Here we go again.

Tuesday, I went back to my foot surgeon for my six month post-op visit. I was fully expecting this to be one of the rare times in my life where a doctor appointment would be smooth and uneventful. I've been having a bit more pain in my right foot since around the beginning of October, but I figured it was just because I spend so much time barefoot since I really don't leave the house much.

Well, this is what I get for assuming things.

After I got the x-rays, I was just hanging out waiting for my doc to come back in to talk to me about them, still not having a clue anything was wrong. When he came in, though, he was way more serious than he usually is, so I just said, "So what'd they say?" And I heard a sentence I have heard way too many times in my life.

"Well, can I just preface this by saying 'if it can happen, it will happen to you?'"

And my heart sank. Because you'll never guess what bizarre thing my body decided to do to me this time.

Remember how he put steel plates and screws in my foot in order to immobilize my big toe? Yeah, well, those broke in half.

Oh, yes, you heard me. I broke steel plates and screws in half without even trying. I'm like Wonder Woman, except way less cool.

My doc assured me that this isn't my fault, that he knows I did everything that I was supposed to do during recovery. He said he won't know for sure why they broke until he gets in there, but sometimes, shit just fails and the fusion doesn't take. Like he said, if it can happen, it will happen to me.

So yeah, I'm having surgery again. Number 28 for those keeping track at home. It's scheduled for December 29th, but the surgical coordinator said that she would call me if they got a cancellation because ever since my doc messed with my toe at my appointment, I've been in a lot more pain than I was beforehand.

I'll be honest. I've been angry. Really angry. My closest friends know that one of my biggest fears in life is that my life is never going to be anything but a cycle of constant doctors and health problems and surgeries, and this just felt like confirmation of that fear. Plus, it's so aggravating that just when I think I'm finally getting my feet back under me - I'm not sick anymore, and I changed one of my psych meds, so my depression was getting better - and could focus on job applications again, something else pops up that completely derails my life when all I want is to get my shit together and move out and be an adult. It feels like every day of my life is this constant battle, and I'm just so exhausted. It's like the universe is saying, "I'm going to keep punching you in the face until you absolutely lose your damn mind," and I'm on the brink. I really don't know how much God expects me to take, or why begging and pleading for refuge and a break from all of this pain leads to nothing but a continuation of me feeling abandoned and hurt and alone and exhausted.

But if there is one thing I know in the midst of all of this confusion and pain, it's that no matter how alone I feel, I am never without help. God has given me the most incredible support system of friends who, even with hundreds, in one case thousands, of miles between us, have shown up big time in the past few days to hold me up when I've felt like I couldn't stand one more second. I see God in my friends every day, in every conversation. And when I don't know what to say to God, when prayer feels impossible, their presence is a reminder that God is here, too. God sees me hurting and knows the pain I can't always express.

Am I still afraid? Yep. I was having nightmares just last night about this next surgery failing, too.
Am I still angry? Yep. I'm tired and don't want to do this anymore.
Am I still confused? Yep. I don't understand why I haven't been through enough.

But I am loved beyond measure. And I am not alone. At the end of the day, that's what matters.

The past few days.

You know your life is kind of sad when you are as excited to go to the doctor as I was to go to the neurosurgeon on Thursday.

Too bad nothing good really came of it.

The doc was irritated because my neurologist sent me to him before doing all the tests he could have done, and I didn't have all my records from Duke and my brain surgeries, because no one told me I needed to bring them. He needs to run a bunch of other tests plus get all the records from Duke before he can tell me anything. So I have to a) get Duke to fax him all my records, b) get Duke to mail me CDs of all my scans to bring to my next appointment, c) get a bunch of labs, d) get a shunt series (X-rays), and e) get checked out by a neuro-ophthamologist. I talked to my old neurosurgeon from Duke's office yesterday, and they emailed me a release form that I can print out, fill out, scan, and email back to them, so I've got to talk to my uncle tomorrow since he's bringing me meds anyway. I'll get the labs done next Monday the 25th at my primary care. The shunt series can be done as a walk-in next time I go down to see this doc. They sent the referral to the neuro-ophthamologist who will call me to make an appointment. Hopefully the fact that I don't have vision insurance won''t prevent me from being seen. Also, usually when a shunt is infected, there is redness around it, but there's not around mine, so that's a good sign; however, he's very concerned about how sensitive I am to touch on my head, so he "hopes it comes together quickly," because it's not a good sign that I can't stand for my head to be touched. If the labs and X-rays don't show anything, all he can do is tap my shunt, which he really doesn't want to do because of my history of meningitis (Duke docs are pretty sure I got meningitis thanks to them tapping my shunt when the valve broke). Meanwhile, I get to spend another month or so in constant, unexplainable, excruciating pain.

So...that's fun.

Yesterday, Mom and Mommom left for 10 days in Pennsylvania. I was going to go, but decided that I'd rather have 10 days to myself and hopefully be able to get some job applications done. (So far, that's been a no go thanks to my freakin head.) The silence is weird, but refreshing. My aunt and uncle are leaving on Tuesday, so then it'll just be me and Chelsea in town, but I don't even have to see or talk to her every day, so it's no big deal.

Today, I woke up feeling pretty good (well, pretty good for me, anyway) so I thought that after my afternoon of sports, I'd be good to get some work done. Ha! Guess again. As soon as the last game I cared about was over, my head felt so explosively painful I couldn't do anything but sleep. I can still barely turn my head. On the upside, the Wolfpack won, so there's something, I guess.

