Before and After

My life has taken a turn for the positive. This isn't anything new. Because of bipolar I dip pretty low in the winter, and with spring I find myself fighting a little hypomania. Despite all the negative effects of hypomania, one of the better side effects is feeling productive. Granted, it always comes a little too late to be useful for school. But it gives me extremely narrow focus and a burst of energy to undertake and complete big projects. I've always been a girl with big dreams, and now I know exactly what that means. It means my huge wave of creativity and drive that hits me this time of year would fill my mind with new projects to start, and right around the time they should have come to fruition, I would hit a big, black block of depression. I would lose all the energy and passion that had once driven the idea with such force. I would convince myself my idea had been a bad one. It could have never been accomplished. But I know better now. I know I'm a little hypo right now. There's not a whole lot I can do about it, except to utilize it while I can.

I'm eating a vegan diet. The food is healthier, delicious, and I've really been proud of myself learning how to cook. Every meal I create feels like an accomplishment when two months ago I was still known as the girl who mistook 3 teaspoons for 3 cups of baking soda and accidentally bought 10 pounds of cous cous. I'm learning. Every new recipe I try is an opportunity to make a mistake, or try something new and fall in love with it. It's an experimental process and honestly fun. I feel like I'm doing something good for my body. And I know I'm doing good things for the environment, animals, and the world. I've found that changing your dietary habits is easier when you feel like someone's counting on you. And I've dedicated this lifestyle to so many causes that I can't possibly let any of them down. In Terre Haute it's nearly impossible to eat unhealthily as a vegan unless I eat nothing but Oreos. And let's be real, not even my sweet tooth could handle that.

I've started running. I began because I wanted to challenge the myth that vegans are weak and unhealthy. I want to be a runner. I'm never going to be an olympic runner, or even the person who wins a race, but I want to run like I mean it. Running is a kind of freedom. I tell myself I can't do it, and when I run down my country road, I tell myself about three times I'm going to quit and I never do. It's so fucking inspiring to prove yourself wrong. I haven't really implemented any other workouts yet, but I'd like to do some yoga to improve my flexibility for dance and to practice meditation which I hope may help center me when I'm feeling manic. I also find a lot of satisfaction in work out classes. What classes will I take? Well. None this summer because I have zero opportunity between camp, Europe, and vacation to take any exercise classes. But it's good to remember for when I begin to struggle again in the winter. But for now, I will keep running. Every day I will at least run a mile and walk a mile. No exceptions. When I get my Vegetarian/Vegan Student Fellowship up and running, I want to enter races together to make a point. We are healthy. We are strong. And I can't promote that truth unless I'm living it.

But here's the kicker folks: You can't be healthy unless you love yourself. A lot of people lose a lot of weight driven by self-loathing. This is true. But being skinny won't make you love yourself forever. After a while that negativity will come back to haunt you. You have to love yourself (your body is a pretty important part of you, by the way) before you can try to make that body healthy. You can't look after something you hate. You have to nourish your body and work your body because you love it so much that you want it to be strong. Loving yourself is just as much a part of overall health as looking fit. You have to sort out what's inside first.

So I take some issue with before and after pictures. The before pictures are always heart-breaking. The faces on those people reflect the self-hate that has driven them to this transformation. The after pictures display skinny or muscular bodies and smiling faces. The women have put on makeup and fixed their hair. The men pose, proudly showing off their new built bodies. But I know that they aren't happy--not really. Because when the high of pride has settled, they will be left with the same person inside that they began with. Self-love isn't earned by being skinny. So. I decided to do a before and after picture. But I'm smiling in my picture. I love my body as it is, but I've decided to start taking care of it, and I want to record the progress, because I'm proud of myself, as I should be. So here I am, right now, as I truly stand. I have fat, but I'm not fat. My size does not define me.

I'm not trying to lose weight. I'm just on a mission to prove to myself and the world that I love myself. What's your mission? What helps you get up early for that run or eat better? Let me know in the comments. :)

Peace.

Compassion is Revolution

I love stickers. I love bumper stickers, laptop stickers, stars for good grades, decals... ALL the stickers. This summer I bought several stickers to put on my laptop. One of them says "Compassion is Revolution." I liked it at the time because I really like the word compassion. It's under-utilized, I think. It is a pretty-sounding word, and its relative connotations give me a warm feeling. Compassion. It's great. But the sticker didn't mean much more to me than that word. I was happy with that word and hadn't really put meaningful thought into is revolution.

But wow is that a powerful statement.

The other day my professor saw it on my laptop in class and said she liked it. As is expected, when someone draws attention to something, you see it again when your eyes had become too accustomed to its presence. And so I looked at it, smiled at her, and said thank you. I began to think about those words, because a part of me was very interested in what had drawn her attention to it. Perhaps she too has a bit of an attachment to the word compassion. Or maybe she had really considered the whole body of the sentence. So I decided the latter was probably more accurate because, really?, she is a nazi grader and the woman misses nothing.

So I felt the need to reevaluate that yellow and purple sticker. Compassion is Revolution. I wanted to know what exactly that meant to me.

At first I thought of a pay-it-forward kind of response, but somehow that felt too obvious and novel to be right. So I reconsidered my interpretation. What I decided on was this: Compassion is more than an individual act. Compassion is not just being kind to someone when you know they're struggling. Compassion is being a whole person who is in touch with their inter-connectedness with the world. Compassion is feeling pain because someone--anyone--else is suffering. Compassion is knowing a person's crimes and loving them without condition. Compassion is pain and it is joy. It is the pain of accepting the evils of the world. It is the joy of feeling connected to all other beings. It's a comfort. Each of us is compassionate, but not each of us is in touch without our compassion or ready to act upon it for whatever reason. The inability to express compassion is a sickness.

