for so long. He was the one who helped me relax on the Cruise and feel less homesick.

I miss him so much more than words can say; I'm heartbroken, and I know that not many can understand why. You don't have to; just understand that I am.

This blog is actually sort of named after him - once, he was talking about something called 'Of Songs and Stories'. I loved the phrase, and used it as the name of my blog; 'of songs and stories' in Irish Gaelic.

George was a man with a huge heart, and that showed in everything he did and said. He is known among the Celtic Thunder fans as 'the gentle giant'; a big man who would have been intimidating, if not for his warm smile and gentle nature. He invested time in all of his fans, and when he was with his family, he spent every moment with them. His daughter Sarah was 'the light of his life'.

From my experiences, and from stories I've heard from others who have met and known George, he was a caring man. He was always smiling, and never passed up the chance to give people a hug and chat with them. And as he comforted me when he noticed I was shaking, there are several others who have had the same experience - they've been anxious or panicky about something, and George would comfort them until they were calmer, no matter what was going on or where he was. He was always gentle, humble, and considerate.

I hope someday to see him again. Until then, I won't ever forget him. And if you're reading this... remember to spend time with your loved ones and let them know you love them. You never know when God will take them Home... you never know whether you'll have the chance to say goodbye.

"He was with his family one night...
Times of love and laughter and light.
Heaven needed a new angel that day,
God called the gentle giant Home, and now he's gone away.

His heart was full of love
And no more could it hold
His heart took the wings of a dove
And flew Home to the streets of gold..."

God bless, all.

~ Theodora