Sigh. I'm so tired of feeling like shit.

Here's hoping tomorrow is better. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Story of my life.

Well, this is just fantastic timing.

Well, this didn't turn out quite as planned.

I decided this week that I was going to start walking around my neighborhood again. I found out last week at the doctor that I weighed 274 (I managed to lose 6 lbs in May and June despite being completely sedentary because of my foot surgery! I was shocked!), and my goal is to hit 250 by the end of the year, so while I've been doing pretty well so far all things considering, I wanted to do a little bit more, and as my friend Jay says "it's all about increasing that output."

But I knew that I needed to start slow and take it easy on myself, first because it's been so long since I really tried this, and two because the fusion in my right toe is still pretty sore, so I didn't want to hurt myself right off the bat. Here are my stats from Wednesday - Friday.

I thought those were pretty good, right? Slight increase in distance day by day, but still not too sharp. And each day when I got home, I felt GOOD. Like the whole cliché endorphins-rush kind of good. And my muscles were sore, and I was definitely out of breath, but I wasn't in real pain, you know? I was really happy, I thought I was doing well and was going to take today off to rest, anyway, for some balance.

Well, about an hour after I got back inside last night (Friday), I could barely walk. My right hip and lower back were in so much pain I was either screaming or wanted to any time I moved the slightest little bit. It is AWFUL.

I have no idea what the heck I did. If I'd had any indication I was hurting myself, I would have stopped and come home. Agh. I was just getting started, and now I have no idea when I'll be able to walk again. Because something tells me this pain is going to stick around for a while.

(Hint: I'm actually writing this post on Tuesday the 11th, and yep, I still can barely move. AWESOME. It's a bit better than Saturday, but I am still nowhere close to being able to go on a walk again.)

Prayers for healing would be much appreciated. I'm really determined to keep losing weight, and this is just...frustrating, to say the least.

This is all I have in me tonight..

This world is a sad and scary place sometimes.

I can't wait for the freedom of heaven.

I'm getting the message. It's totally clear. I really gotta get out of here.

Last night, my mother told me she still sees me as a kid, not an adult.

Like, she insisted I'm still a kid. Straight to my face. When I'm 24 years old.

I've often felt like she treats me and talks to me like I'm still a teenager, but this is the first time she's ever actually confirmed it. And then she had the nerve to get annoyed when she realized I was angry about it.

She either doesn't understand or doesn't care why what she said is disrespectful and hurtful, so she's yet to apologize to me, so I've stayed in my room the entire day and completely ignored her because I'm not going to pretend that she can say crap like that to me and then just expect me not to be hurt by it. I've taken care of her day in and day out for the past six months, and she thinks I'm not supposed to be hurt when she tells me she doesn't see me as an adult.

But you know, if there's one good thing about this, it's made me realize just how long I've spent seeking validation from her and just how utterly stupid that is. I was hiding rejection letters I'd gotten from her because I was so worried about her being disappointed in me, and now I'm like, so what? Her opinion doesn't change anything. I don't owe her success. I don't owe her an update on everything I do. I don't owe her explanations. I don't owe her the right to lecture me about how I could be "better," especially considering the state of my sisters' lives. My worth has zero reliance on what she thinks or feels (or anyone else, for that matter).

This whole thing the past 24 hours has just reiterated the fact that I have to get out of here. I have to get away from my selfish, dysfunctional family and be my own person, so they stop thinking they have control of me and I stop forgetting who I am outside of them. That's the largest part of why I'm so scared these last schools I'm waiting to hear back from are going to say no; because I can't stay here. I have to get out of here. I have to be on my own.

I've spent my entire life fighting through things no one should have to, proving friends, enemies, neighbors, teachers, schoolmates, doctors, family, and even myself wrong. I'm not going to sit back and let anyone, especially my mother, tell me that that doesn't make a difference, tell me who I am.

I've got God for that, thanks.

God Bless America

Two weeks gone.

At first, I had nothing to say.

Then, the election happened, and I had so much to say I didn't quite know how to process it.

I had so many people telling me how I should be reacting in the aftermath of the election being called for Trump...Here was my response on Facebook.

Don't tell me to be okay right now, when I and people I desperately love have so much at risk.
Don't tell me not to be scared right now, when I have more than enough to be rightfully afraid of.
Don't tell me not to be angry right now, when I feel as though the God I love and the Gospel I treasure have been twisted and abused.
Don't tell me to be hopeful right now, when our next president did nothing to inspire hope for the entirety of his campaign.
Don't tell me to be polite and respectful right now, when a lack of politeness and respect is what got us here.
Don't tell me not to be sad right now, when the country claiming to be the greatest on earth has proven it is still controlled by hatred and fear.
Don't tell me to be accepting of this right now, when this is not what I believe in and pains me to my core.
Don't you dare tell me, or anyone upset today, what to feel. Let us grieve. Then, we will fight.

Lecrae said something that really resonated with me: "I know that God is in control. But so did Jesus when he wept after the death of Lazarus." Jesus knew he was going to bring Lazarus back to life, and he still cried. I know God is still the same, but I'm still scared and upset.

As a political science nerd, I'm really frustrated with the Electoral College, to be honest. We're living 2000 again, except way worse. The Electoral College is something the founding fathers put in place literally because they did not want the entire "average" populace to be able to elect the president and fall prey to a demagogue like Trump (hey, Alexander Hamilton!). So even though 570,000+ more (and counting) people voted for Hillary Clinton, we're stuck with Trump. Yes, this is only the fifth time that the winner of the popular vote didn't win the Electoral College, but it shouldn't really be a surprise. The system was set up from the beginning because a bunch of old, elite, white men decided not everyone was capable of or deserved choosing the president. Thanks to these dudes, climate change, women's rights, international relations, safety from guns, the right to healthcare, freedom of religion, LGBT rights, the free press, and more are all at grave risk.