Enlightenment is a kind of revolution. When I make a lifestyle change, I have called for revolution within my own self as an individual. But if each of us is connected. If we are a greater being as residents of this big, blue planet... then that revolution within me is a revolution within all. Now, when I first had that thought, I was quick to correct myself. Just because I have done something kind does not mean that someone else will choose not to rape or murder or assault. I am smart enough to know that a single action does not save the world, no matter how we wish it would. But then I chose a different angle. When I commit an act of kindness, I am acknowledging that I have that capacity. That is the revolution.

Compassion is revolution only when you become aware that it is. You are revolutionizing yourself, which in turn creates a tiny revolution in this greater world. Each act of compassion will affect someone new. And if, now that we've dug a litter deeper, you would like to implement pay-it-forward into the theory, feel free. Feel free to do so, loves. Because honestly, there isn't much hope in the statement as I have perceived it. It is more of a demand or expectation than a soft statement. Revolution is personal, but our interconnectedness means it matters to the whole world. Perhaps for every door I hold or smile I wear, I will spur revolution within someone else. There is hope in that. There is hope in thinking that we can fix the world with individual acts of compassion. I'm not sure I really believe that. There will always be evil. There will always be debilitating pain that sickens a person and creates evil within their heart. Always always. But there will always be goodness in the world if we can find it within ourselves. It is our human responsibility to revolutionize our hearts to compassion.

Bring us Your Kids: I Believe in Summer Camp

I've had camp on the mind lately. I'm so pumped for the summer. I realized last night as I was falling asleep that I have a whole life to live before I can get sick on those familiar winding roads. I'll have finished the other half of this semester. I'll have sung in my concert and danced in the showcase. I'll have been to Paris and Berlin and back. I pictured myself doing all these things and I felt very alone. At ACA Midstates Conference I heard the term "nature deficit disorder" for the first time. I need to slow down. This is traditionally a really hard time of year for me. As some of you will recall, this time last year this blog was formed. I left behind Tbird's Train with all it's secrecy and darkness because I wanted a fresh start. I think thus far I've done significantly better. But this long winter weighs heavy on my soul. So many good things can happen to me before the summer comes, bringing the energy and community of Waycross with it. But I only see these days as an obstacle. Am I excited for the other things? Of course. I cannot wait to see Berlin again and to visit Paris for the first time. I love performing, and I'm excited for my shows. But... my heart is in a hammock strung between two trees outside a little red cabin. So, what can I do about it? I'm just going to have to tie the two together--camp and life.

When I come back from camp, I try to organize my life to look just like camp. Partly I'm holding on with desperate, sweaty fingers to the life I'm leaving behind, but partly I recognize the logic in a camp lifestyle. My bipolar mind requires structure. I need time for excitement and time for reflection. I need time for bonding and time for introspection. I need to get in touch with nature, and to turn off anything that requires a battery for just a while. I need breath. Simple. In. Out. When I come home from camp, I make myself a schedule as detailed, but not as dynamic and colorful as the ones I make for my campers. I hang my whistle by my door on a hook. I see it every time I enter or exit my room. It serves as a reminder. I am accepted--respected somewhere. And I'll be back soon. I want to recreate camp at school. Of course that isn't possible. Camp is a safe place. Someone got raped in the parking lot I always end up stuck in at 2:00 am on a Thursday night. Right? Camp is its own world. But at that conference I had another thought. Camp isn't a vacation. Camp isn't some trip you go on to get away from everything. In essence, you do, but not in the way we traditionally picture vacation. Camp strips away all the shit of everyday life to really give you the freedom to dig deep. Sure, it's fun. But who says self-discovery can't be fun? And if you dig really, really deep you may pull something to the surface. Maybe that something you find can change you on such a basic level, that when you leave that sacred place, you keep that thing--whatever it is.

We do a really incredible thing at camp. We give kids an opportunity unique to a camp setting in which to find themselves. Kids don't go outside anymore. They're far too entertained by what's inside. They're so overstimulated that they have learned to easily escape themselves. We let them push those things they hate within themselves to the very, very back of their minds. I say bring that shit up. Because there is nothing within a child that can make them unlovable. It's our job to show them that.  We teach kids to love themselves. I hate when people say, "how can other people love you if you don't love yourself?" Well. Fuck you, too. Not everyone has their shit together. Most of us don't. But everyone is worthy of love and compassion. That kid that is struggling the most--they're the one that needs love. For some people it just works the other way around. A kid needs to be loved before they know it's okay to love themselves. I will love the shit out of those kids

I will love the shit out of you.

Anyway. Here comes that wrap-up you've grown to know and love: Camp is a big fucking deal to me. And it should be to you too. Sending your kids to camp shouldn't be a matter of "if," but of "how." In an age of immediate satisfaction, depravity of nature, and real anxiety in children, one week of play, of meditation, and of unconditional love is golden and unseen. Bring us your kids. Because I believe that we can make a difference. I've seen it within myself. I've seen it within my campers. I believe in summer camp.

Day 1 "He punched the highlights out of her HAIR!"

Thus far, veganism is both harder and easier than I thought. It's difficult because animal by-products are in EVERYTHING. EVERYONE tests on animals. And for the first time in my life, I'm reading the label of everything I eat. It's easy because it rests well on my soul. I have no guilt. The changes to my diet are only helping my own health, the environment, animals, and my conscience. I always hated dieting because being fit was not quite enough of a motivator. But the ethical treatment of animals is pretty important to me. I don't mind going out of my way to read a label or give away a granola bar (you'll see) if it's going to make a difference in my life. For the first time I'm entirely conscious of what I'm eating. Not just the caloric content (although that's a side-effect of all this research) but of hormones and chemicals used and the way we treat animals. Every time I eat I feel better about my decision. It's not that hard. I can't unsee the images I've seen. But it's not quite the same. I've been exposed to those images before, but I was neutralized to them--the were just the way things are. But looking at them as a whole person, including my compassion and sense of reason (something we all have), I cannot resolve it within myself to be any part of that kind of abuse. Now. What will I do after these forty days? I'm not positive yet. Right now I'm thinking about a stricter vegetarian diet with a few vegan months of the year. But for right now, I got this. Plus. Vegans have superpowers. Says so in a movie.

