Tag Archive | story

Fear & Hunger

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(me then & now)

“Winning isn’t everything. The will to win is the only thing.”

It seems that some emotions or feelings such as fear of death or fear of anything really, and desire for things or people we can’t or shouldn’t have are viewed negatively by many people. Viewed as a weakness, a flaw, something to avoid at all costs. There are self-help books and teachings designed to help us not be afraid and to not desire. Not to fear death or how to overcome the fear of death, not just overcoming an unhealthy phobia but even just any natural, primitive fear of death. Not to feel desire, to not want things we do not have, to just be content with what we already have or to be happy with very little. To not want more. To not want material things because material things are bad and desire is reprehensible. To not feel disappointed if we can’t get more. 

It’s like a rebellion against the media, advertising, commercialism, and consumerism. 

These are good things. We don’t want fear taking over our lives or being too frequent. And it’s not good to ignore our current blessings just to want more, more, more. 

Too much restlessness and ungratefulness are not good. 

We often think of disappointment, the feelings we have after not succeeding or getting what we want, wanting what we can’t have, as a bad thing. Sometimes we may feel guilty for acting or feeling ungrateful. 

Maybe we feel wimpy for being afraid. 

But fear, hunger, and desire are beautiful things. They are not bad. They are not an indication that we are bad or wrong or ungrateful or that we need fixing. We don’t need self help books or anything to help us completely obliterate fear & desire.

It’s fantastic to be happy with very little or with everything we already have but there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging those things with gratitude while also desiring other things now & then. 

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I see things in a way that I would never have if I never suffered with depression. I see through a lens of depression, even when I’m not depressed. (it’s a good thing) I see through depression tinted glasses. Even when I’m very happy. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

No matter how happy I am, no matter how healed I am in general, I will never lose touch with my depressed self and the deep wisdom it has shown me. And I don’t ever want to lose touch with that part of me.

There are lessons and observations and truths bubbling in my core, ingrained into me, resting in the crevices of my brain, that I would not have come to realize any other way. 

For many, many years I suffered with depression and often, very little to no desire, hunger, or fear. Many days, I did not want anything. I did not fear anything. I did not care about anything. There was no hunger for life. No hunger to win. No hunger to get better. 

I often did not care if I lived or died. 

When I was a little girl I wanted everything. I wanted every toy in every store. I wanted to go out and play with my friends. I looked up at the sky and I hungered for more. I hungrily devoured the scents, the feels, the sights and sounds, the tastes of Nature. The taste of salt water as the strong Ocean’s waves washed over me, the feel of the dirt that got under my fingernails as I rolled around in the lot my friends and me played in. The blueness of the sky that pierced my matching oceanic blue eyes as I stared innocently into the sun until it blinded me and all I saw were specks of unknown galaxies and dark black shadows of mystery. Mysteries lost in the whites of my eyes, sparkling amidst the invisible spaces of my corneas. 

Mysteries I longed to know. But loved the obscurity of. 

My immense love for water bugs, roaches, and my wonder at maggots turning into flies almost matched my love for caterpillars, butterflies, songbirds, and the
colorful flowers that bloomed into Spring. This seemed to baffle most of those around me, both the other kids as well as adults. How could anyone love such ugly, repulsive things? The other kids would run screaming at the first sight of a big brown roach while I would drop to my knees in awe and watch closely as one would turn over and play dead. Then I would playfully imitate the scene, lying on my back with my arms and legs crumpled up, tongue sticking out, trying hard not to laugh. I loved the disgust on the faces of those in my audience. 

Or I would watch a white maggot squirm and wonder what they’re made of. What makes them white? What gives them the ability to move? Do they have insides like people? Like me? Does a maggot have a heart? My innocent, curious little girl thoughts swirled around inside my head. There was no Internet I was aware of. I couldn’t easily look it up like I can now. So I wondered. I contemplated. I entertained an infinity of ideas, in my little girl ways. 

The Internet is a great gift to the world but the absence of the Internet in childhood is also a great, valuable gift. I am happy I had no Internet. 

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 Bumble bees never scared me like they scared the other kids, even after I was painfully stung by one in the neck and my mom had to remove the stinger as I yelled in anguish and confusion. I would chase them just to catch a glimpse of that yellow fuzz that decorates their bodies, getting as close as I can, feeling a deep connection to another living, beautiful creature. Not very unlike myself. I wanted to run my finger along that fuzz. I never killed insects or bugs out of fear, dislike, or to capture that magical green glow of fireflies in my hands, on a hot Summer night. 

I knew that would be one of the worst offenses anyone can commit in this life, like stealing a star out of the sky and keeping it all to myself or taking a jellyfish out of the ocean just to see through that thick clear gelatinous body
all the way through to the spineless depths of her being. 

I would look up at a navy, starless midnight sky and just know somewhere deep inside there were no stars because they all burned out, not being able to stand the heaviness and constancy of my endless, annoying wishes. I felt that they had secrets I was never meant to know. I felt both sadness and awe. Awe, a feeling of great wonder, deep inspiration, and a strange kind of fear and respect. 

I couldn’t think in these words or concepts at such a young, innocent age. But I felt it in my bones. I felt it venturing throughout my veins and electrifying with each pulsation of my beautiful heart that pounds through my chest. The rhythm of life pounding through me. 

I still feel it. 

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As a little girl, my friends and me would build tents out of sleeping bags and sheets and blankets and beach towels, building tents to huddle in and play house together, and pretending as if these tents were our hideouts deep into some lost, secluded woods where we were being chased by a big bad wolf or a deranged stranger, I noticed the rough and smooth sounds of the sheets and nylon sleeping bags as they gently brushed together. I was struck by the infinite beauty of something so simple. Time stood still. 

Listen to that! It’s like music!” 

Kim, you’re just crazy!” 

Maybe. 

I would eat fun-dip candy until my tongue bled and stung, like catching a mini falling star on the tip of my tongue as if it were a snowflake. I would stare at the white stick streaked with my blood, my beautiful life sustaining fluid, in awe. There was something wondrous about eating delicious colored powder until my little tongue started leaking pink-red blood onto white. There was something thrilling about that sting. The coppery, metallic taste in combination with the sweetness of powder. I loved the burn in my chest. I would happily run to inform my mom, as if it were my greatest accomplishment. Holding up the white stick to show her this magic I discovered. But my wonder was never met with satisfaction and praise as I always hoped. Instead my mom would tell me to quit eating the candy. 

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Unlike most kids I knew, I happily anticipated going back to school when Summer ended and shopping with my mom for school supplies, shoes, and clothes. I couldn’t sleep the night before my first day back. Happy, grateful thoughts raced across my mind. I wanted to get up and dance. I wondered who I would meet. What would I learn? Even now the memory of that feeling thrills me. The great potential of meeting new friends, seeing old friends, the thrill of new teachers, and learning new things I would run home to proudly share with my mom and dad. Wondering what desk I would sit at, what kids I would be grouped with, who would my work partners and playmates be…

I loved shopping not just to get the stuff but the whole feel of shopping for it with my mom, seeing all the other shoppers, the feel of the back to school spirit all around me, the endless commercials advertising impressive things for going back to school. The scent of new, blank notebooks with white, lined pages just waiting to be filled and freshly sharpened pencils and broken crayons in a multitude of fascinating colors with fascinating names. “Tickle me pink.” 

The big fruit scented markers in a disarray of colors and soft, squishy pencil erasers that felt like rubbery cement upon my fingertips. The various shapes of pencil sharpeners. I even loved the idea of white-out and couldn’t wait to make mistakes just to get to white it out. I loved the containers it always came in, the little bottles and then the other kind that came out, no longer like liquidy liquid but a little sponge that smoothly glides across the paper. 

I always loved how it smelled mixed with paper and ink as it wafted up to tickle the scilia in my nose. In school we were not usually permitted to use pens so I had no use for white-out so my mom and dad would buy me it for home. I cherished the opportunity to give out valentine’s day and Christmas cards with paper hearts and candy canes taped on and would usually make one up for every kid in class. It felt so beautiful making them all happy with a sweet little card and I always had some to bring home too with sweet little messages of friendship. 

I loved the feel of being in school surrounded by other kids, cared for by teachers. Immersed in the glow of the whole environment. My hungry curiosity soaking up all the information my little brain could hold. I took in all the fragrances of the classroom, the smell of food, pencil lead and shavings, washable, markers, non toxic paint, clay…,the chatter, the laughter, and all the emotions swirling about, through the air. People, children & adults alike, always told my mom how “crazy” it is a girl can love school so much. 

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Each day after school, I couldn’t wait til my friends came out and we ran through the streets and the abandoned lots. We snuck up onto the railroad and secretly climbed the gates to trespass into people’s backyards with the possibility of getting caught hanging over our heads, both thrilling us and frightening us. 

As I sit here and write this, I can smell the fragrance of the green grass that filled my nose and lungs in the Summers all those years ago, I can smell the sundrenched metal on my hands after climbing the fence surrounding the big lot we played in, I can feel the richness of the soil we buried treasures in and searched for wiggly worms in with our bare hands and little fingers, I can taste the magic of the glistening snowflakes as they landed on my tongue in the dead of Winter, I feel the crisp Fall air as it caressed my skin, I feel the rainy mist and the floral beauty of Spring as it bloomed into my essence after that long, cold slumber finally ended. I hear the childish screams and laughter, the innocent taunts “takes one to know one! Last one there is a chicken brain…! I’m rubber you’re glue whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you! Traitor! Dirtball! Kimbo Bimbo!!

