Don't Say You've Been Where We Are

Okay, what a way to return to the blogosphere with a bang. But I keep hearing this and it makes me feel like crying, because it's so untrue.

You've probably missed a lot in my life if you don't follow me on Facebook, and possibly even if you do follow me there. Let's just say that I've finally come to terms with and embraced the fact that I am a member of the LGBTQA+ community. Which section of that community is irrelevant. What matters about that fact is that I have integrated myself in the community and know many people from it firsthand. I have many friends in the community, I have read first-hand accounts of things that happened in the community, and so on and so forth. I'm not speaking as an Ally, but as a member of the community.

That said, something people love to say lately regarding LGBTQA+ issues is - "I've been where you are." "I know exactly how you feel."

Things like that.

The catch? Unless they're very successfully closeted - for the purpose of this blog post, I am going to assume that every single person I've seen say that in the last month is straight and cisgender, and not just closeted - they aren't a part of the community. Some of these people aren't even technically Allies.

And that's the part that really upsets me.

You don't tell black people that you've 'been where they are' and 'totally understand your experience because once I--'. Why? Because you understand that as black people, they have a unique set of problems from your own and you couldn't possibly understand them.

Mind you, there are people who do try and tell black people that. And it is very widely frowned upon by most people. Because it's kind of obvious that you - if you are white - do not know where they've been due to the fact you are not a part of their community, which is a minority group in and of itself.

It is no different with the LGBTQA+ community.

You can't tell us you've been where we are, because you haven't.

Now, I want to address something someone else said recently that really bothered me as well. They more or less said that telling someone 'you have not been where we are' is ruining the argument people try to make about being loved and understood; they said that sympathising with others despite not having been in the situation is what you're supposed to do.

I agree, actually. But when you're saying you've been where someone else has, when they are part of a minority group, is not the same thing as sympathising with them. It's invalidating to their experiences. And what's even more of a no-no is telling someone "I've been where you are" and using that as an argument to explain why you think that person is being entitled, or whiny, or to tell them that since you got over your problems, then they should too.

That is not okay, and that is what I mean when I say you should never tell us you've been where we are. In those cases, you are trying to use that as a way to invalidate us, and that's not okay. You're trying to downplay the things we've been through, and that's not okay. And on another note, you can very easily sympathise - actually sympathise - with someone without telling them you've been where they are.

I have friends who disagree with my identity, and something you might be surprised to know is that despite disagreeing with me - they listen and they care. They don't agree with my identity, and yet they never bring it up. They are willing to listen to me vent my frustrations regarding that identity, and they don't once tell me I should stop being entitled or stop being who I am or that they totally know how I feel.

They simply listen, and they comfort, and they don't even bring up the fact they disagree.

And one more myth that often shows up in these discussions: "The LGBTQA+ community doesn't have it very bad. It's not like the slaves, who were beaten and forced to work..."

Okay, I don't think anyone in their right mind actually thinks the LGBTQA+ community has it as bad as the slaves. If you find someone who does think that, they are almost always either highly ignorant or a troll, and part of a very small minority.

And you can't use that as an excuse to say we don't have it that bad, or that we have it as good as, say, the Christian community.

That out of the way, here's the main point of the article.

If you have never been disowned or kicked out of your house for something you physically could not change, you have not been where we are.

If you have never walked down the street trying to get home as soon as possible because you know that there are people who want you dead for something you can't change, you have not been where we are.

If you have never been ostracized from your church or even your faith for something you can't change, you have not been where we are.

If you have never been physically beaten for something you can't change, you have not been where we are.

If you have never been treated as less than human for something you can't change, you have not been where we are.

If you have never been called 'monster', 'freak', 'Hellbound', 'demon-possessed' by people for something you can't change, you have not been where we are.

If you have never lost a friend due to the fact they were murdered by someone for being gay, you have not been where we are.

If you have never spent days unable to sleep because your best friend was beaten for being bisexual, you have not been where we are.

If you have never been told you aren't allowed to marry the person you love because you're different, you have not been where we are.

If you have never been fired from a job for something you can't change (that has no bearing on how well you do your job), you have not been where we are.

If you have never been banned from visiting a loved one in the hospital solely because you aren't recognised as legally related, you have not been where we are.

If you have never been denied medical attention because of how you identify, you have not been where we are.

If you have never lost nights of sleep because every time you close your eyes you have nightmares of being in Hell because someone told you that was where you were going to go, you have not been where we are.

If you have never had your children taken away from you (even though you never once abused them and loved them with all your heart) because of something you can't change, you have not been where we are.

If you have never found yourself living on the streets because your family refuses to let you live with them any longer, you have not been where we are.

You see, you have not been where we as a collective community are. Maybe you've suffered a few of these things. But there is no way you've been faced with all of them. And everyone in the LGBTQA+ community faces the prospect of these things happening, or has had them happen.

All of those things I listed are things I have either personally experienced, or things friends have experienced.

I am not making anything up. Those are real problems we in the community face, and if you are not a member of our community, you can't have been where we are.

Maybe you've had a bad life, and that is totally valid. I respect that you have, and I am 100% here to help comfort you or be there for you any way I can.

But I'm not going to say I've been where you are. Because I'm not you. I haven't been where you are.

The harsh truth is that if you are white, you cannot tell a black person that you know exactly what struggles they've faced. If you are straight, you can't tell someone who's gay that you've been through what they have. If you are cisgender, you can't tell someone who is transgender that you've been where they are.

You are approaching minorities and telling them you've been where they are solely so you can tell them to stop whining and being entitled.

And honestly... if fighting for the same rights as everyone else makes me egotistical or an entitled whiner, then I'm sorry, but I'm going to be whiny and entitled until the day I die.

~ Casey

Stay Gold

I know. It's been a long, long time since I last posted. Sorry for that. Life has been a madhouse lately, and I only just now got time to write a blog post. I still have one in the works, but it's one that will take a lot more planning, rather than the rambling that is this one.

Anyway, I'll just jump right in and say - stay gold.

That's a line from one of my all-time favourite books: The Outsiders, by S.E. Hinton. "Stay gold, Ponyboy."

Now, I'm sure that can be interpreted in many different ways. But for me, I always considered it to mean 'stay young'. 'Stay gold'. 'Keep the wonder and awe alive in your life, and don't let it die'.

I wanted to focus on the 'stay young' interpretation of that. Let me go on a (possibly lengthy) anecdote ramble here. Just bear with me. There is a point.