I want to explain something, though: I don't disrespect people who support Trump's/Republican economic or foreign policy, etc., arguments. That requires thought and understanding. I know I have plenty of friends who voted for Trump who are also educated, so I won't stoop so low as to call them uneducated or ignorant. What I don't understand, what genuinely confuses me, is people, particularly Christians, who proclaim that they love everyone yet voted for a man who showed hatred and disdain for SO MANY. People's character may be defined by more than this vote and this election, but to me, voting for and supporting a man with this huge lack of a moral compass, who spent 17 months campaigning on hatred, bias, racism, and fear, says a lot about who people are. I don't understand. I don't understand how you can claim to love people and support hatred. I don't understand how Christians can claim to follow Jesus in one breath and support shunning, attacking, and demeaning the very people Jesus would spend time with in the next. I just don't understand.

There are so many stories of racial, religious, and sexually motivated crimes and harassment that have happened since Donald Trump won the election. Women being grabbed in public. Muslims having their hijabs and turbans thrown off. African Americans threatened with lynchings. Vandalism of minorities' property. White supremacist graffiti. Racial slurs being thrown. Nazi slogans shouted. And on and on. This new "great" America scares me to no end.

If you voted for Trump and don't want people to be angry with you for helping usher in the new acceptance and glorification of hate crimes in America or call you a racist/sexist/misogynist/Islamophobe/homophobe, etc., then do something to prove you're not. Stand up for the ones whose lives are being threatened. Say to the white supremacists that they don't get to win, even if they think they do. Call on the President-Elect to rebuke this rhetoric and these attacks again and again until he listens. Do something. Because if you helped pave the way for this, and do nothing to fight back against it or stop it when you know what is going on, then you're partially responsible. As late-night talk show host Samantha Bee said, if Muslims have to take responsibility for every member of their community, white people, then so do we.

I want to believe the best in people, but right now, I have a hard time doing that. I'm angry. Many of my friends are minorities in one way or another, and they're being threatened by people, many of whom use the name of God to justify it. I thought this country was better than racism and hatred and bigotry. I was heartbreakingly wrong and I'm terrified of the effect the next 4 years will have on this country.

But no matter what, I love my country. And I always will. Donald Trump and his people can't take that away from me.

Life Now

Well. I definitely wasn't planning on disappearing for a month and a half. But things happen. And I frankly haven't been in the best mindset or had much to write about. Here's a recap:

- going away dinner with my church fam

- last Sunday at church where I was prayed over

- packing

- surgery prep

- surgery, which involved an awful several hours delay they failed to inform me about after Mom and I stayed up all night to be at the hospital at the crack of dawn, but a successful surgery that officially diagnosed me with endometriosis and removed what docs could find

- moved back to NC the day after surgery (thanks to church people loading the truck) (that was a fun 12 hour ride home)

- the week after surgery, I came down with a massive case of bronchitis and a sinus infection, and because my body rejects steroids now, it's been a month of breathing treatments trying to get over it

- I wrote my thesis

- I got an A on my thesis (!!!!!!!!!!)

- now, I'm trying to a) find online work to make some money while I'm stuck home for a year and b) figure out what schools I'm going to apply to for next year's PhD programs

I'm very lonely here. I have heard from practically no one up in NYC, and because I've been so sick and exhausted, I haven't had the energy to reach out to them. Thank God Matt is back in the area now. If I didn't get occasional visits from him, I would have absolutely no one outside of my very dysfunctional family.

I moved from a huge city where I could just walk out my front door and have endless entertainment, to a small town where you have to drive to see anything and I don't have a license or a car, and there's not that much to see anyway. The silence is not good for me. I have been getting way too caught up in my own head thinking about all the people I've lost and all the relationships that have failed and all the things I wish I could change but that I know I can't do anything about. And the fun part about it is that my life isn't going to be changing any time soon.

I did get a call from August today, which is the first time I feel like I've smiled when thinking about New York since I left.

I don't know. This is the way life is for now. I guess I better get used to it.

So then July happened.

Well. Wasn't planning on abandoning my blog for the month of July, but things happened, and I learned that the longer you go without doing something, the easier it is to continue not doing it.

So, let's recap, shall we?

I had a few weeks of seizure hell, but adding yet another medicine seems to be helping. Cross your fingers it stays that way.

I severely sprained my wrist in one of those seizures, which is a large part of the reason why I wasn't blogging, because typing hurts really, really badly and takes a lot of energy.

I'm incredibly behind on my thesis, largely for these two reasons, and it seems like I'm being ghosted by my adviser and department so I can't get an answer on when exactly it's due which is just adding to my stress.

I finally got my surgery set up for August 19th, which is later than the doctor originally told me it was going to happen. I cannot wait for that day to get here because I am miserable from pain.

My depression has been rearing its ugly head for these reasons, but one other one is the biggest reason for it. I'm leaving New York. On August 20th. I don't really have a choice. The financial situation in the family that's been going on for the past year and a half is no longer sustainable, and despite me sending out a crapload of resumes, I didn't get a single callback. So no money. No job. No PhD program acceptance. I have to go back to North Carolina. And I hate it. I HATE IT. I thought when I moved up here, I was finally freeing myself from all of the negativity and drama back there and planned on never going back, and two years later, here I am, headed back to the place I never wanted to live again.

