"From the end of the earth I will cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed… lead me to the rock that is higher than I."

I wish I didn't know what I know about suicide. Deep down in the pit of my stomach, I truly do wish my life was surrounded by butterflies and sunshine and fields of daisies… but I know the truth behind such a wish. If I didn't know the weight of hurt and grief, I never could understand the greatness of hope and happiness and overflowing joy. That still doesn't stop me from wishing that things had been different. It doesn't stop me from wishing that the impact of suicide would not have entered my world as a nine year old child.

I wish I could have held onto my innocence a little bit longer.

I grew up in a church family, I knew God loved me whether I slept through church service or not, and my family would sometimes pray together around meals. I knew the truth, even as a child. I was the youngest of three very close in age siblings. My brother, Tobias, was a little shy of four years older than me. My sister, Tori, was 19 months older than me, just a little shy of two years. I also have an older sister, who while we might not share the same biological mother, she is as much of my siblings as the other two. She was 14 years old when I entered the stage, but she has never failed to remind me that I am loved. She was never too cool to hang out with her baby sister and for that, I will forever be grateful for the love she has shown me and for her support through every situation I have found myself in. 

Around six or seven, my grandmother took me and my sister to a VBS at her church. I think I had just finished the first grade, my sister, most likely, just finished third. We were sitting on a carpet in the middle of the room, sandwiched between another dozen children. A leader was telling the story about a man named, Joseph, who had a coat of many colors. He also had a lot of brothers. She asked, “Joseph’s family had 12 kids in it. How many kids are in your family? Hold up that many fingers.” Without ever thinking, I held up five. My sister held up four.

She looked at me. I looked at her fingers. She was wrong. I was right. There was me. There was Tori. Toby, Connie, and David. That’s five. There was five children in our family. She smacked my hand and told me to put down a finger. “David doesn’t belong to mom and dad, Tedi. He just lives with us!”

My mind was blown. I never asked. I just assumed. Connie was older and didn’t always live in our house, but she was still my sister. In my mind, David had to be my brother too. Where were his parents? Why didn’t he live with them? At that point forward, I learned to question everything in the world around me. Nothing could possibly be, as it seemed. My innocence was slowly starting to fade away.

She told me the story of how David came to be part of our family. She told me; in the only way an eight-year truly knows how to explain such topics that are much bigger than of a child’s understanding. “His mom is your aunt. You’ve never met her, I haven’t either. She lives in a different state, with our grandma, that we haven’t met either. She doesn’t make good choices and David and his brother had to live with other families for a while. I think they call it foster care. When David got older, he came to Missouri, where we live, and mom and dad let him stay with us.”

So he’s not my brother?

No, not really.

What do I call him then?

"You call him David," she said as she laughed. "Just like you do now."

 So I called him David.

Sometimes David would let us sneak downstairs to his bedroom and we would watch Veggietales. He would sometimes talk in a “Larry the cucumber” voice that still, nearly two decades later, makes me laugh. He was the best-not-my-brother I had ever had. We would read the bible together… I was small, maybe not even a smidge over five, so we only read the Children’s Bible. He would let me turn the page and describe every picture; he was always patient and always loving.

He read to me the story of Adam, where God allowed Adam to name all the animals he had created. I looked at the picture as he read aloud. There was Adam, in the middle of this vast green forest, as animals walked up to him. There was lions and butterflies, and zebras and elephants… and Adam had his finger stretched out as if he was calling them all by name for the first time. In a silly, stern voice, David called out to our family dog, “You are Mandy.” He pointed to the picture, “You are a lion.” He pointed to this stuffed pig lying on his bed, “You are a pig!” I laughed and laughed as he continued to do this for a couple more minutes. He looked at me in and in the same voice he said, “You are Tedi and it is time for bed!” He chased me up the stairs and tucked me in.

 I have heard a lot of stories about the silly things David would do, more so after his death. It took years for many people to finally open up about the pain we had lived through, but we eventually found joy and happiness in the legacy of his stories he left behind. We eventually could laugh again, the pains still present in our hearts, but it know longer crept up our throats whenever we would say his name. It was easier to remember him, not what he had done, after we started down the road of healing.

I remember bike rides, summers of snow cone trips, staring at Christmas lights around town, and laughing until my stomach hurt. I still painfully remember the last time I ever saw him alive and the conversations we had, the laughter we shared in, and the stories he told. I can still remember nearly every detail of memories with him in it, especially surrounding his death. 

