Which Road Will You Take?

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Is Christianity worth it any more?

I was the child who loved God. I loved being in His Word, new verses excited me, catechism class was my favorite part of the week. I loved to listen to hymns, to learn new ones, to be with other people who shared my faith. I grew up around extremely conservative Christians. People who wore long skirts, kept their hair long, hardly ever wore makeup.

As I aged, I was constantly critiqued by these people. I would never stand up to their standard. Or at least, the standard I placed on myself. I would accidentally say shocking things, things that didn’t fit in with their lifestyle. I was wicked to them, and I must reform myself in their ways or be alone.

And I hated being alone.

But they didn’t care about me. As I got older, things happened in my life, but they never asked how I was doing. They would just critique other people who were “wickeder” then us. People didn’t mind if I came to church and hid in a corner, as long as I just came to church. People didn’t care if I stopped enjoying Scripture, as long as I knew the key passages and could flip through a Bible.

So I began to hate Christianity, because no one cared about my heart. No one cared if I didn’t believe God could really love me. I mean, all they talked about was God’s wrath anyway. Yes, I’m going to hell, why not go to hell in a hand basket?

I started wearing pants. Because who would stop me? I cut my hair. To prove that good girls can have short hair. I dyed my hair. To prove to my dad that hair dying wasn’t against the Bible. I wore makeup. To prove to myself that I could be the same person inside with a modified face. I changed myself. Because I wanted to prove to people that I could still know everything that was important to them in my head, but I didn’t care enough to follow their stupid rules any longer.

I no longer wanted to read God’s Word. I was angry at Him. Angry at the world. Angry at the people who served Him.

They said they did all this in Christ’s name, and yet they left me again. No one asks how I’m doing. No one cares enough to drag the tears out of me. They were thoughtful enough to appease their own consciousness, sending me letter that said they cared. But they never followed up.

So I turned to the world. Dear Evan Hansen kept me alive. If I just hung on, I would be found. There’s a reason to be alive, someday I would have a future. Someday someone would care.

I drifted through songs, and one day, I ended up listening to “The Devil Came Down To Georgia” on repeat for a whole day. So much, that the Devil came down to Georgia, and entered my dream.

Walking down a golden brick road, holding my violin in one hand and my dreams in the other, I stood at a crossroads. One went up a mountain, narrow, steep and rocky. The other road was flat, it went towards the beach, where the waves whispered happily, and people swam. 

And there I stood, clutching my violin and my dreams, looking down two different roads. My mind told me to go to the mountains, but my heart longed for the sea. 

“Hard choice, isn’t it?” A voice asked from behind me, and I turned to see the devil himself, the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Tall, ripped, with hair the color of midnight, he smiled a toothpaste commercial smile in my direction. “Don’t worry, you’ve already picked.” He pulled out a golden violin and began to play, dancing in circles around me, pulling me towards the beach. “You decided long ago, dear. It’s just taken you this long to notice. The music that swells from your soul is mine. The tears that flow from your heart, the words that you write, the thoughts you think are all mine.” 

I struggled and strained because in my heart I knew he was right. I had strayed, I had been doing things for him instead of for the One I loved. He was strong, he held me without touching my skin, held me with his ruby eyes and his bewitching smile. I was unable to break his charm.

“Let her go, Lucifer, she’s not your prey.” The voice, like a cymbal, stopped the violin’s play. On the other road stood a large man, close to seven feet tall, dressed in white clothes that looked strangely like Star Wars apparel. “She’s been bought, paid for, and redeemed. She belongs to the King.”

If the white hand hadn’t caught my arm, I would have fallen. The Devil’s shrieks filled the air as the man pulled me back to my feet. “You’re safe, but the choice is still yours. Follow the faith of your fathers, or fall.”

“Please, I want to go with you. I swear, I don’t want to go with him, I don’t want the golden violin or all the fame. Please, let me come with you.”

And with a slight smile, the man turned. “Then follow me.”

I woke in a cold sweat, swearing that I would never listen to that kind of music again. Dreams are weird things, aren’t they? But this one started a small flame that has been growing inside of me.