Don't get me wrong. There are things I will be happy about seeing/having/doing regularly again. Like my mom and Blake. And the food. And the beach. And the sports. But the idea of leaving everyone I love here is heartbreaking to me. So I'm really not okay right now. Time is running out quickly in the city I love with people who mean the world to me and it is making me very very sad.

So yeah. That about sums up July. I'll try not to abandon my blog in August.

Wake up, America.

Alton Sterling. Philando Castile.

I won't reiterate the horrific tragedy of what happened to these two men, because it honestly makes me sick just thinking about it and I can't get those videos out of my head.

In no uncertain terms, those men were murdered. And it's heartbreaking. It's disgusting. It's wrong. It's terrifying. It's beyond comprehension.

And it's not going to stop until people wake up to the very real problem of racism that is still rampant in this country. To my friends who are POC, I am so, so sorry. I am sorry for the fear you must feel on a daily basis. I'm sorry for the lack of safety and acceptance you are given just because of the color of your skin. I am sorry for the people who hate you. I am sorry this society is so undeveloped we haven't moved past racism. I am so sorry.

No, I do not hate cops. There are many times in my past that cops have rescued me and loved ones from dangerous and volatile situations. I respect good, hardworking cops for what they do and what they risk. And just like not all men are rapists or misogynists, no, not all cops are bad cops or racists, but you know what? THERE ARE WAY TOO FREAKING MANY THAT ARE. Two innocent black men were gunned down for no reason by white men with badges, men who were supposed to serve and protect them. And cops like this make it really freaking difficult to recognize the cops that aren't like them.

I got backhandedly accused by a woman that I know, whose husband happens to be a cop, of not caring about cop killings because I'm outraged by what these particular cops did. NO NO NO NO NO. Calling cops who execute innocent black people murderers does not mean I endorse the murders of cops. I am just as sad about the snipers who killed cops at a protest in Dallas tonight. Murder is murder. Murdering these cops is just as much murder as what happened to Alton and Philando.

I've managed to lose friends in the past 48 hours because of what I have posted on my Facebook and Twitter over all of this. But you know what? I frankly don't care. I refuse to stay silent when my friend has to explain to her 6 year old adopted from Africa why he'll have to take extra caution not to draw suspicion or negative attention; black children are having their innocence ripped away from them. I refuse to stay silent when I see ignorant comments from police apologists who ignore reality to stay safe in their own bubble where their white privilege is a made up war from progressives and Democrats. I refuse to stay silent when my friends talk about feeling like they need to wear full-body bulletproof suits sos as to not be "shot down like wolves." I refuse to stay silent when I have nightmares about some of my best friends, my brothers, being murdered by cops and wake up realizing that those aren't so farfetched dreams. Silence adds to the problem.

But those snipers in Dallas who shot 11 cops, killing 4 of them and leaving 3 others in critical condition, they are not the answer. They are also adding to the problem.

Wake up, people. Racism is alive and well. Black people are disproportionately attacked by police. Not all cops are bad. No one, cop or civilian, deserves to be murdered. And it's up to us to stop it. Each and every one of us.

How many more innocent people have to die before we wake up and do something about this? I'm scared to see what it will take.

I can't sleep.

As soon as I think I'm tired enough to actually sleep, I start thinking about Orlando again, and it doesn't stop.

All of these mass shootings make me sick, but for some reason, this one has affected me more than any other. Aside from the few hours that I was watching the Tony Awards, I've felt like I've been swallowing a lump in my throat and fighting back tears every second since I woke up Sunday morning and saw this terrifying news.

I think I was in shock at first, but as I read more details, it began to sink in.

And then the numbers came out. And the names. The names of the forty-nine people taken in this violence came trickling in, and it became very, very, sickeningly real.

It's one thing to know people died. It's another thing to see their faces and learn their names. To stare at their pictures and have it punch you in the face that these really were actual living, breathing human beings with real lives and loves and dreams, not just a story on the news.

I think about the one victim, Eddie Justice, who, while trapped in a bathroom by the gunman, texted his mother begging her for help. One of the last messages he sent her was "I'm gonna die." Can you imagine getting a text like that from your child? In the middle of the night? When you had no idea anything could be going wrong?

I think about the investigators who had to walk through that nightclub. As was told to CNN, they had to walk through scores of dead bodies listening to phones ring as family members and loved ones called desperately trying to check on them. And they couldn't touch the phones to turn them off or answer the calls because it was...well, a crime scene. So they just had to listen to the ringing while staring at utter carnage.

I saw a post online where one of the doctors at the trauma center that was, thankfully, only two blocks from the club, who posted a picture of his blood-soaked tennis shoes and talked about what it was like treating fifty-four injured people and how he's keeping those blood-soaked shoes as a reminder of how he felt that night.

Even just writing this out makes me think I'm going to start sobbing. I don't know the last time writing a blog post about a news story seemed to physically hurt me this much. Maybe it's because I have people whom I love very much who are part of the LGBT+ community or Muslim, and I just imagine one of them being inside that club. I don't know. What I do know is that this hurts.

But the one sense of peace I feel is that in the midst of all of this is that there are still stories of love coming out.

There was a security guard at the club who managed to get 60 or 70 (his estimate) out through a back door as they were all crammed into a back hallway, saving their lives before the shooter found them. And all he could say when the news called him a hero was, "I wish I could've done more. There are a lot of people dead."