I spent years questioning God, wondering how something so terrible could have happened to anyone--let alone my family. I worried about the people I loved killing themselves when they were sad, or angry, or hurt. I worried, every single time when someone in my family would leave the house, that that would be the last time I saw them. I feared death. I was constantly afraid. "Are they going to kill themselves? They look sad, do you think they're thinking of suicide? What about him-- do you think he is depressed? Does she have a plan?"These questions rolled around in my mind at the grocery store, in school, while I played, wherever I was… sometimes when I'm not careful, those terrifying questions return and take hold of my mind--immediately sending me back to a terrified child, screaming into their pillow, afraid of losing someone else she loved.

Death truly does leave a sting so painful that sometimes the tears streaming down your cheeks can't even be felt. I was a child, completely naive to the idea of suffering and heartache and hurt and shame and guilt and sadness. I struggled as a child to grasp a concept that many of the adults in my life could barely wrap their minds around, I could never imagine this kind of loss as an adult.

In the days following his death, I remember seeing my father cry for the first time. I remember seeing the pain on everyone’s faces as we learned to work towards this new world we didn’t know how to be a part of. I didn’t truly know what sadness was until this happened. The night before the funeral, our home was full of people; my siblings, my parents, my out of town grandma who I had never really met up until this point, my aunt (David’s biological mother), my other aunt and cousin who had moved in with us just months earlier from California, and David’s biological brother. When death strikes, it leaves emptiness and darkness. Our home was full of people, but the hurt and sadness hung over everyone’s head as if breathing was too difficult for many. Up until this point in my life, I had known happiness—but it was gone. Even then, as a nine year old, I figured out that smiles can be fake and hurt could be disguised. Suicide is heavy, it's too much for the mind to comprehend… at any age. 

Around ten or eleven, I remember my mom storming out of the house when she was angry with my father… she needed some time to cool down. I remember being so afraid because I saw her crying and I knew she was sad and upset. I remember running after her and standing in front of her van so she couldn't leave, begging her to stay, "Are you going to come back?" I cried, "Are you going to kill yourself like David did?"

That's what suicide did to me, it took my innocence and hijacked my thinking. I wish I would have been able to live a little bit more of my childhood without knowing that kind of pain, without knowing anything about death or life… but unfortunately, that isn't my reality. Suicide is the reality I live in, whether or not I want it to be, I cannot change that I lost someone I loved to such a terrible thing. For the first time since his death, I think I have finally started to come to terms with that. 

The world was a much better place with David in it. I would even go a bit further and say that the world was a much better place before suicide ever became a part of the world. I know my life personally was a much better place before I knew the hurt associated with losing someone you love to such a tragedy.

Dealing with grief is so hard. It sometimes hits you in the stomach harder than anyone could ever punch you. Sometimes it comes slowly over the course of days and weeks and lingers. Sometimes it comes quickly, with the mention of his name or a picture, and then sometimes it leaves just as quietly as it comes. Sometimes I can laugh at the silliness that he left behind and sometimes, while watching Veggietales, tears stream down my face as I remember what used to be. I don’t think there’s a road map for dealing with suicide. Sometimes I get angry and resentful, sometimes I hate him because of the hurt he has caused my family and me. Sometimes I find talking about him too painful so I keep the stories to myself, to hold onto for days when my heart feels like celebrating the life he did live.

I don’t have the answers to what does work or what doesn’t… but I do know that the only thing that has kept me going was seeing how much hurt suicide leaves behind. That has fueled me to live life to the fullest in whatever way that means, to never give up no matter what I’m facing, and to believe in hope. If anything, I do believe David’s choice has saved me from making the same… and for that, I owe him. I am in no way saying I am suicidal, I have never been. I do not know the pain and desperation that goes into planning that kind of escape, but I do know that life can be painfully difficult, overwhelming, and confusing. Whenever I feel like giving up, I know the truth behind that choice… and because of that, I truly do believe David's death has a purpose. 

I can be angry with choices that were made, but I could never point the blame in a situation I knew nothing about. Personally, I don't believe suicide is ever the answer… but I do know that tragically, it was David's answer. 

While, June 27th, 2001, changed a lot of lives with a single choice… I think this is the first anniversary of his death where I don't feel even a tinge of anger. I want to celebrate the man I knew who was not biologically my sibling, but chose to care about me and be in my life regardless. I want to celebrate the man who read me stories, bought me snow cones and taught me about the love of Jesus. His life was worth so much more than he ever knew… 

Today, despite all the pain of missing him, all I feel is love and I rejoice in the idea that somehow, someway, I will see his face again. Today, thanks to some people I hardly even know who told me about love and Jesus and forgiveness and salvation, I have hope. 