"Vegans are just better than most people."

My next promise, to exercise every day has started off strong. I had PE which kind of kicked my butt anyway and then skipped to the gym to keep working out. I owe it to myself. In PE we did Jillian Michaels's workout DVD. Ripped in 30 days. Well here's the thing. It depends on where you're starting if you'll actually be ripped in 30 days. Like. I don't think I'm gonna look like the girls on that screen by the time Lent ends... but progress will be made. The video was great. It was possible but challenging. I'll go as far as to suggest it. I left PE feeling better than I went in, and practically floated to the gym. I met Shannon there. I did 100 sit ups on the sit up bench. Comparing that to my high school records (400 crunches), it felt kind of weak. I needed a little Eminem in my life amIright? Anywho. After that I moved on to weight machines, mostly for arms, shoulders, and abs. Then I rode the stationary bike for 3 miles. I put it on an aerobic circuit which SUCKED but was AWESOME. Come here and feel my legs. Do it.

All of these dudes started Ripped in 30 Days 30 days ago.

Last promise was to journal every day. Here's what I had in my journal:
Today, for myself, I will start off strong on all my challenges.
Today, for someone else, I will add onto that panhellenic valentine. I saw huge bags and boxes of chocolate, and I made a measly card. So I took in a little something extra.
Today I'm excited for new changes!
*Today I'm mostly worried about messing up everything I said earlier.

Today I'm thankful for all the people giving me support, advice, and encouragement.

FOODS! I know you want to know what I've been eating all day. It's all you thought about all day long when you were enjoying bacon and burgers. :P Here it is:

Breakfast: I went to LQ on The Run. There weren't many options there. I couldn't think of much. And the bananas were like 70s bathtub pea green. So I got a grape fruit. I've never actually just eaten grape fruit just to eat it before. But it wasn't bad. I also had a small cup of granola with raisins. (Yeah. I'd have appreciated a bigger cup, but it was only there to supplement the yogurt I don't eat.) And apple juice. Good ole' 100% juice. It wasn't the best vegan breakfast, but it was a start. I'm going to work on incorporating some soy and water oatmeal, vegan breakfast bars, and seeds.

Lunch: I went to lunch with Grandma and a man from the foundation. I was in sweats because I'd just finished a PE class and directly after this lunch would attend another. But we went to a fancy new spot in the Commons now. I can dig. There was a buffet, but ingredients and nutritional information were above each dish. I had water and lemon to drink, and vegetable soup made with vegetable broth. I had a big leafy salad with spinach, mushrooms, broccoli, raisins, cucumbers, and olive oil.YUM. And that glob of grey you see was some pretty yummy rice-consistency thing (I later found out it was not actually rice). It had cranberries and walnuts in it.

Snack: Naked Green Monster smoothie, raspberry water, and that oats 'n honey thing that I had to give away. Let us not forget that bees make honey. :(

Emergency-I'm-Gonna-Die-If-I-Don't-Eat-Now: Another Naked drink. This one was a little fruitier. I also had a Peanut Crunch Cliff Bar. I couldn't have any others because they had chocolate. And then some roasted almonds. Not pictured were some pretty delicious sunflower seeds.

 Dinner: I came home tonight and Jim made me an incredible dinner with kous kous made with peppers, mushrooms, edamame, celery, carrots, and onions. Slightly off-topic. Funny story. One time I went to Baesler's Market to get some kous kous. And I was supposed to get like a pound. But Mom said "Just fill a bag to the top!" Well, only giant huge-normous bags were lefts so I came home with 10 pounds of kous kous. We had to research new ways to cook it. Whoops. Anyway. I also had a vegan Bocca Burger on a whole wheat bun with Grey Poupon Mustard. You're looking at this picture saying "MILK! BLASPHEMY!" Because it looks remarkably white in this picture. But it's almond milk. Fuggin yum.

So. That has been my day. Pretty full of exciting. How are your Lenten challenges going?

*Highlighting means the concern was not validated.
Note from the editor: check out those links. If your interested in eliminating cruelty-free products from your household, check out the list of products and companies tested on animals. If you're looking for a good work out video, I suggest that one because everything else we've done in PE has sucked ass. And you should probably watch that Eminem video because... well... it's badass. And Baesler's is a pretty cool market in Terre Haute. It's the closest we'll come to a Trader Joe's.

Lent. This one's a doozy.

My lovely passengers!

I haven't posted in a long time. A lot of that had to do with the level of busy I've been putting up with. But honestly, I just haven't had much significant to say, and I didn't want to write just to be writing something. And I'm baaack. :)
This is the Lenten Season. Beginning tomorrow, I'll be making a few changes. As most of you know, I'm not religious, but I consider myself a deeply spiritual person. Lent for me is a blessing to myself--to make my life better. Our holidays are set up in genius chronology. It's freezing at Christmas and we need something to cheer us up. PRESENTS! New Year's resolutions come first, and right as we begin to give up on those--LENT! It's really brilliant. Here's my plan:

Moo.