There are pictures and videos of hundreds of people lining up outside of blood banks for hours in the Florida heat to donate blood. Veterans showing up to give blood. Muslim men, in the middle of their Ramadan fast and at a time when too many people will blame their religion as a whole, coming out in droves to donate. An Orlando Chick-Fil-A spending Sunday (the day they're supposed to be closed) cooking hundreds of chicken sandwiches and orders of fries to give to people waiting in the heat to donate. Women and children, including Muslim women in their hijabs, going around giving food, water, sunscreen, and other help to the people in the lines.

I could write an entire novel about gun control and how the fact that we had 173 mass shootings in the 164 days of 2016 including Sunday in Orlando scares the hell out of me. But right now, I'm tired, and I'm sad, and I'm scared, and I'm trying desperately to hold onto hope that we'll go back to a world where mass shootings aren't the norm - where first graders can go to school, and African Americans can go to church, and family and friends can go to the movies without being scared of being murdered.

I really wish my brain would turn off so I can sleep, but even in thinking that, I think about all the people down in Florida who probably haven't slept since the shooting and are going to be haunted by this. And it makes all my troubles just seem silly.

Lord, be near. I don't know what else to say but Lord, please come and be with the brokenhearted.

These are the brothers and sisters we lost:

Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34
Stanley Almodovar III, 23
Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20
Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22
Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22
Luis S. Vielma, 22
Kimberly Morris, 37
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30
Darryl Roman Burt II, 29, of Jacksonville
Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32
Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21
Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25
Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35
Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50
Amanda Alvear, 25
Martin Benitez Torres, 33
Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37
Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26
Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35
Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25
Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31
Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26
Enrique L. Rios Jr., 25
Miguel Angel Honorato, 30
Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40
Luis Daniel Conde, 39
Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33
Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25
Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32
Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19
Cory James Connell, 21
Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37
Jerald Arthur Wright, 31
Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25
Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25
Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24
Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27
Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33
Brenda Lee Marquez McColl, 49
Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24
Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32
Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28
Frank Hernandez, 27
Paul Terrell Henry, 41
Antonio Davon Brown, 29
Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24
Akyra Monet Murray, 18
[one currently unnamed]

Boys, Girls, and the Root of the Problem

When the prevailing thought is "boys will be boys," girls will be garbage. - Ann Voskamp

You can't be on the internet this week without reading something regarding Brock Turner and the Stanford rape case. And since you're reading this, it means you've been on the internet, which saves me from the task of recapping this disgusting horror show.

There are so many parts about this that simultaneously make me sick, sad, and furious:

• the sexual assault itself
• Brock's lack of remorse
• the joke of a sentence
• the judge's reason for the "slap on the wrist" sentence
• the white privilege 
• the father's defense of his son

to name a few.

It scares me to live in a world where not only can a college-aged guy rape an unconscious woman behind a dumpster, but his father will plead for leniency calling it "20 minutes of action in his 20 plus years of life." Now, I don't know what it's like for fathers to raise sons (obviously), but I do know that kids learn mentalities and perspectives from their parents. When a man tries to make his convicted rapist of a son out to be the victim in a situation that he and only he caused, it's pretty obvious where Brock learned to believe that that girl was his for the taking. Brock still refuses to apologize for the actual assault, saying only that he wishes he hadn't gotten drunk or gone to that party. He and his father both say the problem is alcohol use and sexual promiscuity, but last time I checked, plenty of people in college get drunk at parties - most of them don't rape people.

It scares me to live in a world where a judge can give a 20-year-old convicted by a jury of multiple accounts of sexual assault a sentence of six months in county jail (not state prison), with the high chance that he'll be out in three with good behavior, and three years' probation because he is concerned that a longer sentence would have a "severe impact" on him. The judge showed far more concern for the perpetrator's wellbeing than that of the woman whose life he wrecked. Her life will forever be marked by what Brock decided to do, but Judge Aaron Persky was more concerned on not messing up Brock too badly. Because oh yeah, he just so happened to be a Stanford alum and the former men's lacrosse captain. An African-American 23-year-old just got freed from prison after spending 9 years in for murders he didn't commit. That means he was sent to prison at 14. But Brock, an upper class white guy, gets six months in jail for a rape he actually did commit.

It scares me to live in a world where news sources reporting on a rape think it appropriate/relevant to post the swim times of the rapist because he happened to be a talented athlete. As someone on Twitter said: If someone is a rapist and an athlete, they're not an athlete who made a mistake, they're a criminal who can also swim. There are plenty of articles on this case that have spent time talking about how Brock was a good swimmer hoping to go to the Olympics one day, as if that is some cause for sympathy. It's no one's fault but his own that he is not going to go to the Olympics.

This is the thing, though: the problem isn't just rape. I was going to the deli the other night. A guy was sitting on a stoop about halfway between my apartment and there. He said "what's going on, baby?" and when I ignored him, he proceeded to follow me down the sidewalk until he saw me go in the deli and, I'm assuming, realized he wasn't going to get me alone. (Luckily, I live in a neighborhood where there is lots of activity every night, and I'm also friends with the bouncers at a bar on the block who would come to protect me at the drop of a hat.) The problem is that we live in a culture where a lot of guys think there's nothing wrong with following a girl down the sidewalk, or catcalling, or touching her without being given permission. And we can't seem to make them understand what's wrong with it because we can't make them experience what it's like to be objectified as something less than human, something put on this planet for the entertainment and enjoyment of boys masquerading as men. I know I'm not saying anything here that hasn't been said by countless others, but this is reality that can't be said enough until the culture changes.