I can still hear the songs we listened to as our small bodies happily danced up and down the street, the songs that skipped and stopped and started back up as a result of my scratched up CD’s I never took good care of. I can feel the sunlight dancing upon the rain puddles after a heavy storm and the bruises and burns of the scrapes, like little sun beams, that adorned my knees as I did somersaults, went tumbling endlessly down the hills we used to play upon near the railroad, only to smack hard into the low concrete walls that surrounded the sandy, rocky spaciousness when I reached the end, and burst out laughing.

My Earth colored hair soaked in mud and sweat and grit as it tangled into an unrecognizable mass of chaos and beautiful destruction. 

I can taste it today.

I sit here and my head overflows like cauldrons of emotion, nostalgia, longing, joy, happiness, pain, a deep ache way deep inside in some mysterious place of me I can’t quite identify, crackling and sizzling to the brim, on an old stove as brilliant purple and orange flames swallow it up. I see colors and stars and thousands of burning suns and glowing moons, everywhere.

It reminds me of a line in LeeAnn Womack’s song, “I Hope You Dance”. One I reference often.

“…get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger.”

I was satisfied with the beauty all around me but I always wanted more. I got my fill but I kept that hunger. Each day I couldn’t wait to go outside and play in the dirt, the snow, the grass, the rain and oily, muddy puddles my feet loved to dance in, the leaves, the worms and rolly pollies….I was astounded by the beauty in every form it came to me. My senses passionately, greedily devoured every bit of it. I was filled with wonder & awe. And I was very aware of this wonder and awe that always breathed in my lungs and flowed with my blood like a starry serenade.

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I desired things I couldn’t always have. I wanted every toy, every book, every pair of shoes the instant I saw them and I would throw brief conniptions Sometimes on the rare occasions I was told no. I thought it was the worst thing to want and not get.

I also felt fear. I feared my own death even though I was too young to truly understand the full concept. I feared getting lost. I feared getting sick. I feared deeply. Fear did not take over my life but I experienced a healthy dose.

But then I gradually developed mild depression and I saw beauty still but not to the same depth. I couldn’t quite feel it as much. But it was still there. Then my lowgrade depression turned to severe, unbearable depression that consumed me in its darkness, pulling me into the secret black waters of its depths, I was submerged in despair, hit like a bag of bricks, with this thick, heavy darkness, and I saw beauty but almost never felt it as deeply. It jumped out at me and I noticed it to some degree, still noticing the simplest things it seemed no one else noticed or cared for, like the taste of cold air, the sounds of crickets, the smoothness of floor tiles, the cars and trucks sloshing through the rain in the flooded streets, the soles of shoes squeeking on bright white floors, the light reflections bouncing off of metal, the smell of hospitals and medicine and healing, the salty taste of longing, the way my soft hands feel in warm weather as they softly stroke utility poles and the wood of public benches, in fact, I seemed to notice it even more now…but it was shadowed by gray and darkness. I wanted to want it. But I just couldn’t to the extent I once hungered for it. And on those instances I paid too much attention and I did begin to really feel beauty again, I would shield myself against it, feeling as if I don’t deserve it, that this world is too beautiful for someone as ugly as me.

I noticed the city lights softly bathing the pavements and streets, the sounds of trains rolling across the tracks, the Beauty of the

soft rhythms of car horns in the distance late into the night while most of the world around me remained asleep, laughter out in the streets, the starlight illuminating the night, music notes riding the air as neighbors played love songs all night long, the wind that danced through my long hair. The scent of soil after the rain, the taste of cold air, the feel of soft fleece against my delicate, sensitive skin that brought me a sense of comfort, the sense of unity that surrounded me during the holidays, the creaking of floorboards beneath my feet, the green glow of fireflies, the gentle creases on people’s faces, the laughlines and the wisdom, the curve of shoulders, the little hairs in the big, dark, moles on the face of the girl I used to see on a bus often, the things I have always known are beautiful that others believe are ugly or not worth noticing.  And it was all incredibly beautiful but I closed myself off to it. 

I forced myself not to notice it. I wanted that beauty but I did not want to want it. I believed I wasn’t deserving and it hurt me. I have always been blessed with an ability to notice, acknowledge, and appreciate things, incredibly simple and mundane things, in a way it seems most around me almost never do or never notice and appreciate in the same way I always did. I have always loved simplicity and monotony. And not just the things themselves but the fact of experiencing them, the whole experience itself. And I have always lived in gratitude and some degree of mindfulness even before it became my intentional way of life. Even before I knew what gratitude or mindfulness even is.  

I was never quite able to put it into words. 

I was not brought up this way. It just lives in me. It always has. It always will. 

Most children are more mindful and grateful than adults I believe, it’s a child’s nature, but mine seemed on fire and still is to this day. As we’re growing up, we often lose that sense of childish wonder to some extent, just getting caught up in the obligations and expectations and stresses of everyday life. Mine was hindered by depression but then brought back to life by depression way more intense than it was before depression. 

Now even in the throes of a deep, deep depression, I don’t shield myself against that beauty. Instead, I cling to it for my life.

When I’m depressed, I can’t feel it to the same depth usually, as when I’m not depressed but I still easily notice it and can feel it to some degree. And I seize it and hold on tight. 

Like a lifeboat out on some distant shore waiting for my grasp, promising to save me if only I reach out. 

That wonder never left me completely. 

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Even in a mental hospital under suicide watch for weeks, as a young woman,  when I got my hands on a pen without anyone knowing (mental patients weren’t allowed to have pens) I was thrilled beyond belief. A doctor accidentally left it on a table and the second he walked away I snatched it up and it hid it and when we had to sign in for a group therapy session I was just the coolest thing around,  signing my name with a pen in big bold, blue, letters, while every other patient had to use a pencil.     ;-D

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And the day I found a paperclip in the visiting room and hid it because it was just the most amazing thing to have a prohibited and somewhat sharp object in my possession while under suicide watch. I got both the pen and the clip taken off me when they saw me strolling the halls with them in my hands.

:-/

My mind drifts back now
to that moment my sense of taste returned while in the cafeteria, after what seemed like an eternity.

I am sitting around a small table with my friends who are not my friends but intimate strangers, all held together by some kind of lonely bond. No laces in our shoes, plastic forks and spoons, strings removed out of our hoods, plastic bracelet around my slender wrist bearing my name that then seemed
anomalous to me.

Struck by the sharp taste of the potatoes, struck in a delicious way, like meteor showers.
blasting through my whole being. Still so deeply and heavily depressed but

holding onto that moment as if my life depends on it. A moment surrounded by people who understand my pain and bizarre thoughts. 

When they took me to the court of mental heath and I was the star of the show, I was fascinated. It felt so bizarre and so intriguing to be the center of attention, everyone talking about me but not to me. I wasn’t allowed to speak unless spoken to and no one spoke to me til the end when my lawyer and me lost the case and I was involuntarily hospitalized even longer. I sat in a zombified state, lifeless, sedated not by medication but deep emotional pain. But some moments my hunger returned. My hunger for knowledge, my fascination for how laws and courtrooms operate. 

Even in my deepest, blackest despair in a mental hospital I stood with a young man, another sick patient, as we marveled at the vibrancy and color of the life in the courtyards outside the windows, just beyond our reach. 
Tantalizing and beautiful. And heartbreaking. And breathtaking. We stood in breathless wonder, even while held in the agonizing bondage of our sickness, invisible fetters keeping us chained in darkness and psychosis.

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He brought my attention to it, bringing a small spark of life back into me, a thin sliver of feeling to my zombefied state when he showed me the solitary flower that seemed to blossom just for the two of us, reminding me that life still exists beyond the pain as he showed me a bright red flower bathing in the golden, fiery, sunlight. Even the thin sliver of life, that

sparkle of electricity that surged through my body was enough in that moment. Just enough. This reminded me and continues to remind me to grasp and embrace whatever gems of beauty are before me, surrounding me, within me, in any form they exist. No matter how much it hurts or how lifeless or hopeless it feels. There is always something to hold. Something to move forward for. Even if it’s just a tattered thread blowing in the bitter
cold winds of despair. 

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I think of the nights we are kept awake by the sound of each other’s insomnia and the silent but screaming tears the night weeps onto our surface and into our core, and those moments we are able to laugh with one another as if we were never sick, as if we never knew the lifelessness and horror of depression and psychosis. Laughing uncontrollably without holding back, everything else is pushed aside for a moment, all the despair, the hallucinatory voices & figures that
stalk
the
nights, the suffocating loneliness,  the paranoid delusions, the puddles of emotional sickness, we laugh relentlessly in raw joy and all is momentarily Ok.

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I recall the day a group of us got together and decided to trick the psychiatric technicians and pretend we were talking to people who weren’t really there. She knew we were faking and laughed with us playfully warning us “just wait til the doctors get here and see if you get to go home any time soon, you’ll never get out of here!” We quit real fast!

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And the day I was going to be discharged to go home which happened to be the day they were having an ice cream party but not until later, after a couple of us had to leave. I wanted ice cream and to sit around with the others and I seriously, very briefly considered telling them I was still suicidal. I wasn’t. But it was almost worth it to pretend. Just weeks before I would not even get out of bed for breakfast. My hunger got stronger each day.

I have always known a certain awareness that most others I know or encounter seem oblivious to.  

There are moments I have felt lonely in my ability to see and appreciate the things it seems many or most overlook. It reminds me of a scene in Edith Wharton’s, Ethan Frome.