Sorry for the dramatic expression, but I haven't had many
photos taken since I turned 18. This is one of the few.

I'm 18 now. So technically, a legal adult.

I haven't had a bad childhood, per se, but it hasn't really been a normal childhood either. My mother ended up too ill to drive me and my brother to events or clubs or anything of the sort early on - I think I was about twelve.

You have to understand that we live in an isolated area, so we had no friends in our neighbourhood. When we stopped going to our homeschooler group, and stopped going to our swordfighting group more than once every few weeks, and stopped going to our writing co-op... we didn't have social interaction with anyone but each other very often. There were the occasional meet-ups with friends from further away, but that was it.

My brother and I stopped getting along shortly after my father lost his job. So that was around when I was nine and he was eight. So we didn't really interact with each other much either, without it ending up in a fight. Our interests drastically changed - I wanted to play games that required imagination, and he wanted a BB gun to shoot things with. Polar opposites as far as interests went.

So we were more or less on our own without friends for most of our childhood. We didn't get out much. Our first and last vacation was in 2003; the first time we've had a vacation since then was in 2013, which I paid for with my own money, every bit of it saved up over the course of a year. We didn't go to amusement parks, or fairs, or even many parties after we were in our preteens.

Now, this wasn't our fault, and it wasn't our mother's fault. We just didn't have money for outings after my father lost his job, and then my mother fell ill and couldn't physically drive us even places near here. And she was far too protective to let us go anywhere with someone else, such as a friend's parents.

But we didn't have a normal childhood. We didn't get to go on playdates much with friends, or go to parties with them for their birthdays, or go to fairs and amusement parks. We spent most of our time doing school, or keeping to ourselves.

When I got older - about 14 - I couldn't really have a normal teenagehood either. For one, I went into college classes (real ones; not high school classes in college, I was literally enrolled in college) when I was 15. I still had two grades of high school to finish as well (I skipped twelfth grade). On top of that, my mother needed my help, and she needed emotional support. Badly.

Long story short - she is anorexic, due to feeling worthless and other issues that I don't feel it is okay to disclose here. When her cat died, it felt - to her - like she had lost a child. She loved that cat so, so much.

My father wasn't there for her. Neither was my brother. She has no friends nearby. So I had to set aside my own sadness at losing a pet, and be her shoulder to cry on. I never let her see me cry, because it would make her feel guilty, and she would stop leaning on me. And that would lead to disaster.

When I was about 16, I found out the truth of just how bad her anorexia was. She weighed 88 pounds. I didn't even weigh that little when I was ten years old. She is an adult.

So my being her emotional support doubled, and I took it upon myself to make sure she was always eating. I stole the scale from her bathroom and buried it away where she couldn't find it. I made sure she felt appreciated whenever possible, and I listened to her vent, and let her cry on my shoulder.

Since then, I have been her sounding board and support. When she needs to rant to someone about life, she comes to me. We don't have money for her to go to a therapist - so I've more or less taken on that role.

Ignore the photos, they're just dividers to let you know
when my personal story ends and the blog starts
again.

And what I'm trying to say is... I grew up. Way too fast. I never had a normal childhood, and for now, I have no chance to have one at all. And God knows how much that hurts me sometimes.

Because I just want to be able to go back to the years when I was supposed to be carefree. And take advantage of those years. Because when you reach a certain point in life, you'll never get that feeling back.

Someday, when and if I ever move out, I'm going to try and stay young. I'm going to try and shake off all the social rules I've had drilled into me, and just live. If I want to dance in the rain, I'm going to. If I want to run down the streets laughing and trying to avoid running into people, I will. If I want to act like a child while I'm in my twenties, I'm going to. If I want to hang out with friends and have squirt gun fights, I will. If I want to host a party where everyone plays dress-up, I will. If I want to drop everything and go on a road trip, I will.

Because I never really got to. I was always very closely watched, and I never got to experience anything outside of my house. And I want to make up for all the lost time of my teenage years, where I spent all my energy doing homework and taking care of my mother and making sure my household didn't fall to pieces.

What I'm trying to say is... don't be in such a rush to grow up.

In fact, don't ever grow up. Don't stop playing around or goofing off or seeing wonder in things just because society tells you that you should.

Don't let work and school take you away from having fun. And I don't mean harmful things, like drugs and alcohol. That isn't fun or staying young. That's being foolish.

I'm saying just... don't let work and school consume all your time. You have one life on this one world. (I believe that there is another life after this one, but that's my belief.) Don't waste it on school and work.

People like to tell you, "Don't waste your life away, do something with your life!" when they catch you hanging out with friends or going on walks in the woods or watching a good film.

But it's the other way around, really.

There is a balance. Don't spend all your time running wild, but don't spend it all running yourself ragged with jobs and homework.

And if you're young... don't be in such a hurry to grow up. Don't lose the spark of imagination and awe you have as a kid.

You know how you see something new, and it takes your breath away? Something spectacular? Look here...

Looking at those photos of the trip I took for my birthday, which would you say I was more in awe over?

Most people would probably say the glacier lake and the mountains in the second photograph.

But I was just as awed over that as I was the beauty of the flowers and the brick wall. Maybe not as awed, but still very much in wonder over both.

I still have that spark because, well... I never got to see these sorts of things growing up. It's all new to me. But even if this stuff was old to me... I don't want to lose the child-like way my eyes light up and a grin graces my face when I see the smallest of things, from a dragonfly to a meadow of dandelions.

A lot of people lose that because they want to grow up. They want to get cars, and go to 'grown-up' parties, and be old enough to drink and smoke. Or there are people who just begrudgingly grow out of enjoying the little things because 'that's the way it is'.

It shouldn't be that way.

Just don't grow up completely. When Johnny told Ponyboy to 'stay gold' in The Outsiders, he was telling Ponyboy not to grow up and become what the others around them were. Bitter, world-weary, angry, and solemn young men who had to grow up too fast.

He wanted Ponyboy to continue to gaze at sunsets and ponder the world. He wanted Ponyboy to keep reading poetry, and writing stories, and not to grow into the steel-tough man that their friends had become.

And that's what I'm trying to say. Don't lose all of the innocence and wonder of being young. Don't stop enjoying the little things.

Because when you grow up, whether you did it on purpose or were forced to... things like that slip your mind. It's like everything resets itself into dull shades, professional shades, and life loses the bright, vivid colours that sparkled when you were a kid and everything was new.