 I don't care what the world says about suicide and Hell, I believe God is bigger and his love is greater. 

 John 10: 28-29

"I give eternal life to those who believe in me, and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father's hand."

Fourteen years ago, I truly mean it when I say, the world lost a great man, but Heaven had a celebration. I could never come up with words to give his life justice, to make sense of his death, or to comfort anyone who sits in my shoes knowing someone who chose to take their own life. But I truly wish with everything I am, that if you are reading this and thinking about suicide, that you will find hope and courage to ask for help. 

I don't believe suicide is the answer. To me, it will never be the right answer. 

"… and YOU take brokenness aside and make it beautiful."

My answer has been simple, I haven't felt like talking… there are no words to describe the emotions I have felt, the hurt inside of me, and the pain of not knowing who I am or what I was created to do. I have been so stuck in my own head that simple social interactions have been overwhelming… people exhaust me, with their own opinions and facts that I actually never asked for. I have no idea where my head has been, but I can promise you, I have never been in such a dark place before. 

Every single day has felt like the biggest struggle of my life, I have had to convince myself to get out of bed… Some days I would just stare at the clock, literally… waiting for time to pass me by. I have wanted to be alone… I have wanted to just sit on my bed… and most days, I have only wanted to eat poptarts and ice cream. I DIDN'T EVEN CARE HOW UNHEALTHY THEY WERE… and I still don't care, they make a fantastic combination. I have failed to show up for classes, to do my laundry, to cook dinner, or even vacuum… the long meaningless drives around town that served as therapy for my soul, no longer even cleared my mind. The saddest part of all, the music that I used to love has started to just feel like noise. 

I knew it was bad, but I didn't understand how great life could be. 

I have spent years of my life fighting against God and what He wishes for my life, hoping to figure everything out on my own, to prove to myself and God, that I am more than capable of making it in this world. I think these last couple months, God finally decided to let me crash and burn… and I have not only done just that, but I have decided to take a flying leap through destruction and chaos, stopped at hurt and grief, and knocked down anyone who would possibly care about me… all in one angry swoop. This is me, putting down my pride, and saying, "I know that I not only need a savior, but I need someone to be the king of my life too."

I can't do it on my own. 

I'm not saying this with tears streaming down my face, waiting for some kind of miracle evacuation plan, ready to set my heart on fire, let's do business kind of revelation… I am simply saying this as a completely broken, I have no where to turn, I don't even know what to do, how did I get so lost, what the hell was I thinking, kind of understanding. 

Let's be real. 

On the way to the airport on Monday afternoon, as I snapped selflies, my sister tried her very best to speak truth into my life, I know it was a desperate attempt for her to keep me on the straight and narrow, but honestly, the only thing I paid attention to was the question she asked, 

"What are you grounded in? I honestly don't think anything is ever going to change for you until you realize you need to be grounded in Christ."

Ouch. It was as if she had just leaned over, let go of the steering wheel, and punched me straight in the gut. I think for all intents and purposes, I probably muttered a word that started with "Fff." If that question was never intended to do some deep soul searching, it should be banned from the english language… immediately. 

What am I grounded in? Honestly, I am overly self-absorbed and overwhelmingly self-centered. I spend more time making sure each hair on my head is perfectly straight than I do in conversation with people, I care more about the way my nails look than I do with how my heart looks, I have learned to perfectly mask every emotion I feel in order to protect myself and keep the world away. I am so prideful. I am in love with the idea of fame, of earthly things… Unfortunately, I haven't always known that my answers weren't going to be found at the bottom of a bottle. The world has looked mighty appealing. 

I hate to admit the fact that up until two weeks ago, I probably hadn't even cracked open a bible since Christmas… I only prayed when I needed something that was just a little too far outside my grasp. I grew up knowing right from wrong, of knowing about Heaven and Hell, God and Satan, and the story of Christ--but I have never made it my truth. Whenever I would find myself in trouble, instead of owning up to it, I would laugh and say, "I'm just a sinner saved by grace." 

In the last six months, I have watched from start to finish five television series, 76 movies, and dozens of new episodes of television dramas. I couldn't even tell you how many hours I have spent sitting on my bed in front of my Netflix account. 