Remember Elliot Rodger, the perpetrator of the mass shooting at and around UC Santa Barbara a couple years ago? He posted a series of 20 videos online outlining his plan for revenge on women because they wouldn't date him or pay him the attention he thought he deserved. He literally warned people in advance of his desire to commit violence. His parents called the cops when he was younger because they were worried, and the cops shrugged him off as being a "normal" male with pent-up aggression. Boys will be boys, right? Teenage boys want sex, right? Because authorities didn't see the situation for what it was, the girls in that UCSB sorority house that was his target stopped being college students living their lives and started being subjects who had failed to please this guy who thought he was owed their attention and their bodies because they were females and he was a male. This is toxic masculinity at its peak.

Or how about Chris Plaskon, the 16-year-old in Connecticut who stabbed Maren Sanchez to death in the hallways of their high school because he asked her to be his date to prom and she said no? This is another example of a guy believing that he is owed access to a girl and taking revenge when he doesn't get what he wants. If he couldn't have her, no one would, not even her boyfriend with whom she was already supposed to go to prom.

Teenagers have to learn this mentality from somewhere. And I'm not just blaming parents/fathers. I'm not saying blame parents for the actions of their children who commit murder. Guys also learn this from the world around them. Music that reduces women to bitches and hoes who are there to serve men with sex. TV and movies that create female characters that need boys/men to come in and rescue them and whose main job is to cook for the men and clean and do their laundry and take care of them. Advertisements that have women half naked for no reason other than to get the attention of men. Pornography, the ultimate scenario of women being used to fulfill men's fantasies and desires.

It doesn't have to be this way.

We can live in a world where the lives of women and girls are seen as just as valuable as those of men and boys.
We can live in a world where men honor women and their bodies as they were intended.
We can live in a world where girls don't have to be afraid to walk home alone at night or drink at a party with their friends.
We can live in a world where women are more than bitches, hoes, or objects to be salivated over.

We don't have to have Brock Turners who don't or can't see why taking sexual gratification from women who don't or can't say no is wrong. We don't have to have Elliot Rodgers and Chris Plaskons who think they are owed attention and sex from women.

But we have to do something to change the culture.

We can have people like Carl Arndt and Peter Jonsson, the two Stanford grad students who caught Brock in the act, chased him down, and held him until the cops arrived. One of them reportedly cried as he explained to the cops what he saw. They didn't blow it off as not being their business, and they didn't assume the girl wanted it. They thought something was wrong, and they did something about it. They are proof that it is possible to raise boys who respect women as fellow human beings just as valuable as they are.

We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal. And when I meet Thomas Jefferson, I'ma compel him to include women in the sequel. That's a line from Hamilton that has more necessary truth in it than you would think would come from a Broadway musical. Teaching kids that women were created equal to men is just the first step in changing the culture.

Lastly, I will leave you with this video. I don't know who this young man is, but he hits the nail right on the head. It's only about six minutes, and I implore you to please watch it.



"Stop telling women to watch their back, when we're the ones who stare at their backs as they walk past. Stop telling women that it's their fault, when we are the dogs who make the catcalls. Rather, speak up and teach boys and men these three simple things: Love people. Respect people. And do. not. assault."

Putting A Name to It

Disclaimer: If you don't want to read a post about my lady parts, stop reading now.

I got my period right before my 12th birthday, and from the very beginning, it's been awful. I mean, absolute hell. Instead of it being a 1 week on, 3 weeks off thing, it was 3 weeks on, 1 week off. I once had one that lasted 56 days. Straight. Yeah.

I was on birth control for a while, until my neurologist thought that was playing into my migraines and took me off it when I was 17. Back to the hell that was my period. Birth control never did much for my periods, anyway, but the little bit of help that I got was quite noticeably missed when I went off the pills.

I went to a gynecologist back in NC, the one who had me get an ultrasound and go on a med back in 2011 because the lining of my uterus was too thick. We talked to her about the possibility of endometriosis because of the symptoms I was having and the fact that Mom had it (there can be a genetic component to it), but she was just sort of like "Eh, you're so young, let's not worry about that for now."

So I put it out of my mind. I told myself the pain I got every month was simply because of my lack of a thyroid (thyroid issues can also play into the whole mess). And then I got distracted by other health stuff.

But when my endocrinologist up here told me that she thinks I have mild PCOS and that I should get checked out at Women's Health before I graduated I went. My cramps had reached the point that they make my thighs hurt, and I knew something was wrong because it's not supposed to be that bad. But I refused to tell myself it was endo because I just really, really didn't want another thing to deal with.

I went back to see my doc there today because she had told me she wanted to talk to me about alternative forms of birth control since I can't be on the pill because of my migraines and seizures and the IUD wasn't going to work because it was too painful for me to handle being put in there in the office. Well, within five minutes, she started talking to me about how she suspects I have endometriosis and wants to send me to an OBGYN surgeon so they can schedule a laparoscopic surgery to see.

At first, I was just sort of like "Okay then" but as she was sitting there looking up doctors to refer me to, I just accidentally exclaimed "Damn it!" And she immediately knew why. She said something to the effect of "Yeah I know. With your medical history, I'm really sorry you have something else to deal with."

And that's basically what I was/am feeling. But I called Mom and told her all about the appointment and she said, "Well, if this is what it is, you've been dealing with it anyway. Now it just has a name." Which is true. She and I have suspected I have this for years, we've just never gotten a diagnosis. And if I have this surgery, then I can know for sure and treat it, which could significantly improve my life from how it gets every time my period hits. And that's awesome.