You become a cynic, sometimes. I have. No fifteen-year-old should fall into the habit of seeing life as 'being born, going to school, going to college, working your head off, getting old, dying'. I did, and I do, and it's not right. No kid, no person ever, should end up having such a cynical view of life.

When I say to stay young - to stay gold - I mean don't let the joy, the wonder, the awe, the newness, the feeling of being carefree when you're a child fade away. Don't let the monotony of work and school drown you.

Take some time off. Do something fun.

Run through a meadow of wildflowers, go swimming in a river, climb a mountain, travel to another country, tease your friends, blast music at full volume while driving aimlessly down backroads, curl up in a blanket fort with all the junk food you want and watch a cheesy rom-com or a Disney film. Run and sing and dance and laugh and play.

The world is really so beautiful. Yeah, life's difficult sometimes. But beauty of the natural world can be created from fires, earthquakes, floods, blizzards...

Maybe when life is difficult, it's just a way of making you beautiful too.

You are alive, and the sun rises every morning. There are mountains to climb and rivers to cross and hilarious films to see - and so much more to explore and wonder over.

Don't let growing up rob you of those things. Don't be in such a hurry to grow up. Don't ever grow up completely. Just stay gold.

Stay young.

Heart Topics: Is Suicide Selfish?

Greetings to any and all who stumble upon this blog article.

This is the first in a series. "Heart Topics" are, in short, any blog posts I write on a topic close to my heart - animal rights, depression, LGBTQ rights, womens' rights, pro-life topics, the effects of porn, etc.

As you may be able to guess... these topics and some others are very personal to me. This means they can sometimes trigger negative memories and emotions, or at the very least, cause me considerable pain.

I tell you this so that you know - it takes great effort for me to write on such things. But I will write, for people need to hear about them. All I ask is that you treat any and all of my Heart Topics with respect when commenting on them.

Now that that is out of the way... we move on to my first Heart Topic.

Suicide. Or, rather, whether or not it is selfish.

As with most aspects of life, this is not black or white. There is no clear-cut answer: no 'yes, it is selfish' and no 'of course it isn't'. It is far, far more complex.

Do I believe suicide is selfish?

Well, I believe it is about as much as I believe all apples are rotten.

(Hint: that's not much.)

Just as not all apples are bad apples, not all suicide cases were because of selfish choices. In fact, eight out of ten people who commit suicide do so because of other people. Observe the following thoughts:

"Everyone will be better off without me."

"If I do this, my parents/spouse will have more money for debts and bills."

"At least now my failures in life won't upset Mom and make her cry."

"I won't be able to constantly upset my friends anymore. I could never help them anyway - like this, they have the ability to go find someone else, someone who can help them."

I can promise you that those thoughts and ones just like them are what goes through a person's mind when they consider suicide.

Why?

Because I have seriously considered it more than once. I've sent out the goodbye notes and had plans to end everything. I never did succeed.

But I can say with complete certainty that my thoughts were not centered on myself - some of them may have been, but the majority revolved around other people.

How much better their lives would be, how many things that would be set right when I was gone... always other people in my mind.

Was I correct? Probably not, on most counts.

I may have been wrong - but I was not being selfish. The definition of selfish is 'concerned excessively or exclusively with oneself'. Which I was not - I had a few thoughts for myself, of course; one of them being, "The pain will finally be gone". But the rest of my thoughts were excessively about other people.

That means that - if I had succeeded - my choice to commit suicide would not have been considered selfish by the dictionary definition of the word.

Neither would the suicides of any person who had felt and thought the same as I did in my situation.

If a soldier kills himself or allows himself to be killed for the greater good of his comrades and his country, he would be considered a hero for 'doing what he had to do for the sake of all'.

When a person ends their own life, often they are doing the same thing - trying to do what they feel is best for the greater good of those they know.

Are they correct? No. But the pain, the feeling of being lost and drowning, make it so that they believe that ending their life is the best thing to do. They are no more selfish than the soldier is - the only difference is that one's mind is clouded by pain, and they are believing something that isn't true.

It is not logical... but it is definitely not selfish either.

Now... can suicide be selfish in some cases? Yes. Sometimes, a person commits suicide and is only thinking of themselves. How to end their pain, why they deserve death, etc. I do admit that.

But I'm going to give anyone who immediately wants to announce to the world, "That was selfish and wrong!" a quick lesson in something called empathy.

I know how hard it is for those of you who have never been truly depressed to understand. Trust me, I do know. When you've never been that low, never been drowning in the dark and lost, unable to find a meaning to anything...

It is only too hard to understand how it feels and the motives behind what happened. Sometimes, it is impossible to figure out the exact motive.

That never - never - gives you cause to be callous and proclaim to anyone who will listen about how selfish and wrong and disgusting a person is for... simply trying to end the agony in the only way they knew how.

My mother's cat died from kidney disease. In her last weeks, she was in agony. Finally, my mother made the decision to euthanise her - to end her suffering instead of prolonging it.

Elderly folk in many places have a choice - if they are getting sicker, and in a lot of pain, they can ask to be 'put down' in a peaceful manner so that they no longer have to suffer.

Why, then, is it so much more 'selfish' and 'cowardly' for another sufferer to try to end the pain in the only way they can think of? Yes, it is wrong, but one who has been in their shoes cannot blame them for it. We can grieve, but knowing the pain they were in, it is impossible to condemn them for their choice.

They were only doing what animals and the elderly have a legal right to do. It isn't logical, yet it is nearly no different, but for the stigma around it.

Not only that, but you never know who might be reading your posts or listening in on your conversations at the store. A severely depressed person may come across something you said about the horrible wrongness of suicide.

The resulting emotions you give them may have disastrous effects.

When Robin Williams committed suicide, and I found out, I was heartbroken and devastated. I still am - I was crying over it the other day. He was the man who did everything for everyone else, and gave them joy... but was going through so much pain, he could never do the same for himself.

Someone on Facebook spoke harshly against the people mourning the loss of the bright soul who had lit up their lives for so long - implying that those who mourned him were foolish. In the comments, more people started to talk about how selfish a choice it had been, and how Robin Williams would surely end up in Hell.

I saw this. I took part in an attempt to explain things to them, as did several others who understood.

I have depression. It was so much worse at that point, because someone I had looked up to had been struggling for years with the same thoughts and feelings I did - and had, the night before, lost his battle with the agony.

And because those feelings of pain were so much more intense for me at such a time, the words those people spoke were a personal blow. I found myself, yet again, suicidal as well.