Most of my friends before never cared about Scripture. They didn’t care what I thought about theology. They didn’t care to talk about Jesus, they weren’t interested in anything but stupid, stupid Christian platitudes, or following a list of what’s wicked and what’s not. But I’m not interested in that.

I want to love God. I don’t want to be a people pleaser, I want to be a Jesus pleaser. I want to be on fire for Him. I’ll gladly trade the golden violin and the fame to know I’m following him. I would gladly give the world for a relationship with my King. Because I am His.

Fame will never fulfill me, a golden violin would never explain me. Christianity is worth it to me. Not the kind where you claim Christ but never search Him, never care to face the lions of the world. Never care to stand like Joseph and place your full trust in Him. But the kind where you stand like Daniel, where you preach like Peter, where you trust like George Müller, where you are in essence . . . a Jesus freak.

Because I’d rather be a Jesus freak than one of the crowd. Maybe the cost is great, but in the end, the gain is beyond comparison.

Which road will you take?

~~Amie~~

The Importance of Physical, Mental, and Emotional Health in Art

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If you have been following my blog for over a year, you know that I’ve had a bit of a struggle with my mental health. For months I lived in a haze of depression, and today I still have to battle it daily, along with the impulse to destroy myself due to anxiety.

A lot of my mental health issues were linked with physical health, and so today, I thought it was time to talk about the importance of physical, mental, and emotional health in art. Some of you might have just balked. Physical health? How does that affect art? And emotional health? Don’t we need emotions to impact people in art?

We’ll be taking a quick look at each of the different categories during the post, and what I’ve found to be helpful.

Physical Health

The clock showed that it was one o’clock. Another night of only sleeping five hours. Another night when my brain kept me awake past the time most humans should be awake.

Insomnia has been one of my greatest enemies. It has hindered my artistic pursuits, and my regular day – to – day life. One night I decided that I had had enough. I was going to figure out how to fix this problem.

Physical health affects more than we tend to realize. The food we eat, the amount of activity we indulge in, and the amount of water we drink really does matter when it comes to art.

Art is a type of work that uses primarily your brain, and if you don’t have a keen and healthy brain . . . well, your job is going to be a lot harder. Just as athletes must train, eat healthy, and drink lots of water, I’d like to argue that artists need to do the same.

Personally, to help my insomnia and brain fog, I’ve found that avoiding certain foods my body is sensitive to was the first step. I try to eat high – fat, high – protein meals, as well as a lot of vegetables and fruit. Water is also my best friend. Not only does it (along with avoiding chapsticks I’m allergic to [yes, I have a lot of allergies]) make my lips hydrated and full, it also helps me feel better. XD (Such a lame ending, goodness.)

How do I take care of myself physically? Glad you asked. XD Besides my food, I like to wake up a 6, in order to make time for some “me” time and exercise. Directly at 7 (am. Yes, it’s early), I’ll go on a walk with my dog, and if I get back soon enough, I’ll do a ten minute exercise. I also exercise around 6 or 7 in the evening, in order to tire myself out for bed. If I’m doing a lot of computer work throughout the day (writing, anyone?), I’ll take a break every 20 – 30 minutes and do as many pushups as I can.

I tend to follow the diet that is shown on this YouTube channel

This is my favorite channel for exercise.

Mental Health

I feel like I could also encompass “spiritual” health in this category. (Which is just as important as all of the other things!) Mental health is one of the biggest things in art. If you don’t have the motivation to get out of bed, how are you going to get up and create some art? If you aren’t happy, how can you make people smile?

Eventually the inner turmoil will come out. Perhaps art is your therapy, and if it is, no judgement. I’ve found, however, in my own art journey that it’s so important to at least be aware of your mental and spiritual health as you create. If you’re not, then you’re in danger of a major burnout.

For my mental health, I religiously take A LOT of vitamin C. I know, a strange thing to take for mental health, right? But I’ve found that it helps my brain fog, it helps my joint pain, and it helps my fatigue and depression. My mom can even notice a difference with my outward personality. Now, I’m not a doctor, so I can’t guarantee this to work for everyone, but it’s worth a shot, right?