1. I'm going to end my involvement with animal cruelty. This begins with no more killing bugs. I will collect them and take them outside. And the big one: I'm going to do a lot of research to make sure I can do this healthily and put myself on a diet plan. I'm going to give up dairy. I already don't eat most meat, but I'm going to give up fish as well. (This means I'm giving up my opportunity to eat Wendy's fish. If you don't know how much of a sacrifice that is, then you should probably try it for yourself. It's only out this season.) No dairy. No meat. No gelatin. Yup. You know what that means: vegan. I'm kind of scared, but it's only for 40 days. It means I'm going to have to really pay attention to what goes into my mouth, which is something I should have been doing anyway. Lately I've really looked into animal cruelty in our nation, and it's truly despicable. And we are trapped in this system. The only meat most of us can afford comes from those factory farms, and it's chemically and hormonally treated--it's barely meat anymore. I've also given up (as far as I know) animal-tested products. If you know of any let me know, pretty please. I really want to eliminate that from my life. I know I deserve better, and so do they.

2. I'm going to treat my body better. In accordance with #1, I'm going to eat better. But I will also work out. Every. Day. I feel like this is ultimately impossible. I really do. But I have a sneaky suspicion that if I told myself it was possible, then it would happen. If have to drag my own ass out of bed at 7:00 to make it happen, then that's what I'm going to do. I will do what I need to in order to make a positive change to my body. I can do this. I know I can. And so I will. But I have a reason. I want to be better.

3. I'm going to journal daily. I started this a while ago, but I've been getting lazy. But if I'm getting up early enough to work out, then I should certainly be up early enough to journal every day. My journal entries always answer 5 questions. 1) What will I do for myself today? 2) What will I do for someone else? 3) What am I most excited for? 4)What am I most anxious about? 5) What am I thankful for. At night, I go back, and if my anxiety was unwarranted, I highlight it to keep track of how often I fret needlessly. This forces me to start my day off on a positive note. On that vein, I'm going to blog each of these 40 days. Every day I'll post how I answered my five questions, and I'll keep you updated on my progress including lists and pictures of my meals. That will keep me accountable, and help anyone else who's considering a more ethically-oriented diet. *wink wink*


This is different than giving up cussing or chocolate. This is a change I require of myself. So! In the comments tell me what you're giving up (or adding to your life positively) for Lent! I'd also like suggestions for a vegan diet and (again) if you know of any animal-tested products I may be using.

Maddie writes conversationally? ;)

It's been a while and I'm real sorry about that. I've been doing more reading than writing. I seem to cycle that way. When I really write I need to be feeling terribly antisocial so I can hole up in some corner. (Today that is an empty Union Board office.) But when I read I fill my brain with new and exciting ideas to share with you.

New Glasses

Today I woke up early to get ready. I have new glasses by the way! So I was up, and I was singing, because I like to sound less like a diesel truck on a gravel road when I open my mouth to someone else. Lately I've been singing "The Parting Glass" by The Wailin' Jennys. Suggested by Ellen, a camp friend. I want to bring it together for something. For what? I'm not sure. But I miss performing. I want to sing.

And as I was singing by myself, wishing for someone to sing the alto part, I realized I was pretty content by myself right then. This doesn't seem like a big revelation, but it is for me. I've always been an extreme extrovert; at least I thought I was. I'm starting to question that. I think I'm more of a talking machine and I'm an external processor. My own insecurities have called me to question myself constantly. Are these shoes cool? Would someone be offended if I tweeted this? Is this too dorky? I needed someone to reassure me. For the longest time I never let anyone read my writing.

But being the external processor I was, I still wrote it like I was talking to someone. I know, Maddie writes conversationally?! What?! Anyway, the older I've gotten, the less fucks I've given, and the less company has been a necessity.  I talk to myself a little more deeply. I've been too afraid to consider my own personality, my uniqueness, and my interpersonal skills (they're often awkward at best). And the more I accept them, the less I really need company. I keep company because I'm interested in people, but that creates a completely different dynamic in my friendships. I don't need friends to talk to; I need friends to talk to me. I've been reading, because I need books to talk to me. I need to find myself in books. They're the best friends.

And this semester has been kind to my new-found sensibilities. My homework is reading. Reading, reading, reading. And I do some on my own, because I'm learning so much about humanity. They're things I need to know about why people get their hearts broken, and why bad things happen to good people. And I suppose no one really knows. No one has the answers, but everyone has ideas, and these ideas make me feel less alone in my quest for understanding.

Being alone doesn't make me scared anymore. I'm never really alone. I'm not alone if I have a book. I'm never alone if I have myself, because there are certainly things I've haven't learned about me yet, and that is just as important as the knowledge I have gained from my friends.

Peace.

I can't fix this world, but if I'm dying anyway, then I will die trying.

After the shooting in Connecticut, I didn't want to post hastily about gun control and mental health and the shallowness of people on Facebook and Twitter about the whole tragedy. I didn't want to write insensitively about something so painful, so real when the child who is most precious to me is in kindergarten now. I didn't want to write with a reactive vendetta for all the wrongs in this world. I've done that before, and there are consequences for thoughtlessness. But I've had time to sort through those feelings, and I'm as ready as I'll ever be to speak about it.

Tanglewood Press has made a really beautiful statement with the help of a Connecticut mom and Audrey Penn. Go to the link to be a part of that.
That whole project inspired me from speechless disbelief to hopeful action. The only way to confront Evil is the produce Good. "Be the change you want to see in the world," right? But I feel only a hate that I don't even try to drive away when those bastards at Westboro Baptist capitalize on people's pain. But the public support gathered to block their idiot cries trying to make their statement of hate gave me hope. Hope has been in short supply lately. (Quite literally, as the One Hope United employees will tell you. My mom collects hope trinkets and ornaments that are only sold this time of year among peace and love items. But for some reason, in cruel irony, the have been nearly impossible to find this year.)

But I found it.