I wasn't planning on doing anything - 'being suicidal' means that one wishes to die, and may even entertain thoughts of it - but does not plan on going through with it. And I was wishing for death then.

Why? Because I felt like a disgusting human being - I struggled with depression, and I had so many times thought of suicide... and here, I was seeing implications that that made me a bad person, selfish, horrid, and that if I ever made such a mistake, I would end up in eternal damnation.

Do you know what that does to a hurting soul?

I wept the rest of the night, mainly for Robin, but also because of the pain I was going through.

The point I'm trying to make with that anecdote is... you must be empathetic. You must be loving. You must be gentle, and kind, and understanding.

Because you never know who might hear your words. You never know who might feel your words are validating how they already feel - worthless, horrid, and hopeless. You never know who might make the ultimate decision to end it too, solely because they feel from your words that it's true - they don't deserve life and they are horrible for having a medical condition they cannot change.

The bottom line is - even if suicide is done for selfish reasons, shouting it to the world and acting in such a way (without compassion and understanding), is very wrong. You will dig a knife into the wounds of people already hurting from the loss, and possibly cause pain to others.

When something like this happens, offer condolences and reach out to the family and friends who lost their loved one. Pray. Post comforting words.

Do not condemn or judge or make assumptions about how selfish the person was, when you do not know the whole story.

In conclusion to the question - is suicide selfish? - my answer is that it's complicated. It is not black and white. Sometimes people will commit suicide for themselves and not for the perceived good of others. (Most times, as I said, however, it is for the perceived good of others.)

Even if something does seem selfish, it may not be.

Even if it truly is, being callous and uncaring about the gravity of such a situation... is wrong.

And that's all I really have to say on the matter for now. I may write a follow-up in the future.

God bless,
~ Theodora Ashcraft

My 1800s-Style Dress Makes Me A Christian

That title sounds so ridiculous... bear with me here.

According to many, many people, your clothing and the way you wear your hair is what you believe. If you're a Christian, you have to be sharply dressed and completely covered at all times. If you're an atheist, you have tattoos all over your arms and wear lots of black. Basically, the clothing worn by men and women in, say, the 1800s was about as chaste and godly as one could get.

Didn't you know that in the Bible it says that if you wear formal clothes all the time, you're a Christian?

Oh wait...

Yeah, that isn't actually in the Bible. Sorry about that.

Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God...

~ John 1:12

"To all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name"... they became children of God. There are also numerous passages that say 'you must be born again'.

I could list many verses, but I'm willing to bet that most of my readers have 'what makes a Christian a Christian' verses memorised. If not, feel free to let me know in the comments and I'll provide some verses.

Nothing in the Bible says that what a person wears is what makes them a Christian.

I'm going to post quite a few photographs here now, of myself. They're being put here to make a point, so please bear with it. I don't typically like uploading more than one or two photos of myself in a blog post, but this time, it has a meaning. 

So, I look quite different in all of those photographs, yeah? Sometimes I'm wearing a skirt and a shirt, sometimes I'm wearing black leather and a beanie, sometimes I'm wearing a bandanna on my head and a cross pendant around my neck, sometimes I'm dressed like a pirate.

There is something that these outfits don't change. Do you know what that is?

Who I am on the inside doesn't change because I'm wearing something different. I am a Christian when I'm wearing a skirt and chilling out with Boba Fett. I'm a Christian when I'm masquerading as a pirate. I'm a Christian when I'm dressed all in black. I'm a Christian when I'm dressed as a necktie-and-trench-coat-wearing, blue-eyed angel. 

Why? Because my heart doesn't change when my outfit or my hairstyle does. 

I'm still me, regardless of what I'm wearing. Maybe the clothes I wear give me a boost of confidence, or make me feel less vulnerable. But overall, I am still the same person I was before I donned the fedora and the wrist bandannas.

Several people on Facebook a few weeks ago saw a photograph of two young men who were wearing grungey-looking clothing and had their hair styled into these fabulously crazy mohawks. Someone argued that there was no way they could be Christians, even after two others kept trying to explain to them that these two guys actually went to a church in their town quite often.

Every few days, I see people insisting that a person can't be a Christian because of the way they dress, or that a person must be an atheist because of the way they look.

It doesn't work like that anymore, guys. A modestly-dressed woman in a dress could just as much be an atheist, as the guy with the mohawk and tattoos could be a Christian. 

Stereotypes don't exist anymore. 

Christians are supposed to be sweet, kind, gentle, and loving people who never get in trouble. And yet I know quite a few very ugly-hearted, self-professed 'Christians' who love to cause trouble and hurt others. 

Atheists are supposed to be harsh and closed-minded, and yet I've met some quite well-mannered and often open-minded atheists in my time.

People of the LGBTQ community are made out to be rude, perverted, and disgusting monsters who have no manners. And yet, I have met and am close friends with young men and women who identify as gay or bi, and they are possibly some of the kindest, gentlest, and most polite people I've ever met. (Bonus stereotype - folks in the LGBTQ community are 'unable to be Christians', and yet 95% of the ones I know are, in fact, Christians.)

Stereotypes have been shattered, guys. Things aren't as clean-cut as you want to think. The heart is what matters to God. Not the clothing, not the hair; nothing like that. The tattoos, the mohawks, the leather... it's not what makes the person a Christian. It's their heart and soul that does.

Sometimes I want to chop all my hair off, and dye it in a vivid shade of green, or perhaps lavender, or maybe a mixture of orange and yellow and red. I want to style it into a mohawk, and wear bandannas on my wrists. I want to wear jackets and hats and jewelry of all kinds, and draw people and scrawl quotes onto my arms with ink pens. 

I would still be a Christian.

Sometimes I want to dye my hair in the colours of the rainbow and style it in an intricate braid, and wear a t-shirt proclaiming my stand for human rights boldly on the front.

I would still be a Christian.

Sometimes I want to don a leather jacket and jeans, pack a duffel bag, and run away from home to learn how to ride a motorcycle, and spend evenings riding towards the setting sun. I want to just keep riding and keep running and not stop til I find that elusive place that feels like a haven.

I would still be a Christian.

Sometimes I want to climb onto the rooftops of buildings wearing a pair of angel wings, white jeans, and an Irish sweater, and sit there with the sun against my face, smiling at anyone that walks past encouraging them or complimenting them.

I would still be a Christian.

Sometimes I want to get dressed up in a green-and-gold floor-length dress with a tulle skirt, blare Celtic reels out in the woods, and dance and sing without anyone there to laugh at me.