I can, unfortunately, tell you how many church services I have been to in the last six months. Sadly, I could tell you on one hand. From the wise words of my sister, "You need to get your ass back in church." I have become painfully aware that I am grounded in the world… and that to needs to change, immediately. 

"I think you're waiting for some big revelation, some crazy big thing that God is just going to hand over to you." 

As annoying as it is to admit, my sister is right. I have been sitting on my bed, waiting for God to show up and change the circumstances that I created out of pride and greed, out of shame and anger and hurt… I have learned to talk the talk, but I have never actually walked with Christ. I knew so little about God that I truly thought he would be satisfied with the things I said even if my actions didn't match… I truly believed I could "follow" Christ, but still remain in control. 

I still have no idea what my future holds or what tomorrow will bring, but today, without a doubt in my mind, I am choosing Christ. I know that choice will be something I will have to choose tomorrow and the next day and every day next week, and every single day for the rest of my life… but somehow deep in my heart, I believe that choice will be worth it. 

… Here's to new chapters, new beginnings, and a new understanding. 

No matter how much I don't want to, I am choosing to get off my bed, fake happiness until I get there, and choose to believe that God has something planned that is so much more beautiful than I could ever imagine. 

I'm choosing Christ. 

God. Family. Texas.

I am sitting in a living room covered with little stuffed toys sprawled across the floor, brightly colored singing instruments, rattles galore and blankets with cartoon lions and monkeys. There's boxes of diapers piled up in the corner, formula containers on the shelf, and baskets of clean laundry waiting to be folded. My sister stands in the kitchen spooning muffin batter into a baking tin while the oven preheats, all while bouncing my seven month old nephew on her hip. Her life is simple, but great. 

She laughs with her husband who is not a professionally daddy... just yet. He packs the diaper bag full of clothes two sizes too big, forgets to pick up dinner, and ignores the piles of trash piling up in the kitchen. He stays out too late fixing up the engine for a car that will hopefully run, giving them a jeep for mudding and trail riding. He still forgets to quietly leave in the morning, to pick up toys, or start the laundry. But my sister is more than aware of the love he has for her, the blessings she has been given, and the home he has built for their family. 

Four years ago, I sat on the edge of my sister's queen size bed in the home that we grew up in. I had a hidden tattoo, brightly colored plaid pajama pants, and black hair tied in a long pony tail down my back. In other words, I had just faced the first life crisis of what would be many. I begged and pleaded with her to move across the country with me to start a brand new life where no one knew of me, where I could finally be the girl I was created to be, and God would give me everything I ever wanted. I laugh now at how little I truly knew of God back then…

Somehow though, I have learned to accept that God didn't move me to Texas for me… He used me as a tool to move my sister into a brand new chapter of her life, where she would grow emotionally and spiritually, where she would meet a man full of wisdom and faith, and would raise up a family to follow the unwritten rule: God. Family. Texas. He used me to give my sister all of the blessings I wrote about above. 

I have spent years bitterly trying my hardest to love God, to love my sister, and to still have faith that God knew what was best for me. For most, you know how my own personal Texas chapter ended… but if you don't, I'll ruin the ending for you. I moved back, with my head down and shame in my heart, six months after first arriving. I ran away from dreams and plans and people who cared about me because life got hard. While I have spent years hating everything about Texas and the months I lived here, sitting on my sister's couch in her brand new home this week, has helped me to truly accept that God used me for my sister's story. I am finally at a place where I can say that I am okay with that. Texas was never meant to be about me. 

Admitting that in the past made me angry. How dare God do that to me? How dare God tell me that He wanted me to move to Texas only so my sister would follow? How dare God care more about Tori and her happiness than my own? Why would God do that to me? Does He even see me?

I have been jealous. I have walked down the road of envy and hurt, more so in the last year as I have watched God bless my sister with a husband who loves her more than life itself, with a child who is more precious than they come, and with a church community who genuinely cares about her spiritual growth. I have thanked God for everything he has done for Tori, while silently in my heart I felt hurt and betrayed, questioning the God of this universe, begging him to see me and to answer my prayers. 

As I sit on this couch, watching my sister sit on the floor rocking her sweet son to sleep, I am painfully aware that my life is no where near where I wanted it to be, by the age that I am now. I am sadly reminded that my life is crumbling around me, my dreams have been broken, and my faith has been questioned… which has been the whole reason for this impromptu trip in the first place. 