I've looked to the things that make me feel better. I paid for the guy behind me in the drive-thru at Starbucks today--a guy in a piece of shit car, smoking a cigarette, and petting a cat sitting on the console. That made me feel better. Being a part of giving those kids at One Hope the best fucking Christmas of their lives... that made me feel better. It's not that I'm a saint or anything. I'm doing this to prove to myself that enough Good will drive out Evil. The generosity of those who donated to One Hope brought on a regular flood of tears. It's as if those people were doing what I was doing--they were proving to themselves that the world doesn't suck. The world has been acting shitty lately, you know? But even with the lack of hope, in the way that I sought hope, so have so many others. Among Mom's gifts from coworkers, hope was bountiful. It was nearly, but not quite impossible to find.

That's my sweater, bitch ;)

When a mom smacks her kid in Wal Mart, Kayla is tickling the piss out of Julian. For every child (and parent) at Sandy Hook, The Kissing Hand will provide much needed comfort. There is plenty of Evil in the world. Plenty, plenty. But there are good, good people. And we can make a difference. You don't have to save all the starving children in Africa to do that, though. You can just wrap presents for kids who don't have a family to spend the holiday with. You can help out at a soup kitchen (props to Noah), and you can forgive that dude that cut you off on your way to work.

I just read John Green's The Fault in Our Stars (you can stop judging me for dropping the ball on reading. I'm catching up, okay?) and I finished it in a night. I stayed up past my self-designated bedtime to finish it, sobbing alone in my room. The world is trying to prove its fragility to me. Hazel Grace is telling me, Connecticut is telling me, Hurricane Sandy is telling me... You can't turn on the television (something I gave up a long time ago) without those images forcing themselves into your conscious. The Fault in Our Stars hit me hard, probably because I'm already in an estrogen-induced, emotional break down, but it knocked me on my ass. Hazel is me if I were dying. Which, she would point out, I am. But if I was made more aware of my dying, I think I would be a lot like Hazel. Or maybe I have a flawed view of myself--I tend to judge others more accurately than myself. But in her voice I heard myself. Fragility. That's the word ringing in my head. I'm living a very fragile life. There's only a few cancerous tumors between Hazel Grace and I. There's only a few states between my precious babies and Sandy Hook. I can't fix this world, but if I'm dying anyway, then I will die trying.

Light Saber Fights and Burned Cookies

Before finals started, I got up to some shennanigans with my friends, because that's how you make memories, duh. I finally got to see my lovely Mikayla, and introduce her to the amazing Shannon, and now they are friends. As they should be. We tried to make cookies. And some of them were okay. But there was an extra-special-awesome batch that we made too!

On an completely unrelated note, Shannon totally asked me if she was holy enough to wear that Waycross shirt. Which, if you know me is funny for about 40 reasons. But the one you don't know... is that's not my shirt. I'm still not sure to whom it belongs.

Kind of staged reaction... but remarkably accurate. Also. You can kind of see the smoke, which is awesome.

All together now! Oh. And that hat says SWAG.

So, in the midst of finals, I'm starting to feel sick. My throat is sore and I'm sneezing in a way that draws the grumpy attention of already-pissed college students studying in the library. It's not like I want to sneeze asshole. And I glare just as grumpily back, because I've lived in this library for a semester, and they're in my territory now. I own this joint. Shannon gets 50% of the rent I'll be collecting off the bitches on our couches. It was due to all this bull shit that I chose to study at The Coffee Grounds last night with my German classmates. Also, there's cool graffiti and good music (most of the time). The study party was hit and miss (surprisingly, since I thought more people would be crying pitifully over their failed adjective ending quizzes that he mercifully allowed us to take a total of three times). The only downside? I didn't get to see ISU's Stress Relieving Penguin, Bunny, and Bear.

Here's the bunny and penguin... the bear was sick, I think.

I gave up studying near the end. When all my classmates had left for one reason or another, I stayed for a while with Shannon, still trying to cram little bits into my overloaded brain. Then I gave up. Shannon needed earbuds, so I drove us to Wal Mart. The ride was exciting with a possibly drunk driver ahead of us (or just momentarily distracted). When we got there, I re-remembered that I had to pee. I made Shannon come with me because GIRLS DON'T PEE ALONE, DAMMIT. I walk in to chaos. It's already kind of unfortunate because it's a Wal Mart Bathroom . But this was was a special kind of awful. A mom and grandma were trying to use the bathroom and the little boy they had left unattended was opening their stalls to their loud curses and commands. I locked my door carefully for fear that he may mistake my stall for his grandma's. Shannon said urgently "Maddie, hurry up in there." And that I did. And while the mom lectured the little boy about hand-washing (I'm convinced entirely for our sake), we skimped up outta there. No hand-washing involved. Who washes their hands for pee, anyway? That shit sterile.

STERILE, I TELL YOU!

So. I don't know if you know this, but the earbuds are pretty near the toy aisle. You know what's in the toy aisle? Light sabers. That's right. Shannon and I fought to the imaginary death. I died of course. In my defense, the beast is a martial arts minor. I stood no chance. I got a picture of her that clearly represented triumph. It was soon her profile picture and got a bajillion likes which is awesome, because in the 21st century, that is how we measure success: the number of likes on our profile pictures. (See the badassery below.)

"INSERT AWESOME STAR WARS QUOTE HERE!" (In all caps)

I got some studying out of the way--I still have no clue how that final went today. It is what it is and I'm so glad that what it is is over. Ugh. I did have time to deliver my presents to favorite professors. :) I know. I'm adorable. I made cookies for my choir director as well--but she wasn't there to receive them. I decided to write my name on the Tupperware for two reasons 1) I didn't want her to think someone else was poisoning her. 2) She needed to know it was I who was returning the music so I could get credit. Of course, that was the order of consideration in my brain. I was more afraid she'd think I was poisoning her than would think I still hadn't returned my music. Thinking back, though, I'm pretty sure that my music was numbered--duh. So I guess the first reason remains the only real reason to have taken the cookie credit.