“He had always been more sensitive than the people about him to the appeal of natural beauty. His unfinished studies had given form to this sensibility and even in his unhappiest moments field and sky spoke to him with a deep and powerful persuasion. But hitherto the emotion had remained in him as a silent ache, veiling with sadness the beauty that evoked it. He did not even know whether any one else in the world felt as he did, or whether he was the sole victim of this mournful privilege. Then he learned that one other spirit had trembled with the same touch of wonder: that at his side, living under his roof and eating his bread, was a creature to whom he could say: ‘That’s Orion down yonder; the big fellow to the right is Aldebaran, and the bunch of little ones – like bees swarming – they’re the Pleiades…’ or whom he could hold entranced before a ledge of granite thrusting up through the fern while he unrolled the huge panorama of the ice age, and the long dim stretches of succeeding time. The fact that admiration for his learning mingled with Mattie’s wonder at what he taught was not the least part of his pleasure. And there were other sensations, less definable but more exquisite, which drew them together with a shock of silent joy: the cold red of sunset behind winter hills, the flight of cloud-flocks over slopes of golden stubble, or the intensely blue shadows of hemlocks on sunlit snow. When she said to him once: ‘It looks just as if it was painted!’ it seemed to Ethan that the art of definition could go no farther, and that words had at last been found to utter his secret soul….” (pp. 24)

I was shocked the moment I first read those beautiful lines. Pleasantly shocked. I feel myself in those words and in the small but profound spaces in the middle of each little lexeme. 

It can be frustrating and also beautiful to feel as if those around me cannot or won’t share in my sense of wonder at the simple beauty all around us. The forgotten. The ignored. The abandoned. 

The things I make it a point each day to reclaim. 

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(I STILL do this when I get happy, thrilled, overwhelmed in joy!) 😀

It’s one reason I love poetry and photography and novels. They have the potential to capture beauty, ugliness, pain, and ordinary things in an extraordinary way. Shedding light on dark, abandoned places and spaces. Places and spaces I have always longed to color with the beauty of my Truth. 

And it’s beautiful.

They have a way of replicating wonder and awe and fossilizing them. Bringing them to life. Bringing them to the surface of consciousness. Threading them throughout eternity like a beautiful tapestry of gold and red, fire and ice.

I have always had a poetic way of seeing things. My head spins the world into poetry and song. 

It doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes it’s incomprehensible even to me. But it’s always wonderful.

So even in my desperation, my depression, my despair, and lifelessness, I often noticed and wanted these beautiful things but I closed my heart to them, shut it off as if encased in thick cement. 

Sometimes I wanted to want things and couldn’t.

Other occasions I wanted things I did not want to want. 

Still, other occasions I wanted nothing and did not want to want anything but to vanish into nothingness or die a horrible violent death to match the horrible violent feelings inside me. 

This went on for years and years, and more years. Until I finally decided to get myself better. I asked for help. I work on myself relentlessly to be the best me I can be(not a perfectionist).

Now I feel beauty everywhere, every day. And I feel fear. Fear for myself. 

Have you ever been crossing a street or standing at a curb on a pavement and a car seems to be coming too close to you and a bolt of fear runs though you? Or have you ever been in a car and another car almost hits the one you’re in or actually hits it and you feel a bit shaken for a while after and you feel it’s a bad thing? I don’t think most people have true near death experiences but I think many/most of us have experienced at least one of those mundane occurrences like with cars coming a bit too close, maybe an encounter with a creepy stranger, walking up a dark street alone and hearing footsteps or seeing/hearing something that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. Or a person driving a car you’re in a little too fast and you fear for others but also yourself. 

All these experiences may shake you up a bit but that is an amazing thing!

It shows that you are healthy. You’re meant to be afraid when you think you’re in danger. 

Desire.

Have you ever walked through a store and saw expensive things you strongly desired but couldn’t have? Jewelry? Designer clothes? Beautiful furniture? Antiques? A lovely handbag? A gorgeous dress? Ever laid eyes on a beautiful house you couldn’t buy? 
And then you felt low for not being able to buy them…for not having them…

Have you ever wanted to win a game so badly or a competition of some sort? Ever wanted to be accepted to a certain school and graduate? Or applied for a job you desperately wanted?

And it did not turn out how you wanted it to and you felt devastated…

This too is a great thing! It’s healthy to want, to need, to hunger….and to be disappointed when it doesn’t turn out.

Just like when a very physically ill person is too sick to eat or even want food then the person begins getting better and appetite and physical hunger returns and the person’s doctor or mom says how great it is. Because it’s healthy to want to eat. 

Have you ever shielded yourself against beauty and things you want, feeling as if it’s wrong to want them or feeling as if you deserve none of it?

I encourage you to embrace the beauty around you and within you. Embrace your hunger, your fear, your desire. Whether or not you act on it. 

It’s healthy to want. 

Wanting is more important than getting.

Desiring, itself, is to be cherished, valued for all that it stands for. For all that it is. 

It shows you are an active participant in life. 

I had this epiphany, I guess you can say, in greater depth one day recently walking through Target. I saw so much jewelry, real and fake, I wanted but could not get. I felt disappointed. The way I wanted it was more than desire. It was hunger. The bracelets, the earrings, the necklaces, the bags that can make a girl go weak at the knees!…and then I remembered various occasions years ago walking through that very same store, seeing all that jewelry but not caring to have it even though I loved it, or wanting it but not with the same enthusiasm I would now, because of being depressed, or wanting it and becoming more depressed for not being able to have it.

That’s when I realized more how great it is and feels to desire what I love. Even when I cannot have it. I don’t always desire material objects like that even when I’m not depressed; generally I’m so happy with just the things I already have. I can often walk through stores without wanting everything I lay eyes on. And that’s a good thing too. But it’s not good to have no interests because depression or guilt saps it all away. Some people have reached a certain level of spirituality where they want almost nothing and do not fear death even when it’s currently staring them in the face but not because of an illness, because they have trained their brains to not be concerned with material things or external factors. They are happy this way. They are not numb. They are alive. This is a good thing. Most of us, though, are not spiritual like this or to this extent. So when we have desire and fear, it’s good. 

I think it’s hard for non depressed people and maybe even some depressed people to realize this. It’s ok to want and not get and then be temporarily devastated or angry or disappointed. It’s healthy to a certain point.

After years of pain, numbness, and lifelessness, I realize this. I was stuck and stagnant. I was half dead. 

When I used to think I was going to die, I was usually either happy or indifferent.

Seeing a speeding truck coming at me only provoked my concern for others, not myself. 

I still get like that but generally I’m not that way anymore. I’m like the little girl I was before all that. I experience hunger & fear again. Often.

I realize how beautiful it feels to want to paint my nails, to want to put makeup on because it’s fun, to want to walk through a store and buy things even when I don’t have the money. 

I wanted these things sometimes even when I was depressed but not to the same extent. They often felt like hassles or obligations. Or just tainted in gray. Dull gray. Or the color of vomit. A faded kind of green. A lifeless shade of green-gray. 

Often, I would see things I wanted to want or see things I knew I would want if I wasn’t lost in a vicious kind of darkness tearing me to pieces, choking me, swallowing me whole. 

Now I want to paint my nails. I want to choose eye shadow of various pretty colors to complement the vibrancy of the blue of my eyes.  I want to wear pretty clothes that look amazing on my beautiful physique. 

I want things I can’t have and it hurts. 

And it’s beautiful.

I still get depressed and am consumed by the dark pain or I get the other kind of depression, the kind that numbs me and I feel nothing, which sometimes feels worse than the unbearable pain.

But it’s not in general anymore. It’s just episodic now. And I realize more and more the deep, primitive beauty of hunger & fear. 

When I come out of a severe depression, when it starts to lift, I am hungry. Ravenous. Not hungry for food but hungry for life and everything in it. Hungry for the colors in the wind, the textures, the tastes, the sounds, the feelings and fragrances. Food tastes better than I can ever remember, an out of this world kind of deliciousness.. Music and songs are beautiful in an unfathomable way, my mind feels clear and hope is restored.

My judgment can be trusted. 
 
I become ravenous, rapacious, like a starved, wild animal. My eyes, my mind devour anything they can. 
It’s like I can’t get enough.
It reminds me of a blind person who was blind his/her whole life then all of a sudden can see and it’s overwhelming. Everything jumps out at once, the sensory input is too much to bear at once, dizziness, confusion, clashing, mind-blowing.
But it’s beautiful because the person can see.

I was blind but now I see.

It reminds me of the novel “The Secret Garden,” a beautiful story of growth, hope, and rebirth. 

It reminds me of when I had emergency surgery on my kidney when I was a girl of twenty-one years. I couldn’t eat for days, I was in pain and had an IV drip for a couple days. When I got a little bit better, I was starved. I was hungry.
I craved food like never before.
And pizza fries and Coca Cola never tasted so good.

I feel the entire universe inside me in all its perfections and flaws, all its beauty and pain. Its joy and misery, happiness, and despair. And I am born again. 

When I look up at the sky or at a bumblebee or at thin blades of green grass or weeds, I see poetry and music and paintings. When I’m in a dark room and I look at a door, ajar with just a streak of light seeping in through the narrow crack, I see photography. When I look at strangers on a bus or walking up the street, when I see traffic speeding in the rain on a dreary gray day, I see novels flash across my mind. When I think of my pain, I feel a story. A story to be written and told again and again to reach out and touch someone else for the better. 