Honestly, I can't say that I am perfectly okay with the way God used me to intertwine two lives together. I can't honestly say that I no longer feel the pains of jealously. To be blunt, I still wish my Texas story had ended in happiness… not hers. I still feel hurt and anger towards God for the months I did live here, betrayed by the God who I thought had promises for me. 

But I am learning not all things are about me. I have accepted that God used me… I am more than thankful for my sister's family who has welcomed me into their home this last week, who has dealt with my crying fits, my bursts of anger, and has gently brought me back to reality with love and grace. I am thankful for my brother in law, who loves to tease me about how unruly and ridiculous I am, who has to constantly remind me to say grace before meals, and who has invited me into his home and life. 

I stand in awe of the life they have created. Sweet, sweet, sweet Zechariah has been the perfect distraction from the hurt and pains of life, giving me a reason to smile and to celebrate the life I do have, and has provided countless hours of laughter. He truly is a gift from God, and no matter where life takes me, I will always remember that. 

I don't have a definite answer as to what life means for me, from this point forward. I don't know what next week will bring as I return home to try to pick up the pieces I destroyed out of anger, hurt, and grief. I don't know what God has planned for me, but I do know that while I had every intention of this trip to Texas being a much needed break for my sanity, He has truly used this "break" to teach me about His love, His forgiveness, and His grace. 

He has used this trip to help me heal, to help me move forward, to move my heart away from the broken dreams of 2011, and to bring me closer to Him… and that is more than I could have ever asked for. 

I deserve nothing, but He has given me more than I could have ever imagined. If I have learned anything in the last four years, it is that I am so undeserving, but He is merciful regardless of my character. He is patient, loving, just, and always faithful… even when I fail to acknowledge His presence or promises.

I haven't been able to say this, but as I sit here and look into the eyes of my nephew, I can honestly say with every ounce of who I am, that I am so glad that I sat on my sister's bed four years ago, begging her to come with me… I am so glad that God used me to give my sister everything she ever wanted. 

YOU shine brighter than fireflies… I'm surrounded by YOUR brilliant glow.

I have been feeling restless in my own skin the last few weeks. I can't truly describe it as sadness or grief or anything of that sort. I can't pinpoint the cause or the reason, but I have been overcome with emotions that I didn't know I even had or had been holding onto. It's a strange feeling to know that you're unhappy, that you're not content in this season of your life, but that somehow, things will eventually turn around. I think that's what most people call hope. 

Last night, I needed away. I needed to be alone… to somehow deal with the thoughts crossing my mind in a way that would be productive and not futile. I needed to deal with the anger that has caused me to push everyone away, including the family I love and my two roommates who have stood by my side through every decision I have made-- the good and the bad. I needed to be alone with myself and to hash it out with God… who I have blamed for my unhappiness. 

I took Macedog for a walk around our small little community, mostly consisting of young adults, but there are a few young families once you turn the corner of our block. Macey, my three year old, obnoxiously adorable beagle/dalmatian mix is always good company. I decided I needed a change of scenery from our normal, usual path of passing the creek and making a big circle back to the house. I decided to turn the corner, cross the street, and walk down a street with big shady trees and a lake hidden behind big homes. Macey loves walks. I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings, ignoring the trees, the beautifully green overgrown branches, the shady path… I was stuck in my own head. "Why, God? Why would you do this to me?" 

I was arguing with myself about what my future holds. Do I run away… again? Do I drop out of grad school, move back home, live with my parents, ignore the dreams I once believed would come true? Do I move to a new city, find new people, start over, free myself from the things I have allowed to hold me back?
… or do I sit patiently and wait for an answer I may or may not want? Do I allow myself to love? Do I open my heart up to someone who could potentially destroy everything I have worked so hard for, everything I have prided myself on? Do I follow the direction in which God is calling me? Do I passionately try with all of my heart to throw myself into the world of the unknown, where it isn't safe, where I might get hurt? Do I take this step with God knowing I might never be the same, but where I know his promises will never fail me? 
… or do I run away and live a life for myself? 


I turned the corner. "When did everything get so messed up? Why, God, why did you let everything get so messed up? I can't even remember a time when I was truly happy!" 

There it was. Me. I was staring at a beautiful home right in front of my face… there was a big tree, providing shade for the front of the home. There was a little girl, maybe seven or eight running around the yard, clapping her hands together, skipping over rocks and sticks… barefoot. It took me a minute to realize what she was doing, but the moment I saw little flickers of light flashing through the yard, I understood. She was catching lightening bugs. She was smiling from ear to ear, slowly trying her hardest to chase a particular little bug. I could see the flickers, the glow from the belly as it flew from one end of her yard to the other. 