I would still be a Christian.

None of my hairstyles or outfits or even lifestyle choices can take away from me what God has given me - His love, His grace, and His forgiveness. I could dress in all black grunge-style clothing, get a lip piercing, cover my arms in tattoos, and style my hair into a purple mohawk... and I would still be His daughter. Perhaps I wouldn't be making the best of decisions in my style choices - but I would be breaking no laws and I would not automatically become an atheist.

I am me. Nothing I wear will change that.

And just because someone doesn't dress neatly and by your standards of modesty does not mean they can't be a Christian. Because what matters most is their heart... and even if you claim to be able to, you cannot see a person's heart as well as God can.

God bless,

Theodora Ashcraft

"Ask Me Anything", Vlog Ep. 1 - Advanced Intellectually?

And here is the first episode of my "Ask Me Anything" vLog! I hope you enjoy watching it. If you have any questions you'd like me to answer, leave them in the comments below or shoot me a message!

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

About Me

Lately, there seem to be several people that have problems with me, without bothering to consult me first or come to me with their thoughts, preferring to talk about them to other people. This appears to partially find roots in that people seem to be unclear as to who I really am and what I think.

I need an ‘about me’ page anyway; so here it is. I'm just putting it up as a post for now. This isn’t my past, like the Road To Reality challenges I took part in. This is me, now; who I am—now.

~~

I am a 16-year-old girl from Washington State. I live with my parents and my brother, along with eight cats.

I have been officially diagnosed with depression and Generalised Anxiety Disorder. After extensive research on Asperger’s Syndrome, I’m fairly certain I could also be on the mild side of the Aspie spectrum, as I have about 90% of the traits I found lists of online.

I am a writer who seeks to glorify her God in everything she writes.

I am Pro-Life. Every human, born or unborn, deserves the chance to live—no matter what.

I am an animal rights activist.

My primary love language is physical touch. If a person wants to show me they love me (as a friend, sister, or otherwise), the main way of doing so is touch. Give me hugs, ruffle my hair, pat me on the shoulder. That is how I will feel most loved, even if it’s only a typed or roleplayed gesture.

(A note. When someone shows me they care about me in this way, I feel happy, safe, and loved. That said, I don't condone physical touch in an impure way. Things like what I mentioned above - hugs and such - are okay, as long as everyone is respecting one another's boundaries and following the standards set forth by the Bible on such things. If one is actively breaking Biblical standards or disrespecting boundaries, then that is absolutely wrong and unacceptable. It's a tricky topic, and one that I plan on talking more in-depth about in a later blog article - what you can take away from here is that by 'physical touch', I mean the kind given only in complete purity and Biblical love towards family-members in Christ.)

My secondary love language is words of affirmation. If I’m doing a good job with something, or you care about me, or anything of the sort—tell me. Let me know what you like about me, what I’ve done right; anything of a kind and encouraging nature.

My personality type wavers between ENFP and INFP depending on my mood.

I love to laugh, and I love to make other people laugh or smile.

I love being given nicknames; every time someone gives me a special nickname, it makes me feel happy and cared about. So do people calling me things like 'dear' and 'sweetheart'. It makes me feel loved.

'Princess' is one of my favourite nicknames; I really appreciate it when people call me that, because it helps remind me that I am a princess; a princess of the King.

I have been betrayed and manipulated many times; as a result, I find it hard sometimes to trust people. Please do not take it personally; just understand that I need some time to work through the doubts still clinging to me from the past. And please be honest; give me a reason to trust you. Show me that I can trust you. “Trust is built after a long time; it can all shatter in a matter of seconds, with one small word or action. It will take even longer to build the trust back up again, if it ever can be built back up again at all.”

I deeply care for my family in Christ, and love them as much as my biological family.

I’m normally a mostly peaceful person who avoids confrontation…

… but if you hurt, insult, attack, slander, or upset one of my friends or family members, I will very rapidly change from the peacekeeper to the warrior. You can do what you like to me, and say what you like to me—I will rarely, if ever, confront you about it, and only go so far as to write a blog post such as this, addressing things in a roundabout manner.

But if I perceive someone as a source of pain towards someone I love, that is something I will not let stand. Nobody hurts my loved ones.

I have limits and breaking points, just the same as anyone else. Yes, I will take any insults, disrespect, or hatred aimed at me for a very long time without much complaint or confrontation. But sooner or later, if it shows no signs of stopping or I have been advised by my mentor or another trusted family member—I will cut the rope tethering me to such things.

I believe in dressing modestly, to glorify God and to help keep my brothers in Christ from stumbling.

I wear a purity ring; this means, quite simply, that I will stay pure until I am married. This also means that I will have certain boundaries I set forth regarding any potential suitor in the future.

If one day God blesses me with the opportunity of marriage, I will only court. For my own safety of heart, body, and soul, I will not engage in casual dating in which the couple is not kept accountable by their family, friends, the church, etc.

If a man decides to pursue me, he will have to go to my parents and ask their permission; after, he will be required to talk it over with my mentor—this is because my father hardly knows me, or what God says on such matters. My mentor (a godly man who strives for Christlikeness in all that he does) knows my struggles, my fears, and my emotions. He can apply Biblical standards where my father cannot. The bottom line is—a man will have to talk it over with my parents and my mentor for permission prior to courtship.

All that to say—I believe in courtship and purity, and I will hold myself to those standards.

I believe in the Word of God, and that His Word is divine.

I believe that Jesus Christ died for all our sins on the Cross.

I believe that God loves us all just the way we are; but that He loves us too much to let us stay that way, and encourages us to strive for Christlikeness.

I believe that I am only a sinner saved by the grace of my Lord. 
~~

If you cannot accept what I just wrote—you cannot and clearly will not accept me. What I wrote above is who I am; if you can’t respect these things, you cannot respect me. I do not ask you to agree with all of my beliefs. I simply ask you to understand that this is who I am, and if you are friends with me, you have to accept that these are my feelings, beliefs, and standards.

The Celtic Thunder Cruise 2013 - Day 7

(No pictures for this one. Sorry!

November 7^th, 2013
Home

Well, I’m back.

Today has been stressful, and not without its problems, but it has also been wonderful, in a bittersweet sort of way.

I was awakened by Mom. I was very tired, so I mostly just wanted to go back to bed. But then, almost as if she wanted to catch my attention (and she probably did), she said, “I saw the dancers out on deck when I went to get something to drink.”