I haven’t been able to find anything yet that has helped my anxiety. If any of you have a natural suggestion to help me, drop it in the comments. I need help to keep me from tearing off my skin and pacing the house. 🙈

For my mental and spiritual health, I wake up at 6 every morning, unless I’m sick or was sick recently. I light a candle (because I love candles, and it makes me look forward to getting out of bed. 😉 ) and make myself a cup of tea before recording what happened the day before, writing down goals for the day, and reading my Bible and writing about what God is teaching me. I also take time around 5:30 to read more out of my Bible and work on memory verses. If I’m have a particularly hard day, or stressing about something in particular, I will take time to just write a list of either blessings, or reasons I’m stressed, and figure out how to make the day better.

Vitamin C I take: Lypo-Spheric packet and tablets.

Emotional Health

Doesn’t this fit with the one before it?

Hmm. I think all of them intertwine, but I want to take a moment to just look at emotional health. Some days I can have amazing mental and physical health, but I’m just sad. Or I’m just bleh emotionally. Emotional exhaustion is just as much a thing as mental and physical exhaustion.

Emotions are one of the biggest part of art. We are trying to convey our emotions to others, we are trying to play with emotions of those who see/read/hear our art, and so our emotional health needs to be somewhat stable.

For my emotional health, I try to keep myself scheduled, and take time to do things that make me happy. Some of the things I do that make me happy is drink coffee, burn candles, wear outfits that make me feel beautiful, and style my hair. As well as listening to my favorite music.

Everyone has different things that make them happy, and it’s okay to do some extra things if it gives you a little bit of happiness. When I was younger, I told myself that I should just work, work, work, and ignore the little things that I can do to improve the quality of each day. There’s no need to do that. In moderation, a little bit of extra sparkle can make your day much better.

How is your physical, mental and emotional health? What are some things you do to improve those three things? Do you enjoy being scheduled?

~~Amie~~

 

I Want to Know

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God, who am I?

You are my child. (John 1:12 ,Galatians 3:26)

What do you want me to do?

Know me and make me known. (Jeremiah 24:7, 2 Peter 3:18, James 4:8)

How can I do that with my blog? All the blogging experts talk about a niche, finding your message, and sharing it. How can I do that? What is my message?

Know me and make me known.

Well, that certainly helped me. Do you mean by having a lifestyle blog, or a Christian living blog, or a deep thoughts blog like I already have? Do you mean by just joking around and bring light into people’s lives? Do I even make people think?

Know me and make me known.

And that is super helpful. I just want to know what to do with my blog. I need to have answers here.

Know me and make me known.

That’s super helpful, God. You’ve said that before. I do know and  will know You better and I’m trying to make you known. But there are so many different ways to do that. Everyone has a different calling to share the message of Christ crucified, resurrected, and sitting at the right hand of God. What is mine?


What is mine?

The phrase was left floating in my head until yesterday, when I read two different things. In a book, the main character struggles with her calling, and another character points out that maybe we don’t have one specific calling or purpose in life. At least, not in the way the normal Evangelical Christian has been taught to think about callings.

Our purpose is in the greatest commandment, which is to love God with all our heart, all our mind, and all our soul. (Matthew 22:37) That in turn should shape everything else we say, think or do. (Of course it won’t, because we’re sinners, but we can still strive. Which is what this book was about.)

The second thing I read was an article on a writing community I’m a part of. The article writer (Rebecca Davis) stated that our message will be shaped organically by God as we live life.

Now, I’ve lived through some things, even though I’m still so young, but I hate talking about them. Hating reliving the memories I’ve purposefully buried, the ones that shape my nightmares, my ambitions, and my past. So during an interview, I asked her about sharing messages that cause you pain.

And her answer was intriguing. God grants us the gift of numbness for a time, when we’re going through the pain. And when we’re given the gift of numbness, the best thing to do is find someone who can help us and makes sure we’re safe.