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I’m not manic. I know what mania is. I don’t have it. It’s an illness and the people struck with it can’t think clearly even when they think they can and have clouded judgment. I can remain and think in a calm manner even when I think and feel this way. I know I am not invincible. My judgment is sound and I am not delusional in this case I mention here. And I know there are reasonable limits and rules I must adhere to and I do.  Mine is not dangerous like mania can be. But what I describe here may resemble that illness. It’s not to be confused with it. Mine is an awakening, an awareness triggered by an illness of the mind, one that has ravaged my brain for years.  It’s not an illness itself. I don’t always feel this ecstacy when I’m happy. Sometimes it’s more of a calm serenity, a quiet joy. But it’s just as fierce. 

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If you want something you don’t have, it’s ok. It’s best not to let it take over your life and make you miss out on all the goodness you do have and it’s usually best I believe, not to feel our worth is dependent upon external factors but it’s ok to desire, to hunger. And it’s ok to be angry, disappointed, devastated for a while, that we can’t have it yet or ever. Even if it’s something  trivial like jewelry or a fun vacation. Bask in the beauty of that hunger to be better, to have more, to get away…bask in that desire and the disappointment.

Sit with it.

Then remember all the greatness you possess and are and let that disappointment And desire dissolve.

And be happy now.

Did you ever think of disappointment as a good thing? 

I’m here to open you up to another perspective.

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You don’t have to be someone with longterm depression like me to get an idea of what I write of. That’s one reason why we write, to help others understand and discover wisdom without ever experiencing what we have. And to let those with similar experiences know they are never alone.  

The worst thing is not to want and not get. The worst thing is to be dead. And half dead. To not want at all because you are too lifeless to care. Or too lifeless to have the energy to even begin to desire or fear. And it’s ok to be half dead. If you are half dead then you are half alive. And you can awaken that other half. 

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When you have a brush with death and your body turns to jelly, bask in the beauty of that fear. Embrace it. Keep tasting it. You’re alive. And you want to be alive.

Revel in the wonder of that trembling.

Trembling in awe. Trembling in fear.
 
Trembling. 

Don’t shield yourself against the beauty you know. Try not to mask your desire and fear with feelings of guilt because we’re taught it’s wrong to want, to need, to fear, to get.

Let’s be happy, thrilled, overjoyed with the simplest of all the beauty around us. And nOt too

disappointed too long when we don’t get what we want. And let us keep reaching for the stars. I have always been naturally inclined to notice and love the simple beauty but I learned to strengthen my nature, make it more conscious, intentional.

Keep wanting more, keep desiring, keep trying, keep fearing. 

Get your fill to eat. But always, always, keep that hunger.

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=nICs–86Vng

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RV-Z1YwaOiw&app=m&persist_app=1
😀

Read “The Secret Garden” for free here:
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/113/113-h/113-h.htm

Read “Ethan Frome” for free here:
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/4517/4517-h/4517-h.htm

Xoxo Kim

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Princess – a short fictional story I don’t recommend…

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“Life is like a game of cards. The hand you are dealt is determinism; the way you play it is free will.” – Jawaharlal Nehru

Unless you want to be scarred for life like I am. Lol j/k but it’s seriously twisted! 

Recently I read a short story on BlackBerry Kindle like 47 pages and it’s another kind of insanity. An insanity you don’t even want to think about.

It sucked me right in and reading it was thoroughly entertaining but then it just got insane. At the end I had one of those “DAFUQ DID I JUST READ?!?!?!” moments. 

I’m going to write about it here, including the end so if you would prefer to read the short story before reading this then you know to click it off.

But like I said, unless you want to be traumatized forever, don’t. Lol

It’s a psychological thriller and in the reviews it is said to be dark and deeply disturbing. And it is!

It’s BEYOND disturbing.

It starts out with a mother helping her teenage daughter get ready for her prom, fixing her hair in front of a mirror in her bedroom, and her date is late showing up. The daughter is concerned that he’s standing her up and going with another person.

Her mother gets furious at this and spins the chair around that her daughter is in and yells in her daughter’s face that she is second to no one and the boy is probably just experiencing car trouble. Then in a split second the mother is back to her sweet self again smiling cheerfully at her daughter telling her that she’s the most beautiful girl in the whole county and everyone always knew it. That to me is a red flag right there that the mom may have some kind of issues going on getting furious in a split second to the point of screaming loudly in her daughter’s face then just as soon puts on a sweet smile and goes back to fixing her hair like nothing.
And the way she seems kind of obsessed with her daughter being “the most beautiful girl according to everyone.” It’s just weird.

The story switches scenes to where the girl’s dad is in a shopping mall. The wife is horrible to her husband and controlling and sent him out to find their daughter’s date or he would have to suffer her wrath.

So here the father is searching for a teenage boy to take to his daughter. I was confused at this point because the daughter seems to know her date, Josh, but it seems as if the dad is looking around for a random boy to take back.

Here, that’s exactly the case. Her father is looking for a random teenage boy to abduct! 

And call him Josh. Even though he’s not Josh.

The dad gets the boy in a parking lot, drugs him with a needle and takes him home, forces him to dress in a tuxedo before going into the house.

The scene switches back to home where the daughter is getting ready for her prom. They live on a secluded farm in the middle of nowhere and don’t know anyone.

The mom answers the phone and is 
relieved to hear that “Josh” just had “car trouble” and is on his way to pick up their little girl for the prom.

Here, the “daughter” is a mannequin! With a wig! Wtf?!  And the mom switches roles. First she’s the mom and the daughter is the mannequin. Then the mom takes on the role of the daughter and the mannequin becomes the mom!

The mom put on the wig and became the daughter and was conversing with the mannequin who is now the mom.

Then the dad came home with the abducted boy who they call Josh. The boy is utterly confused (as am I at this point..)as the dad tells him to wear the tux, answer to Josh, and do whatever his “daughter” (who is really his wife) says. The dad says he’s not explaining anything to just do as he says because he has a gun and will use it if the boy resists.

The “girl” walks down the stairs calling for Josh and she’s wearing a dirty pink dress that is too small. She’s clearly not a teenage girl but a middle aged woman. At first the boy thinks it’s a twisted joke and smiles then quickly realizes it’s a nightmare of reality.

The “prom” takes place in the basement of the house and there’s no other guests. Just the abducted boy and the husband and wife who is pretending to be the daughter. The husband and wife act as if there are other kids there though but they focus mostly only on “Josh.” They have punch and music and decorations and dancing. They pretend there’s a room full of kids and talk on a microphone to the audience.

The boy begins crying because he’s so scared but the woman/girl assumes/acts like he’s just so happy and moved over the whole prom thing.

The husband is relieved at this because if the boy doesn’t cooperate, the husband will suffer his wife’s abuse for him not doing a good job.

Then they go into a small room and the girl/woman shows her date a photo album and in all the photos is a mother and real daughter. The mother in the photos with the real daughter is clearly the woman now pretending to be a teenage girl. The photos are mostly of them at beauty contests.

The little girl who is the real daughter wins the beauty contests every year, she’s holding a trophy in every photo. But soon she comes to look very much like her mom (the lady now pretending to be the daughter) who is considered less than pretty and overweight.

So she starts getting second, third, last, then no winning place. The mom is obsessed with beauty and being/looking perfect. She tries to force this on her daughter. The woman pretending to be the teenager tells her “prom date” about how her mom was obsessed with physical beauty always trying to force her to live up to impossible standards, claiming that the judges of the contests were just jealous or something.

Then she puts the photo album away and forces the abducted boy to engage in sexual activity with her. He doesn’t want to but the dad has a gun and threatens him. 

So here’s a husband forcing a teenage boy to get it on with his wife! Who is pretending to be a teenage girl! Can you say, TWISTED?!

Something in the punch made it so the boy can be aroused enough to get it up even though he doesn’t want to.

Then they go outside and have some thing where they are elected prom queen and king.

Throughout the story the dad keeps reassuring the boy when he asks, that he will be let go and can go home at the end.

It’s a lie. They are planning on killing the boy.

It’s clear throughout the story that the husband is distressed over this whole situation and doesn’t want to participate but feels he has little say in it; his wife is emotionally abusive and forces him to do stuff.

It also becomes clear that this whole “prom” thing happens every year where the dad reluctantly goes and abducts a random boy, brings him home, he’s forced to engage in a “prom” and sexual things with the wife, then they kill him without anyone ever knowing.

Since they live in the middle of nowhere they’re less likely to get found out. No one ever thinks to look for the missing boys there.

I kind of guessed the end but got a couple things wrong. I thought it would turn out that years ago their real daughter was killed on prom night, I thought maybe a car crash going to the prom. And that the mom got so messed up over it she does this shit every year.

That’s kind of what happened but not quite.

At the end the boy wants an explanation since he’s going to be killed anyway.

So the husband tells him. 

Spoiler alert….
.
.
.

Five years ago on prom night his real teenage daughter was supposed to go to the prom with a popular boy named Josh. His daughter was unpopular and horribly bullied for her physical appearance and body weight. So when a popular boy asked her out it came as a shock but the girl was thrilled. She got all ready on prom night and Josh never showed up. So when she called him, he laughed at her and said all insults about her, said it was all a joke, that he would never go out with her, he was going with someone else.

She was devastated. Her mom showed no compassion and said it was all her daughter’s fault for not being good enough, for not being pretty, for being second to other girls.