Yeah, I sat up attentively then. :P Sneaky Mom. She immediately told me not to go pester them, and then started telling me the plans for the day—when we had to leave, how big of a breakfast we should eat, etc.

I told her I was going to go out on deck and get some hot chocolate one last time before helping her finish packing. She told me again not to pester the dancers, and I rolled my eyes, telling her I wasn’t planning on it.

When I walked out into the hall, I happened to glance over my shoulder just in time to see one of the dancers enter a room at the end of the hall. I think that it was their room; that was interesting to find out.

Anyway, I went and got my hot chocolate, sipping it while I walked back across the deck towards my room. The dancers were gone, but I didn’t really mind—I promise, the reason I had gone out really was to get the hot chocolate! :P

Later on, after packing up for the final time (and me eating a breakfast consisting of leftover croissants from previous breakfasts), I followed my brother and mom out to the deck so that they could get breakfast.

I wasn’t hungry, and my brother was in a very grouchy mood. So I told Mom that I was going to wander around the deck so I could get away from him. She again told me to stop looking for the dancers. I had to tell her I wasn’t. :P

I re-tied my shoelaces, and then remembered something I wanted to do—say goodbye to Soulman. I went over to Mom and told her I wanted to go to the casino again to make sure I hadn’t left anything there last night. Somehow, I just figured she wouldn’t let me go if I told her I wanted to say goodbye to him. XP I do plan on telling her why I really went down there; though, in my defense, I did want to make sure I hadn’t left anything too.

I made my way down, figuring I would have to write a note and give it to someone else; after all, I had only seen Soulman around in the evenings, and it was morning now.

To my surprise, though, he was around—but he was sitting down talking to someone on the phone. I furtively walked past, and after a few minutes of searching for paper, just walked up to one of the employees and asked if they knew where I could find some paper to write a note with.

She couldn’t find any, but after much searching, she finally found someone who could give me some spare paper, and then gave me a pen. I thanked them both, and then went to scrawl out the note.

It was a short note, basically just thanking him for being so friendly and for the fun time at the karaoke sessions. I also said again that he had a very good voice. XD Then I went to find him, intending to just hand him the note and then run back up to my room.

But by that time, he was off the phone. I handed it to him with a shy smile, explaining that I had just planned on leaving it for him, because he was busy and I didn’t want to waste his time. I stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to finish reading it.

Then he looked up with a smile and said, “Aw... thank you.” I smiled back, and said ‘you’re welcome’.

A second later, he placed the paper down and offered a hug. I was all too happy to oblige and hugged him back. Then he said, “I’m going to miss you.”

I was absolutely stunned in a touched sort of way, and thanked him, saying I would miss him too. He told me to take care of myself; I told him to do the same. Then I waved one last time and ran for my room.

Mom had a bone to pick with me when I got back. :P I had taken too long, and she was angry that I had almost made us late. I didn’t say anything; I just listened, hoping she would stop soon. And she did.

Anyway, then we got ready to go. After about a half-hour, we were disembarking the ship. The security guard checking our passes on the way out was none other than Sassy. It was nice to see him again before leaving, even though I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.

I wanted to take the stairs, because I hate both elevators and escalators... but the woman working there told me I was not allowed to take the stairs. I opted for the elevator, and stood to wait in line for it to come back.

When my turn came, I was stuck in a tight fit with two men, two women, and lots of luggage. Finally, I got down and ran to catch up with Mom. We made our way through the large building, outside, and to the place where the shuttle was waiting to pick us and other passengers up.

We had to wait in the shuttle for almost a half-hour; there were more passengers slowwwwly making their way towards us.

That was when Mom realized that we had more than likely forgotten my hat. She didn’t remember packing it, and the last I had seen of it, it was hanging on a hook by the bathroom door in our stateroom on the ship.

So we argued in quiet voices about that for a while. She accused me of forgetting it because I was going ‘crazy over boys’, which wasn’t true in the slightest—I forgot it because she had told me so many times in the beginning of the trip to stop wearing the hat, I had put it on my bed and forgotten about it by accident.

She finally dropped the subject, and I turned my MP3 player on so I could sit there and enter my dreamworld; and basically just ignore the chattering people slowly filling the bus up.

Finally, we left. We drove for about another half-hour before reaching the airport terminal where we needed to get off. Mom hurried in; she wanted to call Dad before he went to work, because she had attempted to get us an earlier flight back, and if she still had those earlier flights, he would need to know the change.

When we entered the airport, we were told by the man at the check-in desk that we had to pay $50 apiece to switch planes—whereas the woman on the phone that Mom had talked to had said it was free. Mom refused, and so we had to sit in the airport and wait for five hours for our plane.

There was, thankfully, free WiFi, which is where I spent most of my time. I figured out how to rotate videos, and did so to the video my mom took of me dancing. She had wanted to get a full view, so she had tilted the camera sideways. :P Luckily, I could rotate it so only the first few seconds were upside down.

Our plane arrived at about 1:30pm, and we boarded. Then... not much happened. I watched videos on my laptop for a bit, then listened to music on my MP3 player until we reached Atlanta. XD It was only a two-hour flight.

Then we were stuck in Atlanta for nearly three hours waiting for our next flight. :P I tried to charge my laptop, but since it’s old, sometimes it doesn’t work—and it just had to do it this time. The plug will be plugged in, but it won’t charge. As a matter of fact, it’s doing it again now...

Anyway, I sat next to this woman and worked on a journal entry or skimmed through videos I had filmed on the trip until Mom told us it was time to get up and walk around before we had to sit in a plane for four hours (that’s what she thought though; we ended up flying for over six hours).

When we finally got to our aisle on the plane, I realized something very scary—my seat was apart from hers, and, as it turns out, Larry’s as well. My seat was 24B; on the left side of a man who had already sat down.

Mom argued with me for a few minutes, trying to tell me I was wrong before looking at the tickets herself and realizing I was right. She said, “Wait, so... that’s 24B?” She looked at the seat next to the guy.

The man spoke up and said that it was. Mom looked at me and asked where I was going to put my luggage (I had one lunch bag and one larger case). I said I had thought I was going to put it under my seat (that’s what she had told me to do earlier).

At the same time as she told me it didn’t look like it would fit, the man spoke up and said, “Mm... I don’t think it’s gonna fit, sweetheart.”

The knot of nerves in my stomach untangled a bit as the pet name ‘sweetheart’ reminded me of a few friends of mine and calmed me down. Mom helped me get my laptop out of the bag, and then the man stood up and let me pass him to sit down in the seat beside him.