But after awhile, we awake from the numbness to sharp pain. And when the sharp pain comes, it’s hard to think of anything besides that. Besides what’s been hurt, what’s been broken, what’s been lost.

At the end of the day, however, it’s not your pain that’ll define you and stay forever. It’s the lessons you learn during the pain. At times, you might be called to share your pain while you walk through it. (I’ve done some of that!) Other times, however, you may never share your pain, you may never let that be apart of the message, but you still have the lessons that bleed over into your other messages.


God, I want to know what’s next. I want to know what to do.

*silence*

Okay, well, I’ll just —

“When you don’t know what to do, just do the thing in front of you.”

Huh. Then I guess I’ll write a blog post.

~~Amie~~

Doesn’t End Like That

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You never got the chance to know me
Packed it up and crossed the state
You left behind more than memories
Now when I sleep I’m only dreaming of your face
You never got the chance to hold me
I learned to love your selfish way
I still believe in you

So wrapped up in your selfish ways, taking and taking, leaving me spinning round and round, unable to touch the ground. Whenever I treated you better than you could understand, you’d leave me wondering how kindness could hurt you.

You said you were my friend, holding out your hand to help me off the ground, offering to dry the tears that streamed from my shattered heart. And yet, after you bandaged the wounded organ, you shattered it with it into a hundred parts, leaving me bleeding alone.

How did I love your selfish way? Why do I still believe in your flawed nature? Why do I see all the good things you could be if you just let the light shine through your firm barricades?

And in this burning room
I’ll suffer through the pain

Left gasoline on my walls before you peaced out, telling me it was my problem that I was the way I am. Lit a match and threw it behind you, burning my soul inside the metal walls I built for my own protection. You say I’m not worth attention, so I’ll sit alone and suffer through my emotions.

You told me I was weak to feel pain, fear, and pitiful to let the tears free. I should be the bouncy, happy girl I used to be before. Years ago when I first met you?

Darling, listen. Time wears away the childlike joy you felt at ten. It takes time to find the joy given by the Spirit within. It takes time to find out who you are, despite the pain that’s shaped your life.

Oh no, got me low, how you gonna leave like that?
Oh no, got me low, you’re gone and I want you back.
Oh no, down so low, feeling like I’m under attack.
Oh no, where’d you go? You’re gone and I want you.

Instagram posts have pulled at my defense, your comments are destroying my stern vision. How are you gonna ghost me like that? Last year we were together and talked about forever, being friends until we’re both old and toothless, laughing about our teenage stupidity.

Now I’m alone, sitting on the floor, wondering if I’ll feel the same at fifty. How are you going to leave like that? If you came back, would I let you in?

I never wanted you to change
Call me up and I’ll be running
Loose my breath calling out your name
(Leave Like That, SYML)

I sent texts, DMs, and letters. Hoping you’d forgive my stupid blunder. But if my blunder was being a good friend, would I really want you to forgive me for caring? Would I really want you to forgive me for sharing my love, my time?

Were you really the people I needed? Or were you only taking up the place of people who love and care about the real me, not the me they’ve created in their heads. Maybe the best thing for both you and me was for us to part.

So I could find me. So I could be me.

Without feeling guilty for not being what you want me to be.

And now I can smile and sing the song that I can only sing while reaching for the stars. I now have people behind me who love me, despite what I can be or will be. They smile and laugh with me over my stupidity, understand when I tell them seriously about my worries, and hug me when the darkness in my mind is louder than all of reality.

People who care.

Even when I pretend that I don’t need them.

Because I do. We all do. We need people who love us, we need people to support us, we need people to push us, and we need people who understand us.

God’s been so good to give me people who do all of those things. And to them, I’ll forever be grateful. ❤

~~Amie~~

I See the Sun

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I see the sun through the evening shower

I know the sun in spite of this midnight hour

Each day it’s there, warming my heart

Even though it’s so hard to see in the dark.

I have been telling myself I won’t let myself grieve. I won’t mourn, I’ll be fine. Just keep moving, looking to the next day.