I'm being ramble-y.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=htTLWC1unMc

Moving on. Now that my big finals are out of the way, and my worrying has developed into the kind where distraction is actually a good thing, I've returned to my to-read list. I finished The Giver by Lois Lowry. Thoughts are, I'm not sure how I hadn't read that as a kid. Childishly, I'm almost positive the reason I kept not reading it was because I didn't like the cover; also I didn't like books about boys unless it was Harry Potter. However, I won't complain too much because if I'd read it in 5th grade or so, I'd have denied my current, 19 year-old self the privilege to read a book that wouldn't have actually been that remarkable to me at the time. Oh, I'm sure I would have loved it then, too, but it can't be denied that my grown-up (sorta) brain got way more out of it than I would have. So... I get the hype. This is like The Hunger Games lecture all over again. I GET IT. I'M CATCHING UP NOW, THANKS.

Now that I've finished it, I'm reading Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair. I've wanted to read this book for some time. First, I loved Jane Eyre (even though I wanted to hate it), and it's been on the book shelves in my house for a looooong time. Secondly, Fforde. It's so amusing that his name is spelled that way. Is that his real name? I could totally look it up on Wikipedia, but that seems like something not worth doing. Nahhh. Okay, I did it. I'm pretty sure that's his real name. The page leaves much to be desired, however. I'm sure that he's had a much more interesting life than all that.

I'm wearing a watch today. I took it off to type, however. Tick, tock, the library's a clock.

Also. Worth mentioning. To cheer me up today, Zac told me a story about an old man who walked into his dealership, said "I smell a democrat," and walked back out. I hope that makes you happy too.

Proof and the Pursuit of Happiness

I was talking to a little girl a few nights ago. (I guess high school isn't so little, but I remember teaching her dance as a much younger, little girl. I'll call her what I want.) She's the product of a very hard life and a lack of those survival skills required to get her needs met. And now she's coming to me to help her. I want to give her Waycross. I want to make her feel important and tell her that she's more than capable to be better than she is right now. I want to give her the world. I want her to change and come to me someday with a degree and whatever else she wants out of life. A wife, kids, a healthy, happy life... whatever it is. I want things to be better for her than they were for her parents. I want her to beat the odds. Her sister, whom I love dearly, has done that. She is a brilliant woman.

But.

It doesn't really matter what I want. It matters what she wants. And she is denying herself the right to want it. The pursuit of happiness, if you will. She's so scared that she won't have all those things, that she's given up. I do have some small hope, however. She contacted me. Why would she call me and tell me all the bad things she's doing if she didn't want me to tell her what to do in order to be better. She didn't text me to tell me she wasn't going to be anything (although that's what she did). She texted me to tell me she wanted help. She just doesn't know how to ask for it. Is this my new project? Is this little girl going to be mine now? Am I going to subject myself to heartbreak if (and when) this doesn't yield immediate results, or work even in the long run? But I feel like I have to try. She's reaching out to me, and I can't shut her down. I just can't. And this is what I want to do with my life. I want to prove to girls like her that it's not wrong to hope. It's possible to be something different. That's the career I'm looking at right now, and I have to get used to that heartbreak. It will come--and in a way I need to prove to myself I'm capable surviving that.

Proof. I need to prove to myself that I can make a good enough argument to prove to the children I love that they are worthy of the pursuit of happiness. Mission statement?

Intervention of the soul.

Black babies, cute animals, and depression

I hate negative Facebook posts. I think they're attention-seeking and childish. The same goes for Twitter and Instagram. But blogs are a little different. I had to convince myself of that. This is my heart unraveled and woven back into shape between little black letters on my laptop. This, this is me. This is what pisses me off, what make me laugh, what hurts me, and what brings happy moisture to my eye. This is my blog, dammit.

And I'm not happy right now. I don't taste when I try to eat. Laughing feels physically exhausting. I don't want to sing. I don't want to dance. I want to sleep. I don't even want to cuddle, if you can believe that. I don't want to be touched at all. I do kind of want hot tea, though.

In a sick kind of irony, I think I'm most creative at times like this. Stories are opening up in my mind. I just don't have the energy to write them down--to make them whole. I WANT to, but just not enough. I have things I need to accomplish. I WANT to do them; not enough. My day is heavy with all the shit that needs done, and it's weighing on my heart. Because instead of doing those things right now, I'm looking up pretty African American babies and cute animals on Pinterest. That's pretty much all I want to do. I don't want to talk to anyone. I want left alone.

Extremes

This week has been full of extreme highs and lows.

• Midterms stressed me out unnecessarily.
• Friends disappointed me.
• Friends faced struggles I wish I could make better.
• Nearly every time I walked outside I was rained on.
• I don't own an umbrella.
• The alcohol/hazing/sexual assault training I had to do was useless and hell to get into.

• I learned I may graduate early.
• The classes ahead of me are exciting and interesting.
• I'M GOING TO PARIS AND BERLIN NEXT SEMESTER!
• I had a thoroughly entertaining study session with my German class (although little studying was accomplished)
• I finally cleaned my room.
• All my exams went swimmingly.

This has been the ultimate bipolar week. The ups have been full of ecstasy, fast-talking, shaking, and jumping. The lows have been full of sleep, sleep, calls home, and sleep.

There have been no in betweens this week. It's been a constant roller coaster.

How do you define success?