I glanced at the seat near the window, the last seat in our three-seat aisle. I got a little anxious, worrying about whose seat it might end up being.

A few minutes later, a man with short red hair, younger than the one already next to me, stopped and told us that the seat on my left side was his.

The nerves came back as I stood up along with Jeff (I found out that was the first man’s name) to let Micah (the new guy) come through and sit in his seat. Jeff was very nice and helped put Micah’s luggage up in the overhead compartment before sitting down again.

At first, I sat very stiffly with my laptop in my lap, trying not to jostle either of them. I have a tendency to fidget or accidentally lose balance and knock into people. As a result of staying stock-still and tense, my muscles started to ache. :P

But then I figured I should try to strike up conversation—after all, I’d be sitting here for hours and I couldn’t just stare straight ahead as still as possible. I glanced to my right and noticed that Jeff was reading something on his Kindle; it was a Bible. Then he switched books to one that sounded, from what I could see of it, like a how-to book on writing.

So I gathered up my courage and asked, “So, are you a writer?” He looked quizzically at me, and I nodded at the book open on his Kindle screen.

He realized what I meant and said that he wasn’t, not really, though he liked to write. We talked about writing for a while, and favorite writers; he showed me on his computer a Kindle book that he had self-published. I told him about the books I have on Amazon, and he later on used the internet to check Of Whispers and Wanderings out.

We talked about homeschooling for a while, and what I was doing in school. He told me about a website—www.visionforum.com. He showed that to me later on as well.

I found out that he is married and has two daughters, the youngest being fifteen. We then talked about churches for a while; sometime after this, we fell silent and he started to read.

I didn’t want to waste battery on my MP3 player (it hadn’t charged completely, and I had no idea how much battery it had left), and my laptop only had about ten minutes worth of power left, so I just sort of sat there and drifted off into my dreamworld.

After a while, I turned my MP3 player on and listened to music. I kept drifting into that weird world between worlds, where you’re not awake but you’re not quite asleep yet either. At some point, Jeff and I had to get up to let Micah out to go get something.

I was half-asleep when Micah returned, and so he had to tap me on the arm to rouse me. I apologized about twice, and hurried to get out of the way so that he could squeeze through the very narrow aisle and into his seat.

We returned to our places yet again, and I continued listening to music. At some point, Jeff said something to me. I had to pause my MP3 player and ask him to repeat himself. I don’t think he ever did; he just said, “Oh, sorry. What are you listening to?” I said I wasn’t really listening to anything important, I was just half-asleep.

He showed me the visionforum.com website, showing me a few of the products they sell (they’re basically a Christian version of Amazon) before going back to reading his emails. I went back to staring into space, dozing off and waking up again.

At some point... I fell asleep again. I woke up a little while later and realized I was very close to Jeff’s shoulder, almost like I had been about to fall asleep on top of him. :P I apologized and said something like, “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t fall asleep on top of you earlier and make you mess up what you were working on.” (He was doing some work on his laptop.) He smiled and said I hadn’t.

Later on, I fell asleep once again. And when I woke up, my head was resting on Micah’s shoulder.

I sat bolt upright, feeling my face go warm. I was about to apologize, before I realized he seemed to be asleep. I didn’t want to wake him, so decided to wait until later to apologize.

I got on my laptop for the seven minutes I could before it died. :P I watched one video, and wrote about three sentences of a journal entry. Then I had to shut it off. I sat there for a while longer, staring into space and listening to music.

Then I leaned forward and rested my head on the back of my mom’s seat (she was sitting in front of me) in an attempt to get more comfortable. I failed, and when I sat back again, Jeff asked, “You alright?” I smiled a bit and said I was fine; just very tired.

He told me I could move my seat back, but I shook my head, saying my brother was behind me and he would get annoyed if I did that, because he has long legs that would get cramped if I put the seat back. Jeff joked, “Well, it’s just your brother.” I giggled, but didn’t put the seat back.

Mom reached back and gave me a chocolate chip granola bar, since I was hungry. She had asked me if I wanted one, and I said yes, telling her I didn’t feel so good and it might make me feel better (my stomach was all achey, and my eyelids were heavy because I was so tired).

The stewardess came by a bit later and asked us three (Jeff, Micah, and I) if we wanted water. Just me and Micah said yes, and she gave us small plastic cups of ice water.

Jeff asked if he could borrow mine, adding quickly, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to drink it.” I laughed and said he could; I had already noticed the case for his contact lenses out on the fold-out table, and assumed he needed a bit of water to clean the lenses. Sure enough, he carefully poured a tiny amount of water into the plastic case, and handed the cup back to me, saying ‘thanks’. I said ‘you’re welcome’.

By this time, we were about four hours into the flight, with two hours more to go. I listened to more music again, drifting off every so often before being woken up.

I fell asleep yet again... and woke up at some point. I was still half-asleep, and had forgotten where I was. I knew I was asleep on someone’s shoulder, but I was still in my dreamworld and since falling asleep on people’s shoulders is a common occurance in my dreamworld, I thought nothing of it. I vaguely remember feeling the person whose shoulder I was resting on shift, murmur something, and then chuckle quietly. My guess is that Jeff woke up (he had fallen asleep, I think), noticed I was there, and then laughed a bit. :P

I drifted off again a few minutes later, completely oblivious. The next thing I know, someone has their arm around my shoulder and is shaking me awake, saying quietly, “Come on, time to wake up.” (See, the plane was beginning to descend; that doesn’t mean landing though, it still didn’t land for another good hour. :P)

I blinked drowsily, sat up... and realized I was in a plane, and had just been sleeping with my head resting on Jeff’s shoulder. I mentally facepalmed and apologized, mortified. He smiled and said it was perfectly fine.

For the remainder of the flight, I managed to stay awake, although I was yawning quite a lot. Micah was awake now and watching out the window.

Mom came down the small corridor that ran through the center of all the aisles. She was walking around; if she sits still for too long, her legs go numb and she has to move around. She asked me if I wanted something else to eat, and I shook my head, blinking. She asked if I was okay, and I nodded, mumbling, “Just tired.”

The rest of the flight passed uneventfully. Right before we landed, I retrieved a napkin the stewardess had given me, and asked Mom for a pen. She took one from her purse and handed it back to me.

When I finally got up the courage to talk, I did—I asked Jeff if he could give me the URL to his blog so I could look it up. Just then, the plane landed and it got loud, so I couldn’t hear him. I handed him the napkin and the pen, asking him if he could please write it. He kindly obliged, also giving me the URL to his daughter’s blog.