But last week was one of those weeks that just called for a lot of sorrow, mixed in with a strange type of joy.

Last week I was supposed to be seeing my friends. Hugging them, laughing with them. I was supposed to stand next to one of my favorite people as she pledged her life to her love.

But I sat in my kitchen instead, watching a screen.

There are so many things we’re all missing out on because we’re trying to stay safe. We’re trying to show Christlike love, by putting other’s health and safety before our own. And I’m so happy that I get to do that, that I get to stay home, and that I’m able to keep myself alive for years in the future.

But it’s also okay to be sad.

To grieve.

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So many lives lost. So many memories not happening. So many people we miss. So many hugs we’ve lost. So many moments of laughter that we’re not having.

It’s okay to curl up on your bed and take a deep breath, to let the tears free. It’s okay to hurt, to wonder why. It’s okay.

But always remember that there is a sunshine behind the clouds, and a tomorrow after today. Maybe not this year, maybe not now. Maybe it’ll never be like you thought it should, but you will have something good in the future. Maybe I won’t be hugging my friends this year, not laughing with them, or rooming with them at a writing conference.

But next year.

Next time.

Tomorrow.

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It’s still empty and full of possibility, full of hugs, full of companionship, and worth waiting for, worth going through pain today.

As someone once said, “A moment of pain is worth a lifetime of glory.”

A year of loneliness is worth a lifetime of health and companionship. And for that reason, I’m going to stay home, wishing to be with my favorite people. For that reason, I’ll be Skyping instead of hugging. And for that reason, I’ll be letting myself cry.

Tomorrow still has sunshine,

~~Amie~~

Say It Louder

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White silence is violence.

I am white, I have remained silent, I have wondered, questioned, disbelieved.

I am part of the violence, one voice that has stayed silent, because my skin wasn’t targeted. Because I was continually told that I was privileged.

And for a long time, I thought that was an insult. But I have since learned that it is not. It is truly a privilege and an opportunity.

I wish they would only take me as I am
— Vincent Van Gogh

One of the people I admire the most doesn’t share my skin color. My co-workers don’t share my skin color. To me, it’s never mattered. To me, that made them prettier than I am, it made me marvel and admire our diversity.

The beauty and uniqueness of life.

But not to others. Others see my friends as less. See them was lives that don’t matter, lives that shouldn’t be lived.

I’m here to say that life matters.

Black lives matter. Asian lives matter. Unborn lives matter.

We all live with the objective of being happy; our lives are different and yet the same.
— Anne Frank

I will never know what it’s like to not have the privileges of a white American girl. I’ll never know what it’s like, but that doesn’t mean I should stay in the shadows, hiding. It doesn’t mean I should doubt what’s happening.

It’s been happening for hundreds of years, to so many different colored skins.

I’m here to say that being white doesn’t make me better than anyone else. It just makes me sunburn. There is nothing about me that makes me better than you, nothing.

I’m human. I bleed the same color of blood. I breathe in oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. I get dirty, I cry, I get angry, I get hurt.

There’s nothing that makes white people better than black people. Nothing. There’s nothing that makes white people better than Asians, or Hispanics, or any other kind of ethnicity. Nothing.

Can I say that loud enough?

“We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself.”
― Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Murder is never okay, regardless of who does it to whom. Murder is condemned in the Word of God, and so we must not only give comfort to those hurt by this injustice, by this tragedy.

We must confront the root of the problem, we must stand and be heard. There is no time for us to wait around and see. No time for us to wonder at this tragedy.

It has happened. It has continued to happen. And it won’t end if we don’t stand together, regardless of our skin, and point out blatant facts.

Racism is wrong.

Discriminating is wrong.

Murder is wrong.

And why?

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.
— Galatians 3:28

 

For God shows no partiality.
— Romans 2:11

 

Whoever takes a human life shall surely be put to death. You shall not murder.
— Leviticus 24:17, Exodus 20:13

Now is not the time to be silent, for whatever reason you might have. Now is not the time to worry about hate comments, about what others think about you, or even your stats. Now is not the time to wonder what your friends will say about an awkward conversation, or worry about how this will make you look.