I had forgotten of these memories that I didn't even remember ever took place. Chasing these little bugs used to be my favorite thing, my sister and I would do it for hours and hours. From as far back as I can remember, every summer night was spent in the back yard of my house, under this big tree, which is gone now… but we would play for hours, running barefoot, trying our hardest to catch as many as we could. I can still remember the smell of night falling, of the little bugs, the glowing bellies from the mason jars scattered across the porch steps, the little flickers of light. I felt as if I was looking back fifteen years ago at a younger me… who knew no worries and trusted the world around her. 

I found myself praying for this little girl, who's name I do not know. I prayed that she would grow up to be a godly woman, who would love others, who would be kind, and would know true happiness. I prayed that she would never lose her sense of adventure, that she would never stop chasing her dreams, and more importantly, that she would never ever, ever give up on what she wanted out of life. 

I couldn't help but smile. 

I was looking into my childhood. I was given a glimpse of the silly life I lived as a child, all those dreams came back to me, those silly little memories that I used to hold onto were suddenly flooding my mind. I don't know why God sent me out of my way to walk pass a little girl who reminded me so much of me, but I am so thankful that He did. I am so thankful, that although I do not have every single answer I want, I can rest knowing that He does. 

For the first time in over a decade, I reached my hands out and caught a little firefly… I, then, opened my hands and let him go. I watched as the little flicker of his belly faded into the distance. 

For the first time in a long while, I decided to surrender to the plans God has for me. I reached my hands out and decided to trust God with not only my life, but with my past and my future… I, then, opened my hands and let my goals, plans, and dreams fade away. 

I know in my heart that God has a much better plan than I could ever imagine… and I have decided to be content in this season of not knowing. 

just a glimpse into my mind

Life is so complex, so big and chaotic, and out of control. I have no idea who I am. I have searched for years trying to find my identity, but I have found nothing. There is nothing that can explain the depth  of that feeling, the raw emptiness and pain of not being able to recognize who you are… not knowing who you will become or what you wish to be. The fear of never knowing, never being true, never being honest with yourself is a burden that I have carried for years, never addressing the reasons as to why I have felt so lost.

I have been stuck in this fog of darkness, lacking direction and purpose for a while. It has felt like life has been suffocating me, drowning me with fear and hurt and grief that I couldn't escape. I have spent many moments, hours even, just staring at a clock waiting for time to pass me by, hoping that things would change and this gloomy period of my life would close.

I have spent a ton of money… for five years of my life, I have exhausted myself to study something I no longer even wish to become. I tried to believe that this was my story, that this was my purpose, that someday this would become my passion… but it hasn't. I have grown farther and farther away from the person I wanted to be. I don't want to be a social worker… I don't want to do social work. Helping people… I used to be good at that. That was the sole reason I wanted to do social work, but I can no longer even help myself, let alone other people.

For goodness sake, I still eat popcorn and candy for dinner.

I haven't been happy, truly happy for a while now. I used to attribute that to growing up… to adulthood, but in all honesty, the problem is me. That sadness comes from my inability to discover the person I want to be and my identity as a person in this world. I have no idea who Tedi Ellis is.

I wasted all these years following and chasing a dream I never believed was mine. If I was to be completely honest with myself and everyone else, I would tell you that social work was never my purpose. It was never a dream of mine. It was never something I felt called to become. It isn't a passion. I thought this dream, this purpose, this passion would just eventually grow inside of me and I would feel at ease and complete. But it hasn't. I have become a stranger and bitter, not even able to recognize who I am… or the person I was. No one tells you about that part of growing up.

When I entered college, I was so naive of the hardships, the pain, the struggles, and the hurt that comes with finding yourself, something I still haven't found. I am at a point in my life where it is no longer "okay" to be so confused and anxious and apprehensive towards the future. I am 23 years old and the people around me know exactly who they are and are living out their dreams, while I sit on the steps and watch from a distance, jealous of the freedom they have in knowing.

The problem is that not a single person can help me… no one can offer direction… no body can see how much it is tearing me a part. It is slowly destroying me, causing me to turn inward and away from anyone who could possibly care about me. No one is objective… but yet, I haven't been able to figure it out on my own. I never wanted this. I never wanted to be a social worker. I just wanted to become someone that people were proud of.

I simply just want this chapter to end and to write a new beginning.