But I'm frustrated. Frustrated that I've got to go to another doctor and deal with another surgery, as minor as it is, and figure out how to treat another health problem without interfering with the many other problems I have. Frustrated that, once again, it feels like I can't catch a break, that as soon as I get one thing under control, something else to deal with pops up and it just never ends.

I was getting frustrated with myself earlier, too, because I felt like I shouldn't be upset about this because I'll finally get answers, but Clayton, God bless him, made it make sense when he said, "If my leg was hurting for months and then I found out I had cancer in my leg, I wouldn't be happy about it. I don't think you should be furious, but don't expect yourself to be happy, either." I'm not furious. I'm just tired and frustrated.

The most frustrating part is that I have to wait until June 9th to even see the surgeon because that's the first new patient appointment she had open, but thankfully, since I'm not graduating until September, I have full access to my student health insurance and all of that. So at least there's one good thing.

I know it's a good thing to put a name to 12 years of pain. And I'm sure that I'll get to the point of focusing on that soon. But I wasn't expecting to have to deal with this today, so for now, I'm just frustrated.

And that's okay.

Did I mention I'm tired?

In the past week, I've had three days of migraines,

two seizures,

gave myself a concussion in the second one,

slipped and fell in the shower and nearly broke my elbow (because I'm a klutz, not from a seizure),

and gone to the ER three times in three days.

The good news is that my neurologist managed to fit me in for an emergency appointment this Thursday because despite the fact that my seizures are becoming less frequent, when they do happen, they're coming on much faster and don't give me time to protect myself. So I'm tired.

The one blessing in all of this is that my church family has been absolutely incredible. I'm so grateful for the blessings of community that God has placed around me in the past few years, but even more so now.

I've already won.

Did you know that nerves can get contusions? Because I didn't. At least, I didn't until a nerve in my leg got a contusion. And you know what is really unpleasant? Bending your knee and feeling like someone is trying to cut your leg in half.

People think I'm so brave and so strong all the time, but it's times like this where I feel like they're nuts because I'm just. so. tired. This is the same knee/leg that just recovered from a severe sprain like a week and a half ago. I texted Clayton and told him that just when it feels like my life can't get any more frustrating, it does.

How I feel right now is exactly how I felt my last semester at Campbell: all I want to do is just make it to graduation and it feels like every possible thing in the universe is trying to get in the way of it. I try not to be self-pitying, but sometimes I wish that things would come easily for me just once. Just once. Everything feels like a battle and I'm so tired.

But it's a good thing that I don't serve a God who is dependent on feelings. The God that I serve stays the same, the one constant that I have in a world where everything changes and I control next to none of it. The God that I know has plans that are far above my understanding and doesn't do anything by mistake. That is the one hope and promise that I have to hold on to when everything feels like it's beating me down, like the stress is winning and I'm losing.

Here's the thing I struggle to remember, though - I can't lose. I can't lose because the battle was won 2000 years ago when a man the world thought was dead got up out of a tomb and left death in his place. The battle was won when prophecy was fulfilled and the men who thought they were killing Jesus were completing everything that had been foretold centuries before. The battle is over. We won. That's what Easter is all about. The Lord has already fought for me, I need only to be still. (I'm not very good at that, if you haven't noticed.)

Hope is all I have when things feel like they're too much. But here's what my friend Jon says in "The Wall" that seems perfectly fitting for me right now. Maybe you need it, too.

With God, what seems like a hopeless situation is not only possible, it's favorable, because only God can turn a mess into a message. Only God can turn a trial into a triumph, a test into a testimony, and a victim into a victory. His power is made perfect in weakness, so let us rejoice in our trials and hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, because He who promised is faithful, was faithful, and will always be faithful, no matter how hopeless the situation.

Even when it feels like everything is going wrong, He is faithful.

Thank God for that.

Ten things that shouldn't need explaining regarding sexual harassment.

1. When you sexually harass someone, you don't get to complain when you get reported.

1a. If you continue to bug the person you harassed about reporting you, that, my friends, is continued harassment.

2. It doesn't have to be actual touching.

3. It isn't something you have the right to blow off as "just a joke." If you harass someone, it is very real to them and you don't have the right to pretend that it isn't.

4. Men can be victims of it same as women can, even though it just isn't as frequent in this society.

5. That said, their experiences are just as valid and real as those of women.

6. No, sexual harassment is not even in the same ballpark torment-wise as actual sexual assault, but the fact that you didn't rape or molest someone isn't an excuse for you to harass them.

7. Each and every person on this earth has inherent dignity and worth, two things that you don't have the right to take away or damage just because you are bored or turned on or any other adjective.

7a. Don't give them value because they are someone's "wife/mother/daughter/sister" or "husband/father/son/brother." Give them value because they are a person, created in the image of God as His greatest treasure.

8. Do not dare invalidate the feelings of someone who has had to deal with being sexually harassed, particularly by someone in their day-to-day lives. The feeling of being seen as nothing more than someone to be used or objectified is disgusting and damaging.

9. I know we will likely all do it at some point, even to a small extent, and I know that it's far too common in this society, but that doesn't make it okay in any way, shape, or form. It is not excusable. End of discussion.

10. It can be stopped. It doesn't have to happen. We can stand up for each other and stop it when we see it. We can do better. We can be better.

Ableism sucks.

Today I had a Skype call with my Professional Development Seminar professor.

Based solely on the fact that I had a seizure that was out of my control (flickering light in the bathroom at work) a few weeks ago before his class, he told me he doesn't think at this point that I'll be able to sell myself to get a job after graduation.