If you do not speak, you are guilty.

Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.
-Dietrich Bonhoffer

We must speak, we must act, we must resist silence. We must stand, face the problem, and work with those who are trying to eradicate it.

Regardless of your skin color, you matter.

Regardless of your ethnicity, you should stand.

Regardless of your privileges, you should speak.

Because all lives matter.

Because black lives matter.

I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality…. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.
— Martin Luther King, Jr.

~~Amie~~

It’s My Story

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I’ve been growing. 

I’ve been looking back at my past and seeing how it’s changed me. Seeing why I am how I am, and how I can change myself. Not because I don’t like myself. No.

In the past year, I’ve begun to love myself. No longer hating the pain and anger that sits inside of me, no longer hating the face that was given to me, no longer mad about the body that I call mine, no longer ashamed that I’m me.

I can go back and read past blog posts, smiling at who I was then.

And I can go back five years and tell myself it wasn’t my fault. I shouldn’t feel guilty for refusing to see my grandfather four days before he died. I shouldn’t feel guilty for not hugging him the last time I saw him. I shouldn’t hurt because at his funeral I didn’t cry.

God and my grandfather know that I loved him. And I’m proud to be his granddaughter. Proud that I had a grandfather with such a story.

Instead of feeling the pain of my twelfth birthday, I can remember the beauty of the bouquet my father brought me. The moment I hugged him, soaking in his warmth and the clean smell of the hospital. He had made it, he was here to celebrate, even if it was a only for a few hours.

Instead of basking in the things I missed on that birthday, I can relive the tears that rolled down my cheeks when people from my church surprised me. Because they actually cared, because this was a good reason to let all the tears out, a time I didn’t have to be strong.

I’ve been patching up the relationships I destroyed in my desperate attempt to control my life. I’ve started releasing my fears. They aren’t all gone, and it’ll be a lifelong journey. But in the past year, I’ve been taught one thing.

I’m not in control.

I’m just in for the ride. So why hold on with a vice grip, when I can just lean back? I know that my God is only planning things that will be good for me. Sure, the good might hurt at times, it might bring tears. It might even feel like too much.

But God always gives you strength. Sometimes that’s only enough strength to lie in bed, sometimes it’s only enough strength to sob on the floor. Sometimes it’s enough strength to get up and run. And sometimes, it’s enough strength to soar.

Comparison should never be allowed to enter your mind. Because your journey, the amount of strength God sees fit to give you is uniquely yours.

God has written a unique story for each of us.

I would never wish to have someone live my past, and in order for you to be me, you would have to have that. Never compare yourself to me, to others, to the people around you. You don’t know what they’ve gone through, and it’ll only ruin your own story.

If you don’t have both eyes on the road, you’ll never know the difference between good and best. Live your story, my friends. Embrace it, love it, understand the beauty, and do your very best.

Your past might be sad, your future might be rocky, and the present might be dark, but God promises that though there are tears in the night, joy will come with the morn. ❤

~~Amie~~

We are Complicated

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I am a collapsing star.

The night sky whirls around me as I fall, creating a unique masterpiece behind me, wishing something would stop my breakneck descent. Wishing someone would understand, that underneath all the fiery gas, there’s an ice cold heart that needs some love.

I am a flickering flame.

One moment alive, one moment strong, the next vanished from sight. Oxygen is needed, but also feared. What if I grow? What if there’s nothing to fuel the fire that is my soul? Will I always warm people, and yet keep them at a distance? Is there no way to subdue my soul? Is it’s always all or nothing?

I am a dripping stalactite.

Moist, cold, dangerous. Any moment able to collapse on someone’s head, always reminding them of my presence by a ceaseless drip, an annoying patter. Hidden from the light of the sun, embracing the darkness and living with others of my kind. Yet, solitary and growing, not letting the silence bother my own song.

I am a slice of mica.