So the girl ran outside and her dad went to run after her but his wife demanded him not to and said let their daughter think about what the mother said, that it will do her good or something. The dad reluctantly listened to his wife as he always does. Then later he found that his daughter hanged herself off the rafter things outside. He had to cut her lifeless body off the thing and watch her fall to the ground getting her pink dress all dirty. The pink dress the mom wears now for this freak show.

Then every year after that the mom set this up.

As the dad is telling the boy how his wife destroyed their daughter, he’s crying and says he misses his daughter terribly and how his wife couldn’t even show her some sympathy after her ordeal with the boy on the phone. He doesn’t even know why he goes along with this every year. He suspects it may have something to do with his own feelings of inadequacy that no one would ever want him, that he will always be alone. Years ago he always felt like that and was relieved that the girl who became his wife, wanted him forever. So he always did everything she told him to out of fear of losing her and being forever alone.

At the very end, the boy promises he won’t tell if the dad let’s him go, he says out of respect for his daughter he’ll keep it quiet. The dad is holding a gun to the boy.

Then the husband gets up, goes inside to the wife where she’s still pretending to be the daughter. And he tells her he misses their daughter so much. The wife looks confused since right now in her twisted head she is the daughter.

Then he points the gun at her and blows her away then does away with himself.

The end.

Bizarre ass shit, isn’t it?!

It’s sad and tragic and bizarre. 
The whole thing.

Not an uplifting read.

And some things you just can’t unread.

No matter how desperately you want to.

Lol

My heart breaks for that poor girl who died, feeling as if that was the only way out, like she was worthless and not good enough. My heart breaks for the dad who lost his little girl who he loved. He was wrong for killing the innocent boys he killed all those years and for killing his wife. But his anguish for his tragic loss is clear. It’s only fiction but it’s still sad. And unfortunately, stuff like this really happens(suicide, bullying, abuse…hopefully not the prom thing as well).
 
I believe the wife knew exactly what she was doing. That’s why she had to get a mannequin and keep making it a point to reverse roles, switching wigs and all. She knew to keep switching and to have to get a physical figure in place of a mother/daughter. She knew to relentlessly criticize her husband if he did not do exactly what she wanted. She knew to keep the thing a secret so she wouldn’t be in trouble.

While mental illness and feelings of inadequacy, low self-esteem, being verbally/emotionally abused are not the person’s fault and no one can just make them go away, when a person struggles with these things, that person has a choice. A choice to seek help, to overcome, get better, pro-act. The man couldn’t help it that his wife was abusive to him and that he had low self-esteem but that is no justification for abducting people, drugging them, and aiding in sexually assaulting them.

It’s not the wife’s fault that she had unhealthy views about body image but it’s no justification for forcing her own standards on her daughter, emotionally torturing her ’til she killed herself. The woman could have worked on herself to shift her views to more positive ones. She was projecting her own insecurity onto her innocent daughter. She could have chosen love over the abuse and bitterness. It’s not her fault she felt the need to have a fake prom every year, maybe she had some kind of mental illness(???) but she could have got professional help or worked on herself with self-help techniques to help this. So it wouldn’t have all ended in tragedy. There may be real people out there somewhere with something like this, people who dress up mannequins and pretend they are real for whatever reason. If that’s just a hobby for fun it’s ok even if people think it’s strange, but if it’s the result of serious emotional problems I think they deserve some compassionate motivation to seek help of some kind and deserve some sort of understanding. This is just a horror story but maybe there’s real people with these sorts of disorders or something. And if there are, it doesn’t mean they’re all dangerous like the people in the story.

And the poor daughter. She was emotionally abused her whole life by her peers and her mother. But suicide isn’t the answer. It’s a tragic, senseless choice. There’s always hope. 
Being bullied, humiliated, abused, depressed and suicidal is not a choice but acting on it by killing herself is. 
She could have worked on herself to realize her worth and know it’s never dependent upon her physical appearance, her body weight, or what her mom or anyone else says or thinks of her.
There’s always hope. Where there’s life, there’s hope. There’s always a way.

None of these people took responsibility for themselves. They let other people, unhealthy views, situations control them into doing tragic and twisted things. I think this is a great reminder to take responsibility. No situation or other person has the power if we don’t let them. We have the power over ourselves. 

I think this story isn’t meant to be thought provoking like this. It’s probably just supposed to be dark, twisted, insane, disturbing, thrilling. And that’s ok! Some people are into that kind of thing. I like some stuff like that too. But I still found some insights in the story that serve as great reminders. I’m happy I read it. Lol

We must know we have choices. Not realizing we have a choice can be almost as bad as really not having one but it’s not quite as bad as really not having a choice. We can learn we have a choice, be reminded, realize, see the light.

I think the only character in this story who really had no choice is the boy who was abducted. He had a gun held to him so basically he had no choice if he wanted to not be killed or threatened. 
But he has a choice how to handle the situation and his attitude, and reaction when it’s over.

People who have a choice but don’t yet realize it or are scared and act/think like victims deserve compassion but also deserve to be firmly reminded that it’s all up to them to change their lives and selves. Depressed people, homeless people, unhappy people, financially struggling people, suicidal people, addicted people, ones in abusive environments, ones letting a situation or other people dominate them, people working dead-end, life draining jobs…they all have choices. Positive, healthy choices. They don’t always know they have choices but they do, even if right now the only choice is something as simple as working on their attitude or taking small steps to get out of the situation. Small but significant steps.
Maybe they don’t always know what decision to make but they can seek guidance along the way.
Not everyone has a choice to change something significantly right this very minute. 
Not everyone is making conscious or intentional choices to get where they are.

But we can all make the decision to plan to change, our attitude or situation or both. Starting now. In small steps. Small steps are still significant.
And then we can work on that. For some it will definitely be more difficult than others.
Some people have more obstacles and disadvantages than others.
But we all have this life and twenty-four hours each day to do something. Something. Anything.
No matter how hard it is, people can change for the better. Even if it takes longer than desired. Even if it takes a lot of work. Even if it’s painful and seemingly impossible. 

We can’t help how we grew up, the people we have been surrounded with, the things they do or say, disabilities or illnesses, job losses or rejections….but we can always make the choice to do something to better ourselves and our situations.
Even if that choice for now is just meditating upon or planning to live up to a positive philosophy of life, quote or affirmation.

Even if that decision is planning in our heads to develop certain positive qualities we don’t yet have or strengthen ones we do have.
Even if that decision is to make a phone call, send an e-mail, walking into a building to ask for help.
 Many people feel that it’s cold and callous to say that certain struggling people have choices, that it’s not true, that it’s not being compassionate but none of this is true. It is being compassionate to help empower people to know they can get better, can take action, responsibility for their own lives.
To help people know that we are all dependent in some ways and can be independent in some ways if we really work for it.
There’s a healthy balance of gentle compassion and firm reminders of taking responsibility.
 
Some people really are cold and not understanding and and do criticize people in a toxic way when they have a choice but act like they don’t. But that’s not what I’m promoting.
We can be firm in reminders but still compassionate and loving and express deep empathy. 
The choice to do nothing is still a choice.
Sometimes we can find ourselves in places we are unsure how we got there.  It’s like we just ended up there with no say of our own.
But often it’s because of choices we have been making all along. Not always but often. Choices to do nothing, to settle, to take no action, to give in, to succumb to limiting beliefs. Choices to let other people and situations drag us down.
I have found myself in situations I was so sure I had no say in, no control over, I was a “victim” of sorts. But I later realized the roles I had in situations and what I can do now to begin getting out of it. If we realize we made choices that contributed to unpleasant situations then we can be empowered knowing that means we have the ability to make new choices that contribute to more positive situations.
If you make choices that contribute to unpleasant things then you can make choices that lead to positive things. 
 And it’s true we don’t always have choices for everything.
But whether or not we had control all along, right now the choice is ours.

Xoxo Kim

Random parts of me <3

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A while ago I did a blog “challenge” called “If you really knew me…” (https://inspirationalgem.wordpress.com/2013/01/12/if-you-really-knew-me-3/ )
which is a list of things about the person that people may or may not know. I decided to do another one with more random facts about me! 😀

If you really knew me, you would know….

 I’m not aL ways a realist. I’m a dreamer. For example if I were to get married and I were also rich and the man I was marrying isn’t rich, I wouldn’t sign one of those prenuptial things saying he can’t have half of my fortune if our marriage were ever to dissolve. I wouldn’t believe or want to ever believe our love would ever end. It’s realistic to know that marriages, relationships, love…ends but I prefer to live with my head in the clouds knowing our love isn’t going anywhere but deeper into each other’s hearts and there’s no need to prepare in the case of a future divorce. And I believe my love is usually unconditional and that I would still love and want him to share in my riches and I want to believe he wouldn’t milk me for all I have that he would love me unconditionally still and not want to take everything just because we’re breaking up. Also, if I were a girl planning to get inked, I wouldn’t be against getting my man’s name tattooed onto my body. So many people are dead set against getting a lover’s name marked onto them. But not me! And if we broke up and he took everything and I was stuck with his name scarred onto me, I would still be happy I risked it all for love. That’s true living, true loving. I live in some utopia. And I wouldn’t have me any other way! 😀

I love the sounds of the city especially at night. The cars and voices and laughing, the music…It all stands out to me in a profound, beautiful way. I love laying in bed late at night and hearing people out in the back or out in the streets, talking and laughing and living. There’s something amazing about knowing that people are awake and alive while I’m in bed at night. 