So, I got out all my frustration on the subject of Kyle. I was personally offended, and I shouldn't have been. It isn't my life. Our lives have been so thoroughly intertwined for so long that is seems like a personal thing. Of course I think it's a bad decision. The people from whom I'd take advice think so too. Until recently, Kyle would have asked me first. Instead he acted quickly before I could change his mind. These are the facts. And I don't care about the finer details, because oftentimes the closer we look at things, the less of them we see.

1. He was a junior in college and dropped out.
2. He tried to get a job from the time he entered college, never getting a real one that he could hold down. He finally got a job at a gas station near his Terre Haute house. He missed the first day and was fired.
3. He doesn't have a job now. He plans to look for one in Marshall--but the job market is slim, and without an education, there isn't much for him.
4. He is living with his sister's boyfriend in an apartment. Clearly he is not paying rent.
5. He is smoking pot regularly--with money he can't afford to spend; with money he didn't spend on school. He plans on buying his childhood home--which will put him in debt. But he was morally opposed to the debt school put him in. Life is full of debt. It's inescapable.

Perhaps I just measure success differently than he does. Perhaps I see success as getting an education. As getting a job in a field of your study that you're interested in and care about. As making your voice heard. As being a good role model to children. I measure those things that I do at Waycross as success. I measure my current job as success. I measure the hard work I'm putting into this degree as success. And sometimes I get sad. I do. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed I feel like I'll never get out. I do. But I'm smart enough to know that so does everyone else. And we're all in this together. When Shannon had a ton to do last week, I sat with her in the library and entertained myself. And as I study for my big German exam, she is designing her Halloween costume right beside me. German is hard. But when I get those grades back, I'm proud of myself. I work my ass off and I see something for it. That is success to me.

So. Maybe that's just me. I'd say it's most people, honestly. But Kyle isn't most people. He's never going to be. He's more concerned with the way things should be than the way they are. He's gets so lost in his thoughts that he can't see what's in front of them. He is an extremist. He is so opposed to our societal structure that he's just opted out of it. But you can't ever really opt out of it. You still have to pay for your food. You still have to wear clothes when it's cold. You still have to pay for a house.You still have to pay taxes. You still have to pay for the gas to meet those you love (assuming you have a car).

The rules don't change. You can't get out of those things. All you can legitimately opt out of is a job that requires an education. You still have to pay to feed your drug habit. Money has to come from somewhere. Now it will just come from a job that doesn't involve writing, or thinking, or relationships, or art, and will start off at minimum wage. But again. Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe he's okay with getting a fast food job and writing blog posts. If that makes him happy, then so be it. It's just not what I'd expected from him. I saw a different path for him. But it's not my story to write.

There are times that I've wished I could just ditch these rigid structures of school. job. family. house... I understand that feeling. But school is my favorite part of all that. I like the discussions I have in classes. I like what I'm learning. There will be classes I don't like--but you can't always get what you want. I love school. I'd love to live more freely--but I'll make that happen. I'm going to create a kind of happiness and freedom in my life based on those things that I learn on this campus. I'm figuring out with the people here what my options are--how I can turn the things I love into a career. And I can't wait. I can't wait to graduate and find a grad school. I can't wait to figure out what I'm going to do. I can't wait to travel and see the world. ISU is practically PAYING me to do it!

I measure success as trial and triumph. I think in a phrase, that's how I'd describe it. Trial and Triumph. I want to know how y'all define success. Comment me, bitches. :)

Also: These pictures don't have a lot to do with the rest of the post. I know. But they were hysterical, and even a moderate connection was worth sharing them.

The Consequence and Magnificence

I'm having such a difficult time defining where I am emotionally right now. I've been starting on posts like this a lot lately, then reverting back to some social issue that pisses me off. There's been a lot of that lately, partially because I'm becoming more informed and I'm interested in the things I'm learning, but also because I'm defining myself. I'm in this watery state right now. I'm trying to shape myself; to stand up straight.

In that place it's kind of hard to define myself. I think I need to define my beliefs and values before I begin to define myself. Those are the things that define me, and without them I am shallow water.

This is my third week out of therapy. My counselor must be really sick. I suppose I could see someone in his absence, but I'm a picky client. I want someone good. And I want someone who I have a relationship with. I'm going to have to play catch up when he gets back anyway. And there's plenty of catching up to do. I was still dating Jacob (barely) when we last talked. Everything's changed since then. For better or for worse? Perhaps it was a neutral kind of change. I liked where I was at that time, but if it was a lie, then I don't want to be living there anyway, if that makes sense.

I'd say I'm generally happy where I am. I do stupid things still, and I regret a lot. But I'm better about finding perspective necessary to learn and move on. This attempt to define myself has helped to hold me responsible. I'm creating this person--or being true to this person--who expresses assertions to which I had not always adhered. But it's constantly on my mind now, and I'm fond of the person I'm discovering within myself. I want to be her. And I will.

So where am I emotionally? I think that those posts bitching about social issues are a pretty accurate picture. It's questions, it's (dis)beliefs, it's music... that's where I am. Those are all good things. I can't always be there. But that's the consequence and magnificence of sitting on the edge of the window sill.

Tbird's Window Sill

Justin Bieber Overrated and Exploited

I have plenty of problems with popular music. It's fine for dance music, I think, but I cannot take it seriously. There are musicians who know how to read music and don't need complicated equipment to cover their inability to carry a tune. Those musicians can't get ahead because our music industry is shallow. It's unfair, and that's what bothers me.

So I'm not a Bieber fan. He's not as horrible as some say. But he's certainly not worth his popularity level either. I just watched a special on Justin and his mom on television (another reason this shit is terrible for us). He was serenading her (dripping with cheese), and he got so sharp he changed key. Jesus Christ. How do people like this get famous for their "talent?" *sex, cough cough* He's an attractive kid. Girls freak out (in utterly irrational and creepy ways) about him. They're selling his sex appeal, whether or not people realize they're buying into it.