Beautiful to those who take the time to dig through the grime to find me, yet not precious to those who look towards what the world says. Thin, fragile, yet strangely resistant. Reflective, showing the world a screwed picture of itself, hoping that someday it’ll see that it’s opinions aren’t always as they should be.

I am a diving eagle.

Swooping, talons reaching. The water skimming beneath my feet, the prey firmly clamped. Food, freedom, and fresh air growing my feathers and my independence. Selecting my certain friends, but still soaring alone, there is no reason for me to be afraid. I am the the top predator.

I am the mole.

Hiding away from the real world, embracing the grime, worms, and darkness of the world in which I live. Squinting when I reach the sunshine, wondering why anyone would want to live in the harsh light. The dirt is so soft, so cool, it is everything that I am used to. And yet the sun still has a certain, burning charm.

I am the rain drop. 

Falling far and fast, landing softly on the parched earth, allowing myself to be totally soaked up. No longer my own person, no longer free to breathe, too busy trying to help heal your pain. Lost, parched in the process, too moldable, too eager to fill your empty cup.

I am the guard dog.

Sniffing out danger, protecting my people. Hating when they don’t listen to my warnings, hurting when they’re hurt. Silly people, if they just trusted my nose, we’d all be happy. My bark is silent, my bite devastating, don’t push, don’t pull. Stay away, no one will be hurt, no one will feel the strength of my jaws.

I am the whispering wind.

All my problems, too shy to tell those around me, so I’ll just move the leaves, whispering through them. Can you hear the plea between my words? The pain beneath my jokes? Are you soothed by my gentle words? How did I find the words to say to ease your pain if I have not been through the pain myself?

And yet, though I am all those things,

I am still

~~Amie~~

Does It Get Better?

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Dear little Amie,

Does it get better?

Yes and no.

Yes, the hatred you feel will stop burning in your veins. The anger that causes you to tear your hair in the closet won’t follow you any longer. The anger that constricts your voice and kills all those around you will no longer poison you.

No. The pain will still be there, just morphed and changed. It’ll still squeeze your chest and cause rants. You’ll still lie to people and tell them you’re fine when you’re dying inside.

Yes. The people that used to hurt you so much will no longer cut holes in your heart. No, you won’t get along with them. Yes, you will be breathing freely, but no. You won’t be the olympic athlete.

Yes, you won’t have to spend each morning trying to swim through your own mind. You’ll be better, you’ll be able to run, you’ll be singing and laughing again without a cough.

But no, you’ll still be up at two in the morning, wondering why you’re alive. You’ll be asking your body to just give up the fight, but unlike your mind, it’s not a quitter.

Yes, you’ll have people supporting you, pushing you back up when you fall and swear to yourself that you can’t move again. They’ll be there, and no, they won’t always know what to say.

But sometimes being there is louder than any of the words they’ll ever be able to say.

No, you’ll still wonder at times if this life is worth living. If the stars are worth seeing. You’ll wonder if the Word is worth reading, and the songs worth singing.

But yes, someone will look at you and say I love you. And you’ll realize that you’re important. Why? Doesn’t matter. To some people, you’re important. Some people need an Amie in their lives.

No, some people will still be unable to understand you. People will still say things that burn, do things that hurts, and refuse to let you through. But you will learn that they aren’t worth your time. They won’t take their words back, but you don’t need them to do that.

Yes, Amie. Overall, it’ll get better. You’ll have relapses. You’ll sit on the floor, wishing you could cry the tears that simmer underneath. You’ll be on your bed, silent because the thoughts in your mind are too loud for music. You’ll refuse to talk to people, you’ll neglect food.

But each time you’ll come out stronger. More determined not to let your mind to take control of your life. Each time, you realize that you’re a fighter. But you’re not the only one fighting.

There’s One that shines through, stronger than you. One that can fight better than you do. One that won’t let you go through with the lies that are whispered to you.

So fall apart, but don’t let the fragments shatter.

Because remember, it’ll be better.

Perhaps, it’ll get worse before it’s better. But always, in the end, it’ll get better.

Chin up, future Amie. You’ll get through.

~~Amie~~