Rain is one of the greatest loves of my life. Sometimes I can’t quite find the words to describe the depth of joy it brings me and the thrill that surges through me when it rains. Or even looks or feels like it may rain.  I am exhilarated by the mere thought of rain. I feel so alive in the rain. So secure. So liberated. Whenever I walk in rain or mist I am completely free. No matter what may be going on, no matter what fears or concerns are troubling me then, they disappear into the rain. Every insecurity I have that comes and goes, temporarily, goes out the window when I walk alone with raindrops pelting upon my soft skin, streaking my long hair, kissing every inch of me. 
And I become the rain.
Something about it is so protective like nothing bad can ever happen to me when it’s raining. The sounds, the scents, the tastes, the feel, the look…it’s all so perfect. 

Dreams – I often remember my dreams, always have. I rarely have nightmares, almost never.  Sometimes my dreams know things before I do in life, and they send their wisdom to me during my slumbering hours. Sometimes I don’t consciously realize something or I’m convinced of something that isn’t true and I go to sleep and it’s there that the answers manifest. Sometimes I get depressed and suicidal and believe I want so desperately to die and I sleep and I dream. This recurring dream that comes often when I’m depressed. A Dream that someone is trying to kill me and in my dream I desperately want to live. In my dream I do everything to survive, whatever it takes. I run, hide, do things that are impossible in my reality, I find solutions when I think there are none. The emotion, the desperation, the Will is so strong, so overwhelming. So real. When I wake up I know what this dream is telling me. To live.
Once, I had a dream about myself. I was torn about a decision I made. I wasn’t sure what to do. Deep inside me I felt that I knew the truth but still wasn’t sure. I felt a voice deep inside me, I heard it say to listen to my intuition, to surrender to that pull, that tugging deep within, it always knows what I need, want, desire, crave. It knows best. My deep wisdom inside me, in places I’m not all conscious of, knows what’s best for me. It whispers quietly, gently, waiting for me to receive. Waiting for me to welcome it with a completely open heart and let it sink deeper into me.
When the uncertainty and pain and negativity and fears and defeat and demands of society, life, and others are screaming loudly, blood-curdling screams, that quiet, gentle whispering wisdom is more powerful, still.
I’ll never forget that dream and I carry it with me, every day.
My sleepy dreams are why I have a B.A. Degree in philosophy.

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Cold – I get cold so easily. In 100 degree weather a light wind can blow and I can become freezing wishing I had a hoodie. I also can’t tolerate cold like most people can. Although cold weather is some of my favorite weather. I’m always wanting to turn the air conditioning off, open windows to let the warmth of the sun stream in. One morning, recently, I woke up in my bed in 80 something degree weather wrapped in three quilts with my air conditioner turned as low as possible and my bedroom door wide open with just a ceiling fan swirling.

I’m a city girl and no place will ever have my heart more than my own city but for my whole life I have felt drawn to the countryside, to the warm South. I have always loved Texas though I  never laid eyes on it. I will visit one day and make it a point to visit again and again.
I always dreamed of Texas and I feel a deep pull in me to be there. I yearn for the quietude, the green, the southern accents, the nature all around…my dream is to live there part of every year, probably in the Summer. One day a novel found its way into my arms completely randomly and unlikely, like magic, and I read it and it takes place in Texas and is one of my favorite books and made me want even more to go there.
I also feel drawn to Aspen, Colorado and my dream is to visit some Winter again and again. I long for the cold, the glistening snow, the pine.
I find it so beautiful how I can be so deeply drawn, mysteriously called to people, places, and things and not know why at a conscious level but something deep inside me must know.

I have a strong stomach and like to seriously gross people out just for shits and giggles. My mom and sister don’t have such strong stomachs and when I see or think of something that I know would make them disgusted or queasy I burst out laughing and run to tell them. One day my dog threw up and as I was cleaning it, I described to them, in great detail,  the contents of it and said “MmmmMmm this is making me hungry…!” they were so disgusted and appalled. 

I think everything is hilarious. I laugh everyday and play annoying, immature jokes on people. Taking my mom’s phone when she isn’t looking, talking in silly voices to my sister that annoys her, sending dumb or perverted jokes in text messages….lol

I love poetry, especially obscure poetry with a kind of darkness to it. I love when the meaning of the poem isn’t very obvious but seems to make some kind of sense. When the author doesn’t explain it and allows the readers to interpret however they will and guess and wonder at the author’s intention or just make up their own meaning to it.. I like to write poetic things which have a certain meaning to me but if I allowed someone to read them I would like the person to apply his/her own meaning.

I love to read and am deeply inspired by just about everything I read. My brain hungrily devours the words and concepts on the pages. When I read novels I fall in love with the characters and the places in the books. I miss them when the book is over. And days, weeks, years later I still cherish the memories of reading certain books that have spoken volumes to my heart and living in the book’s world when I did. I find reading to be very comforting. To be wrapped up in another world, another place, another time.  I am sad when the book ends. I feel a kind of emptiness. 
But I like it. I love being touched so deeply.
Before I usually wouldn’t even read novels. I saw no point. I only wanted educational stuff but I’m happy I changed. I was really, really missing out. I love books with profound messages, valuable life lessons, beautiful writing, characters with true substance, page turners that I’m happy to fall asleep with and thrilled to wake up to.

If the only way I were able to live is to be supported with feeding tubes and plugged into machines, I would still choose life not because I’m afraid to die or let go but because I have a will to survive and my life can still be beautiful and valuable even if I need extra help.
Brain dead, which is often as good as dead, is not the same as brain damaged or disabled. So if I’m not brain dead in significant ways I would choose life.

Sometimes I have difficulty sleeping at night because of happy thoughts. Thoughts that are so overwhelmingly positive I want to get up and dance, jump for joy, blast sappy love songs into the night, because I’m bursting with love and gratitude for all of life. Because I just read a good book or am in the middle of reading one, because I can’t stop thinking about wonderful inspirational, uplifting quotes I have come across, because I think of sunsets and sunrises and life itself, because I think of beautiful people I know, have known, and want to know, because my music won’t stop playing to let me rest….sometimes I actually do get up at 1:00 or 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning and dance around my room in the dark with my earphones in or dance in the bathroom and it annoys my sister when she comes through my room to get into the bathroom and I’m in there bouncing off the walls. I’m not manic, just happy. 😀 i find it not in my best interest to do gratitude meditations, even sleep ones, at night because they keep me up with all the goodness that comes flooding into me. I’m just bursting at the seams some nights, like a child who can’t sleep because she wants to get up and play.

I can fall asleep anywhere and sleep through anything, on a public transportation bus with screaming kids, on the floor of a crowded public place, outside, in class when I was in college(I got in trouble more than once for sleeping in class), with music blasting, at someone else’s house, with dogs barking….lol
And if I get woken up I can easily go right back to sleep.

I struggle with a chronic physical facial pain disorder and also a Depressive Disorder but in general I’m very happy and joyful, with a childlike wonder for life. When the disorders flare up, I can cope very well now, usually. I’m naturally very happy but also I learned to strengthen and develop positive habits and life philosophies to help me even more. My pain is often my main inspiration to write here and I write about it a lot in a positive way. I learned and am still learning many positive life lessons and always discovering deep wisdom inspired by the pleasant and unpleasant aspects of life.
My pain culminates to unbearable levels at some points but my love is always stronger.

I think lives that have good, bad, beautiful, and ugly aspects are the most beautiful. Some people want to be “perfect” with no pain, no problems, nothing but good. It makes sense but in my opinion it also makes for a shallow kind of existence. I would never go out looking for or bringing pain upon my self or anyone else intentionally but since it does exist, I find the beauty in it and embrace it all. There is depth and substance in a life of pain and happiness, joy and misery, beauty and tears, laughter and ugliness. I’m more beautiful for it all.

I love when people are raw and open and honest about themselves and share their life story, proudly displaying their names and faces, not holding back. It’s deeply inspiring to see/hear/read people spilling their lives and hearts to all who will
listen. I want people to know my name, to know me, the good, the bad,the ugly,the beautiful

“What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?
The world would split open.” ~  Muriel Rukeyser

Xoxo Kim

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Follow Your Own Way

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I recently read a very old and very short fictional story called “Young Goodman Brown” about a young man who initially has faith in the basic, universal goodness of humanity.   But things occur in the story to shake his faith. It falters then collapses and he’s convinced there isn’t much goodness in humans. 

This story, if I understand correctly, is inspired by the author’s real life situations.

I have been analyzing it and reading an analysis of it. It reminds me of a few quotes that are somewhere along the lines of “Be kind to people in general, even unkind ones, not because they’re kind but because you are.”

This quote implies kindness as a way of life and not a mere occasional act or feeling in response to environmental situations. Even when people are not kind, YOU still are. You can let your kind Way and your kind philosophy waver and lash out in unkindness or you can keep it firm and grounded and stay true to yourself even in the face of other people’s bitterness.

If you are a kind person, it’s easy to be loving, kind, compassionate…when it’s convenient, when you’re currently surrounded by goodness, beauty, sweetness, kindness, love. 

But what about when you are currently surrounded by someone else’s bitterness, what about when you encounter a rude person or a very unpleasant situation?   It can be so tempting to let our own kind, loving, compassionate, optimistic ways crumble.  And that doesn’t make someone a bad person.  Most of us probably have relapses and setbacks and it is natural to be defensive in situations where you feel threatened in some way.  But even in the midst of stress, chaos, rude people, negativity, pain, you’re still that kind, loving, caring you that you generally are. You’re still the you who believes in goodness, kindness, and love. Don’t forget you. Be true to and honor the you that you are.