So, on this show, they were focusing on the trials his mother had faced in her childhood. When I still watched TV (took it seriously, at least) I would have found it a very moving program. She was molested, she was an addict, she attempted suicide, she became pregnant with Justin when she was a teenager, yadda yadda. First issue: They turned it into an issue of pro-life/pro-choice. She was encouraged to abort Justin and chose not to, and now he's such a big deal. I think it's pretty clear that I'm pro-choice (just look at the rest of this blog). I was offended that they used her heartache as a conservative promo.

I'm sure this woman was encouraged to give all this up. At one point in my life, I would have said she was an advocate. She was telling young people that you can come out of addiction, and to get help after sexual abuse... but now I know better. Justin Bieber's mom isn't going to make our youth feel better about their own heartaches. Justin's music is becoming more serious as his PR people are trying to convince the public he isn't still 14 (even if he looks it), because songs like Baby are already getting old. His fans are growing up. And just as his music is attempting a more mature feel, they're trying to do the same with his personal life. They're going to do anything to push that new image, including exploiting his mother's past (or lying about it).

Justin didn't do such a good job on the program. His singing was only the beginning. He was clearly uncomfortable being present for his mother discussing her history of sexual abuse, and the thought of aborting the child that now sat next to her. When the subject of her suicide attempt arose, he said, "everyone makes mistakes." Is there not a more politically correct response? How about, "I'm so happy she's here now. She means the world to me." or "I know my mom had a lot going on, and I'm so inspired by her ability to turn her life around." Not... it was a mistake. I guess we all do that. What the hell, bro? Aren't you coached better than this? Or perhaps they shouldn't have subjected the poor kid to that horribly uncomfortable situation in the first place.

I don't read magazines for the same reason. I don't care what anyone says about someone famous. I don't know them personally, so I don't care if they broke up with their boyfriend, or if they're pregnant, or anything really. Not unless someone endorses something I believe in or has a performance that speaks to me will I be interested in that person as an individual. And I sure as hell won't use television or magazines to gather the information I'm seeking.

The exploitation of our big "stars," is disgusting. It's unfair to them. That environment cannot be healthy, which is why we end up with girls like Lindsay Lohan--she is a product of our sick fascination. I won't be surprised when Bieber comes out the same way. We've created this world in which we admire images of famous people who have been edited to look a specific way, and have resources to trainers and dietitians that most of us don't have. We want to be them... and then we make jokes of the people we once admired--the ones who have broken. And we take pleasure from it. Because when someone we're jealous of fails, it feels good. We celebrate their successes, just as we make comedy of their downfalls. Check yourself, people.

and full of the details we avoid so carefully...

I'm feeling really lonely right now. I want someone to sleep next to right now. I don't want anything beyond that, though. Do relationships like that exist? I haven't seen my therapist for two weeks now. He's been sick. I don't know what I'm going to tell him. Just when I thought I had it all figured out--what I'd say to him, that is--more rains down on me. I'm going to need to take a list. This is what it would look like:

1. Jacob
2. Unnamed boy
3. Some missed classes...
4. Loneliness
5. Regret

I want to talk about regret because it's been on my mind. I think regret is the fallback of people with bipolar. They fuck up in mania... regret. They disappear in depression... regret. And right now, just somewhere between, I have only my past to regret--although it's a pretty heavy history.

How stable am I?

I’m not sure what to write about right now. I’m hoping that if I start babbling with my weary fingers, that the pace will liven up. I’m thinking a lot. That sounds like such a prosaic statement. “I’m thinking a lot.” It’s like when people say, “I have a lot of feelings.” What does that mean? Everyone has a lot of feelings. Are they trying to say that they have mixed feelings? Communication is so important to me, and yet I make statements like that. But it’s because I’m manic. And I have racing thoughts. But both of those things are so clinical-sounding to me. And I don’t want to talk about my disorder right now; I want to talk about what it’s doing to me. I want to talk about my Self, and not myself. I’m not sure if I’m communicating this well or not.

Things jump in and out of my mind. I can’t think about one thing for too long. I can’t focus and it sucks. But I’m cycling like never before. It’s daily. I spent the whole morning thinkingthinkingthinking and when I sat down for too long that changed as rapidly as the pictures had turned in my mind to... weariness. It hurt to move and I felt like I’d never get things done. But then I did all of it. I want to slow down, but I don’t want to stop, either. Right now I’m kind of shaky

I think I’m trying to outline where my Self is sitting, but I don’t have it figured out yet. It’s funny. The girls in my pledge class are already thinking about slating. They think I should be president. Do I really look like I have my shit together? I guess I do in a way. I get good grades. I am super involved, and I do a good job in those organizations. I guess I’m the Ideas and Issues chairperson on Union Board now. But I guess I have to convince myself of that. I’d be just as successful if I didn’t stress out so much. It’s not that I have so much to do. It’s that I am scared that I won’t do it well. <-- That was an epiphany.

Those of you who read my blog probably have mixed thoughts (or just plain realistic ideas) of the kind of person I am. I’ve defined my beliefs (or lack thereof) for the first time. I am beginning to love my body. I’m learning that who I am is okay, and it’s not my fault if someone doesn’t like me. It isn’t a failing. I'm finding joy in my studies. I'm finding joy in being informed. I get all of that when I’m doing well. But I’m not always doing well. Sometimes I’m going to self harm, and sometimes I’m going to make mistakes that hurt me in different ways. I don’t always have my shit together. But even when I don’t, no one really knows it. I don’t let people see me cry. But you all have in some way or another. I like to think I’ve been pretty honest with you. I’m making mistakes, but I’m still going. And you're here to witness it.