He doesn't think I can do what I need to do to succeed because I have a seizure disorder.

He doesn't believe I'm good at my job and my education (yes, he literally said "I don't believe you").

And then he excused all of this by saying "I'm just trying to be objective. You may be good at getting good grades, but getting a job isn't like that."

I'm so tired of people doubting my abilities or determination simply because they know I have health problems, especially ones who don't have a clue about how I live or all that I've fought through.

But I suppose that it'll just make it that much more fun when I prove him wrong.

Prejudice in all forms sucks, y'all. The golden rule isn't that hard.

Be like Ellen. Be kind to one another.

And please, for the love of all that is good in this world, don't doubt the abilities of people who are different.

19 days and counting down.

That's how long I have.

That's how long I have until I get to get on a plane and go back to North Carolina for the first time since LAST Christmas.

Time with my Mom, a week in Myrtle Beach with my grandma, Christmas (and Christmas food!), seeing Matt for the first time since my graduation last May, and then sweet sweet time at Campbell to end on a high note. (Because let's face it, there are going to be plenty of downs while I'm in Swansboro, because family.)

But to get to all of that, I have to get through three more days of classes (because one professor scheduled an extra day since she was sick twice. Yay me.), write two final term papers, get everything sorted out to get into my Master's seminar, and finish five PhD applications on time.

And I also have to find an internship and get everything sorted out to get into the Internship seminar so I can, you know, graduate on time. I technically have until the end of January for that, but I know that it will be infinitely more complicated while I'm in NC for four weeks and staying at my grandma's house without Wifi (since I ended up in the hospital after staying at my mom's house last winter, that won't be happening again. So it would be really, really awesome if I could get everything sorted out before I leave.

It'll all work out. It has to. But today has not been my day. First, I went to go get lunch from the deli, realized I couldn't find my keys, and spent the next 2.5 hours tearing apart my room and looking in every weird and random place my friends (thanks Summer and Emma) could think of, until I just gave up and asked my landlord to make me a new set. Luckily, he's pretty much the nicest guy you could ever want to run your apartment building so he had no problem doing that. Then, I spent an hour going through phone hell trying to figure out how to get my TFAS grade records from Georgetown online; luckily, the IT help desk got me into the system and they still had what I needed online after 3 years. Campbell, however, takes you out of the system upon graduating, so I have to wait for the transcript copy to get here in the email, and I have one application due tomorrow and the transcript isn't due to arrive until Thursday, so I had to spend a sweet forever talking to that university trying to figure out what I could do to still submit my application on time; plus, I realized I sent my GRE scores to the wrong school at Columbia, and while the school I sent it to had no problem sending the scores over to the right school, the right school normally does not accept reports transferred between schools, even though it's an official report, so I have to hope and pray they'll make an exception so I don't have to spend another $30 to get another report sent out. Then, after I took a picture of my NYU transcript and uploaded it (because I can use that for uploading transcripts to applications), I could've sworn I put it back in my desk where it had been before, but then I went back to look for it and couldn't find it anywhere. Because of course.

At that point, I was just like "Okay, life, you win. I give up for today." Because with still feeling awful from Sunday and so much else in my head, I just about started crying this afternoon from all the added stress.

With that said, I'm going to bed now, hoping for a better, easier, clearer, more productive day tomorrow.

It kind of has to be, since Columbia needs my application.

Yay adulthood. Campbell's exam week starts tomorrow, and I would totally go back to that.

Get out of my head.

You know how people say, like, "If I tell you don't think about a purple elephant, don't think about a purple elephant, don't think about a purple elephant, what are you going to be thinking about? A purple elephant."?

Yeah, well, I have a purple elephant in my head.

I was starting to do so well forgetting something/someone, not thinking about it, putting it behind me and starting to feel like my normal self again emotionally...and then I started having dreams.

Every time I slept. Dreams.

Bad dreams.

About the same person. And the same thing.

Without fail.

Which, as you might guess, kind of ruins the whole "forgetting about it" thing because all of these dreams get in my head, and then the more I tell myself to forget about it and shake it off and move on, the more it sticks.

I hate this. I hate that this person has so much control over my emotions, especially considering they almost certainly have no clue how much they're controlling.

I hate that things may never go back to the way they were.

I hate being reminded of just how much damage words can do.

I hate how everything blew up so quickly.

I hate realizing that there's a lot I don't know about someone I thought I knew very well.

And mostly, right now, I just really hate that I can't get this stupid purple elephant out of my head.

It's been a rough week.

I didn't mean to not blog for a week

but between a week of sickness and stomach issues

and two long days in the ER for two different reasons

it happened. I'm tired.

Maybe I'll go back and fill in the missing posts.

Maybe this will change my blog and I'll give up on the post for every day thing.

I don't know.

We'll see.

Tomorrow. Because I'm tired now.

That time I wanted to throat-punch an old lady.

For the first time in my life, I was in a 4-bed hospital room.

That was about as much fun as you would imagine.

Especially since I was sharing with 3 very old women, none of whom spoke very much English, who kept me up all. night. long.

The Chinese woman was hacking.

The Spanish woman either had her entire biological family in the room or was snoring like a buzzsaw.

And the Russian woman was moaning and whining for help and that she was dying no matter how many times or how frequently our nurse came in to see her. As soon as he left, she started up again. By about 3:30 am I was so tired and in so much pain that I wanted to get up and go off on her. I didn't, though. Because headphones.

Needless to say, this made an already crappy day worse.