You can build yourself so strong nothing will break what you are, nothing will bring your life philosophy, your morals and virtues, your principles, your deep wisdom to destruction. This isn’t to say we should be closed minded and restrained by our views that nothing and no one can enlighten us, educate us, or persuade us to a different view if we find evidence that that view may be true or better for us.   It’s to say that we don’t have to lose faith that people are basically good just because of an encounter with a few bad ones, we don’t have to resort to unkindness and bitterness because others are, we don’t have to stop loving because we find someone doesn’t love us in return, we don’t have to wish bad things for people because they wish bad things for us, we don’t have to let pain, horror, negativity, fear, depression, fury…bring our deep wisdom to ruin. We don’t have to let painful thoughts, feelings, and emotions convince us that life is bad.

We can have a firm sense of who we are and honor that someone, always. We can change, grow, expand, evolve in various ways but stay true to who we are.

This story and thoughts and concept helps me so much when I’m depressed or becoming depressed/suicidal.

I haven’t been real depressed for a while but a few nights ago I felt myself kind of slipping. I was in a depressed mood, not yet a full blown depressive episode but a very low, depressed mood and couldn’t sleep right. Through the years of my depressive illness I learned how to often, though not always, prevent a full blown episode when I feel it about to hit. And when I’m not successful in preventing it, I’m often better now, at coping with and “breezing right through it” than I could years ago.  So I was trying so hard not to let it get me.

I can often tell when I’m about to become suicidal or when suicidal thinking is about to occur.   A few nights ago, I was having suicidal thoughts that felt as if they were just getting stronger and stronger, not urges, not contemplation but if it got out of hand, it could have been headed that way.  There was no event that was currently happening to me to trigger this. I was on the verge of faltering.  Serious suicidal contemplation hasn’t happened for me in well over a year now. And I did not then and do not now want a relapse after all my hard work to prevent that sort of thinking/urges. But it takes a lot of energy to ward off those thoughts, feelings, emotions when I feel them swirling around in my head. A lot of energy and strength. I was angry, depressed and wanted to let myself sink and slip into that dark place I once lived, so long.

But I thought of my Way. My own Way. My own life philosophy that life is beautiful and hope can be restored.   There’s so much to live for. Even through the pain, life is a blessing. Gratitude saves my life sometimes. When I’m so drained and ready to cave, I think of all I have. All that I am.  It took a lot of practice to get my life philosophy so ingrained into me that it helps me fend off suicidal/depressive attacks. But I have accomplished so much with it.

It takes practice and work to build yourself so strong that even in the face of misery and seemingly unbearable pain and even being dragged into other people’s negativity,you remain true to yourself. Your deep, authentic self who knows true wisdom and your own Truth.

I hope you will choose to honor you, your true deep self, when you feel yourself slipping in any way, about to cave and give into negative actions. This isn’t only for depressed people who have what I have but even people without depression. Almost everyone has some kind of struggles or pain and can use some loving inspiration now and again.

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“Love is always bestowed as a gift – freely, willingly and without expectation. We don’t love to be loved;we love to love.” ~ Leo Buscaglia 

Xoxo Kim 😀

A Cherokee Legend

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Yesterday I mentioned that I was writing a somewhat long post and then accidentally deleted it.   Not really super long or anything but wayyy too long to be at the very end then lose the entire thing!   Here I am posting it again now, as I promised I would. Last night I was writing it directly in the app instead of my memos on my phone, which is better because my memos section allows me to edit it better before posting.  Earlier today I decided to work on another post first and learned my lesson and began writing it in my memos and guess what?! AGAIN! I accidentally deleted it! I accidentally hit the cancel button.  I must have gorilla fingers or touch screen phones are just not the greatest. Or both.

I think it’s both.

So here is the post that was meant for yesterday. Then after that I will work on the other post I deleted today. What a wreck! Lol
😉

A Cherokee Legend 
“ONE EVENING, AN ELDERLY
CHEROKEE BRAVE TOLD HIS
GRANDSON ABOUT A BATTLE THAT
GOES ON INSIDE PEOPLE.

HE SAID ‘MY SON, THE BATTLE IS
BETWEEN TWO ‘WOLVES’ INSIDE US ALL.
ONE IS EVIL. IT IS ANGER,
ENVY, JEALOUSY, SORROW,
REGRET, GREED, ARROGANCE,
SELF-PITY, GUILT, RESENTMENT,
INFERIORITY, LIES, FALSE PRIDE,
SUPERIORITY, AND EGO.

THE OTHER IS GOOD.
IT IS JOY, PEACE LOVE, HOPE SERENITY,
HUMILITY, KINDNESS, BENEVOLENCE,
EMPATHY, GENEROSITY,
TRUTH, COMPASSION AND FAITH.’

THE GRANDSON THOUGHT ABOUT
IT FOR A MINUTE AND THEN ASKED
HIS GRANDFATHER:

‘WHICH WOLF WINS?…’
THE OLD CHEROKEE REPLIED,
‘THE ONE THAT YOU FEED.'”

A while ago I found this story on Facebook. Isn’t it just beautiful?! And riddled with so much wisdom!

 It’s true what the wise man says. A couple days ago I touched on this concept a bit when commenting about a quote I shared by Louise Hay.  
“There is so much love in your heart that you could heal the planet.”
~Louise Hay

We are all capable of experiencing love, empathy, understanding, kindness, compassion, happiness, joy, inspiration, motivation, cheerfulness, optimism, positivity, gratitude, a sense of being One with all that is, desire for goodness, and other pleasant emotions. And we are all capable of experiencing anger, fury, jealousy, pain, wishing bad things on people, closed-mindedness, despair, sadness, bitterness, depression, loathing, and other unpleasant feeling emotions, thoughts, and feelings.   

But I don’t consider those unpleasant feelings and thoughts to be “evil” or “bad” necessarily. Sure, they don’t feel pleasant. They are painful and not fun. But most of them are part of living. It doesn’t make someone a terrible person for experiencing them. And I don’t think they should be repressed, denied, or masked. I don’t even think most of them have to be “cured” because they are normal experiences that come along with the gift of life. It’s not about experiencing them but the frequency of them. It’s not healthy to succumb to those feelings and thoughts too often.

Now and then is one thing but constantly or often is another. Most of these good and bad things or the ability or potential for experiencing them, are in us all as long as we live. 

Just because we don’t feel love or like being kind, certain moments, doesn’t mean love or kindness isn’t in us. It’s just being masked or numbed or overshadowed by some other emotion.   And just because someone is usually happy and loving doesn’t mean that person isn’t capable of anger or depression at some points.  

And some days there’s a battle within. The pleasant emotions and thoughts are at war with the unpleasant ones.

And like the wise man says, it’s all about the side we “feed” most. That’s the side that will win.

Which side do you feed more?

The side that is fueled more frequently is the side that will generally prevail.

I hope you choose to fuel the pleasant, the love, the kindness, and compassion and learn to cope with the unpleasant side if you don’t already.  

Much love & blessings to you.
😀

Xoxo Kim

P.s. You know what I decided years ago about losing writings and documents that I worked so hard on or put much thought into? It’s an ugly feeling. Especially when it’s something creative that I know I won’t completely remember again. So I decided when that happens I will write it over and make it even BETTER than before!

;-D

Don’t Let the Chain of Love End With You <3

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A few months ago I discovered an incredible country song! I love country music; ever since I was a little girl it has been one of my favorite kinds of music.   I don’t come across too many people who love it like I do! In fact, most people I come in contact with either on or offline who mention country music, have a strong distaste for it. But, country will always have my heart!  

Country music is known by many for being depressing, sad, full of tragedy like alcoholism, spurned/broken love, and all kinds of other heartbreak. But there are also many, many uplifting, beautiful, happy, hopeful country songs with breathtakingly beautiful messages like this one I found not so long ago called “The Chain of Love” by Clay Walker. It’s a love song. But not a romantic love song. It’s about loving people in general and helping strangers every chance we get, asking for nothing in return except that the person we help then goes on to help another in need.


She said how much do I owe you

Here’s what he had to say:
‘You don’t owe me a thing, I’ve been there too
Someone once helped me out,
Just the way I’m helping you
If you really want to pay me back,
Here’s what you do
Don’t let the chain of love end with you'” 

The song gives me chills every single occasion that I listen to it! The message is simply incredible. When I first listened to it and heard the end, I gasped out loud! Lol! ;-D

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You may not like country music but there’s no doubt you’ll love the lovely message!  
Read the lyrics here:
http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/claywalker/thechainoflove.html
I did not read the lyrics before listening to the song on you tube and I liked it better that way. I read the title and decided to look it up and listen to it. You just can’t go wrong with a song that has “Love” in the title! 😀

At one point or another, we can all use a little help. And there are so many ways, big & small, to help others. One simple little act of kindness can have a great impact on others. I even read somewhere that acts of kindness not only greatly and positively affect the person receiving and the person offering the kind act but also has an amazing positive, uplifting effect on those witnessing the act of kindness!  I have seen random acts of kindness that I was not directly involved in and it made my day! How beautiful!
Here’s a link about witnessing acts of kindness happening to others:
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/out-the-darkness/201311/elation-the-amazing-effect-witnessing-acts-kindness-0
And here’s another link about kindness:
http://apps.cignabehavioral.com/web/basicsite/bulletinBoard/effectsOfHumanKindness.jsp

And here’s a sweet little story of a perfect example of a random act of kindness:
A girl wrote on Facebook about how her husband was in a store buying coffee and the person in line before him turned around and offered to pay for his coffee. He was so touched he turned around to pay for the drink for the person in back of him but there was no one. He went home and told his wife. So the next day when she went to that store to buy coffee, she also paid for the person in back of her to keep the chain of love going!  
I absolutely love, LOVE stuff like this.
I witnessed this for myself too. One day a lady I know came to the store where I work and paid for every person in back of her! There were about six people! And she even gave me a tip and extra money to pay for the next couple of people who were to come. So sweet!
I have also witnessed many other beautiful acts of kindness and it’s amazing to experience. 