Then the plane stopped. We had to wait a little longer before unbuckling our seatbelts, so Jeff took the time to go to his daughter’s blog and show it to me. It’s an art blog; she is a very talented artist.

He put it away and started packing his stuff up. Then he stood in the aisle to help nearby people retrieve their bags.

I glanced over at Micah, smiled a bit, and offered my hand, saying it had been nice to meet him. He smiled back, shook my hand, and said it had been nice to meet me too. I apologized for falling asleep on his shoulder earlier, and he laughed quietly and said it hadn’t been a problem.

Me being me, having spent six hours next to these two guys on a small plane... had made me get a little bit attached already. :P Not in a strange way; anyone who knows me well knows I start liking people very easily, and if I’m with someone for six hours straight, even if I just met them... I begin to feel like I’ve known them for much longer, and consider them friends.

So that was tough. :P I wanted to hug Micah, but I didn’t know how he would react. Since Jeff has two daughters, I figured his reaction would probably not be too extreme. So, just before he left the plane, I gave him a hug and said it had been nice meeting him. He set one of his bags down so he could return my hug, saying, “Aww, thanks. It was nice meeting you too. And hey—I’m gonna buy your book.”

I giggled, smiled, thanked him, and waved as he left the plane. Then I retrieved my luggage, and followed Mom and Larry outside.

I have never been so happy to feel the cold Washington air. Yes, I had fun, but, as a song that Colm Keegan likes to sing goes... “I’ve had my run/Baby, I’m done/I gotta go home.”

I was happy to be back home. As we made our way through the terminals towards the exit, we passed by Jeff. I didn’t say anything; he had places to be, and so did I. My mom, brother, and I ran outside, searched frantically for our car, and spotted it.

As I climbed in and settled down with my Matthew West CD, Into The Light, I felt... strange. Like, yes, it had come full circle... but something was missing. (And no, I don’t mean my hat, though yes, that is missing as well. :P)

I was doing the same exact thing I had a week ago—sitting in a car while my dad drives us through the dark, listening to the same songs, wearing the same things... and yet...

(Added note: If you don’t want to hear a lot of ramblings about my thoughts and emotions, I suggest you stop reading here. :P)

Well, when I left home, I was terrified. At the hotel, panicking and crying, I was certain that I was going to have a positively horrible time and regretted ever having planned this trip. Several of you had to witness my self-dislike episodes at that time, while I talked to you through free WiFi.

But as I rode in the car towards home, I realized I wouldn’t change anything that happened for the world.

Despite my worries, despite my fears, my homesickness, my doubtfulness... I had a lot of fun. I made unlikely friends with people of all sorts. And I learned things I didn’t know before.

First, I’m going to list all of the people I met, and all the countries and states they’re from. The ones I consider myself friends with will be in italics. Ready? Here we go.

Olaotse – South Africa
Cindy – South Africa
Cara – United Kingdom
Adriana – Mexico
Ciaran – Ireland
Keith – Ireland
Colm K. – Ireland
Samuel – Jamaica
Sakda – Thailand
Ryan – Ireland
George – Scotland
Aoife – Ireland
Tadhg – Ireland
Colm P. – Ireland
Conal – Philadelphia, U.S.A.
James – Ireland
Áine – Ireland
Rachel – Ireland
Soulman – Philippines
Kris – California, U.S.A.
Lauren – Washington, U.S.A.
Hayley-Jo – Ireland
Belinda – Ireland
Sammi – Philadelphia, U.S.A.
Damian – Colorado, U.S.A.
Jeff – Washington, U.S.A.

And those are only the ones whose names I knew—there was another man from Ireland, whom I considered a friend by the end of the cruise, but didn’t catch his name. There was a woman from Maine, who wasn’t quite a friend but whom I talked to for quite a while. There was the waitress, Ida, from the dining room—I never found out where she lived, but considered her a friend. There was another waiter whose name and homeplace I never caught but considered a friend...

Then there was Micah, who I don’t quite consider a friend, but I did meet him—as far as I know, he lives in Washington as well. There was also Kyle, the sweet boy with Down Syndrome, whom I also consider a friend, even though I don’t know where he lives.

Do you see what I mean? I met people from all walks of life, and my mom talked to people from Australia and Canada too. I forged friendships that lasted too short a time for my liking, but that I will always remember.

I did things on this trip I never thought I would ever do.

Think about it. I danced not once but twice with a guy from across the ocean. I actively approached people and struck up conversations with them. Some things were as simple as being even more polite than usual, and striking up conversations with employees rather than avoiding them, head down, as I usually do in stores; trying to be as friendly to the ship’s employees as possible, and helping them out as much as I could. Other things were as complicated as singing karaoke. I sang karaoke—me, the kid who hates her own voice!

I flew across the United States, boarded a moving ship for the first time in my life, visited islands that are technically part of other countries, talked to someone only to find out they homeschooled their girls and was a Christian who liked to write... things I’ve never done before.

I learned things too.

I learned to take chances, that the benefits will most likely be better than whatever problems arise—if I had stayed my shy self, I would have missed out on autographs, friendships, dancing, videos, photographs...

I learned that people aren’t always what they seem. Quiet people or solemn people might end up being the friendliest (as was the case with Jeff), and friendly people might end up being a little less than how you imagined them (as was the case with Sammi).

I learned that it’s very hard to sing and dance. XD

But I also learned that dancing is easier when your partner is extremely talented at it. *grins*

I learned that not everyone is going to make fun of me if I fail at things I try—no one laughed or teased when I danced, or when I sang karaoke. They may have realized I wasn’t any good, but they didn’t mind, because we were all having fun.

I learned that I can withstand exhaustion easier than I thought. You’re looking at someone who probably got about seven hours of sleep total during the first four days of the trip, and only about five hours a night after that. XD

I also learned that it is quite possible to love many people, and be homesick for more than one place at once.

I’m also learning that it is quite possible to be happy and sad at the same time—particularly when you’re happy to be back with your family again, but also sad because you’re missing people you might never see again.

All in all... it was a wonderful trip, and I’m glad to be home, but I also miss the friends I made.

My emotions are still all in knots, but I know I’ll figure out in the end. For now, I have to get back into the rhythm of typical life; schoolwork, chores, normalcy, and all.

I hope you enjoyed hearing about my trip, and seeing the photos and videos. :) Leave comments and tell me what you think, or ask questions; I’d love to chat!

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6