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I don’t post this because I think the world is so horrible and people are so cold that any little act of kindness is super, super shocking. I just think it’s great to focus on the kindness we experience and witness and share stories we know of. 
Someone shared a sweet story on Facebook & Twitter a while ago about a young family who spent over 100 dollars on baby stuff at wal -mart and when they were in line their credit card wouldn’t work and the young mom was almost in tears so the person in back of them bought them everything.The cashier and the mom cried together because they were so touched.   The story received a few unpleasant comments that I read by people saying things like the people who were so touched by this must be cynics thinking everyone is just out for themselves so when a selfless person comes along and helps out, they can’t believe it. They said it’s not rare for people to help others and people should be more optimistic.  
But no matter how rare or common it is for strangers and other people to help one another, it’s still great to bask in the beauty of it and share. Kindness is not rare. I believe most people are kind to some degree, some much more than others.  But it’s still good to focus on it and not take it for granted. There is a lot of pain and negativity in the world. And some acts of kindness are rare. Like, most people probably don’t pay for the six people or even the one person in back if them in line at a store. And I’m almost sure most people aren’t going to chalk up $100.00 dollars for a stranger. But whether or not most people would, it’s still great to be grateful for it! Even common goods are great!

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In case you want to see the YouTube video for the song, “The Chain of Love,” here you have it!

Mobile :

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=0_9HdZwf60U&app=m

Desktop:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_9HdZwf60U&app=desktop

I never seen this video when I first heard the song. I just discovered it. It’s beautiful and makes the whole listening experience even better.

Xoxo Kim

P.s. Remember, don’t let the chain of love end with you.

Every Woman Has A Name <3

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“I may not go down in history
I just want someone to remember me
I’ll probably never hold a brush
that paints a masterpeice
Probably never find a pen
that writes a symphony
But if I will love then I will find
That I have touched another life
And that’s something
Something worth leaving behind” ~ LeeAnn Womacku

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So, my love for Alice Cooper is no secret! Anyone who is my friend on Facebook, knows me in person, or has read my previous posts here, knows that I am deeply inspired by the man and his amazing ability to turn agony and the dark side of life into something beautiful through words and music. The man is my hero.
I loved him since I was a little girl. But back then his music to me was mostly all about fun and entertainment. When I grew into a young woman, his songs helped console me during my own emotional anguish and struggles with mental illness and loneliness. The older I got, the more I discovered the depth of inspiration his songs provoke in me and how great pain can contribute and lead to beautiful experiences and creations.  
Alice’s songs shed light on topics that many people don’t want to even think about.   Dark topics. Abuse.  Agonizing emotional pain and psychosis.  
He also sings of broken love and unrequited love. Many of his songs are inspired by his own life experiences.  
The song I have on my heart right now is, “Every Woman Has A Name” by Alice Cooper.

“You were so beautiful
Like a child so young and full of life
Seems a hundred years ago
You saw everything
So much more tragedy than good
You even watched the world grow cold
And even when your world was shakin’
Even when your breath was taken
Even when your blue eyes turned to gray
Small town debutantes and queens
Every woman has a name
Cocktail waitresses with dreams
Every woman has a name
And every girl whose love survives
A broken heart to stay alive
You signed your picture in the frame
Every woman has a name
You had your love affair
Some were perfect but most of them were pain
Seems a hundred years ago
It took you to the highest hill
Left you standing frozen in the rain
But you still feel the afterglow
And even when your world was shakin’
Even when your breath was taken
Even when your blue eyes turned to gray
Housewives cryin’ on the phone
Every woman has a name”

I love this beautiful song & the message. It’s so true! Every one of us is someone. We all have a story. A story that can deeply touch others with a positive impact. There will always be people who tell us or imply that we aren’t “good enough,” not “pretty enough, thin enough, successful enough….” There will be those who say we should live a certain way, think a certain way, feel a certain way, be a certain way or we are “less than” or “not worthy of…”. Some of these message are explicit and some are more subtle. But all are detrimental and hurtful.

The most important thing is to know your authentic self. Your inner self. What do you genuinely think, feel, believe, desire, need, crave, know? It’s more important to honor that than to give into the psychological abuse of others, society, and the media telling you how you “should” be.

It doesn’t matter if you are:

A Housewife, stay at home mom, single, career woman, waitress, rich girl, struggling financially, have an impressive job, have no job, homeless, have lots of skills and talents, just a few, or none, have lots of friends and family or no friends or family, small, thin, big-boned, overweight, curvy, struggling, broken, sick, disabled, limited, have clear radiant skin or not, feel loved or not, young, middle aged, or old, educated well or not, you are someone right NOW, always have been someone, always will be someone.
You don’t need anything or anyone more than yourself to have value, to be someone, to be beautiful, to love yourself. You don’t have to look a certain way or dress a certain way.   You don’t have to go to college or have lots of money, you don’t have to have any special skills or have the best of everything. The happiest people don’t necessarily have the best of everything; they make the best of everything.   You don’t have to be anyone’s definition of perfect. You can make mistakes and Learn.

One of the biggest struggles of my life has often been devastating feelings of worthlessness and looking for self value in people & things outside of myself.  
I often believed if I had “a better job,” “lots of friends,” “better grades,” “more money,” “more people who like me,” “more accomplishments,” “a big, perfect house….” I would be better and be worthy of everything good. I looked to external factors to give me purpose, to make me beautiful, to make me someone. 

But that doesn’t work. People & things can contribute to my happiness but they can’t make me worthy or not worthy of good things.   They don’t give me purpose and a lack of them doesn’t equal a lack of purpose. I am someone with or without them.

I have to look within, into the deepest depths of me to know of my purpose, to see that I am, always have been, and always will be someone just by being me. And that goes for you and everyone.  

“Like the pine trees lining the winding road
I got a name, I got a name
Like the singing bird and the croaking toad
I got a name, I got a name
And I carry it with me like my daddy did
But I’m living the dream that he kept hid
Moving me down the highway
Rolling me down the highway
Moving ahead so life won’t pass me by” ~ Jim Croce

Your job doesn’t define you, your financial situation, your weaknesses, your illness, your friends, your disability, your limitations, your education, your grades in school, your quality of work, your weight and physical appearance, the pain you feel, the opinions of other people, your losses and failures, none of this is who you are. You may feel sometimes or often that these things define you but the true you is within.

“I’ve got a song, I’ve got a song
And I carry it with me and I sing it loud
If it gets me nowhere, I go there proud” ~ Jim Croce

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No matter what heartbreak you have experienced, you can heal even if you’ll always have the scars and memories.

What are your values, virtues, loves, strengths, your inner truths? Honor them and don’t dwell on your shortcomings or less pleasant qualities or situations. Learn to love yourself, your true self unconditionally no matter what anyone else says or thinks about you. 

I know who I am. I am not perfect. I’m not the most beautiful woman in the world. But I’m one of them. Mary J. Blige.. (I think this is a great attitude for every girl to have, that you are one of the most beautiful women in the world, not just physically but personality too, know who you are and embrace your “flaws.”)

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“You know the future’s lookin’ brighter
Every morning’ when i get up
Don’t be thinkin’ ’bout what’s not enough, now baby
Just be thinkin’ ’bout what we got” ~ Eddie Money

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“Oh-oh, rich man, poor man, now
Really don’t mean all that much
Mama’s always told you, girl
That money can’t buy you love” ~ Eddie Money
“If you want, then start to laugh
If you must, then start to cry
Be yourself don’t hide” ~Enigma

“Don’t care what people say, just follow your own way.” ~ Enigma

Life is without meaning. 
You bring the meaning to it. 
The meaning of life is whatever you ascribe it to be. 
Being alive is the meaning.
– Joseph Campbell

“At one point you may realize you will never be good enough for some people; the question is, is that your problem or theirs?”

Too many people overvalue what they are not and undervalue what they are. ~Malcolm S. Forbes

By being yourself, you put something wonderful in the world that was not there before. ~Edwin Elliot

Self Esteem begins here: anyone who does not like you is an idiot. Really -aren’t they? You are gorgeous, talented and fabulous. ~Chellie Campbell

You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love & affection. ~Buddha

Here is the links to Alice’s song:

Desktop: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGKhy8gh_VI

Mobile: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=PGKhy8gh_VI

Also, two of my other favorite songs who inspire me are Jim Croce & LeeAnn Womack. I quoted some of their lyrics above and here are the videos to their songs.

Jim Croce’s “I Got a Name”
a song about having a dream and being proud just for trying even if it’s never realized.

Desktop: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06zOrHRh-gY&app=desktop

Mobile: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=06zOrHRh-gY&app=m

And LeeAnn Womack’s “Something Worth Leaving Behind”
A song about how we don’t have to be famous or extremely talented to be important, just loving people is enough.

Desktop :http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HqTT59h9aLg

Mobile: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=awawjH_CqOgX0

Xoxo Kim

P.s. I hope you will always remember and honor your own name and know your own value even when you’re struggling.

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