Jason Castro? Say WHAAH?!

We all know I love a good wedding. Of course, I almost hugged my CI 100 professor when he let us out an hour and a half early so I could race home and watch Molly and Jason's wedding. My eyes were juuustt about to overflow with tears when all of a sudden JASON CASTRO started to sing her down the aisle. Over it. American Idol contestants and weddings shouldn't intermix. 

Mid ceremony it starts to rain. I literally began SCREAMING at the television, "Somebody give the girl an umbrella!" Aka shield that Monique Lhuillier gown. Gah. I was dying. And one more criticism. I wasn't down with how MIA Jason's precious little son was during the wedding.   Annnyways, I love love. I think I've cried during every single wedding I've witnessed outside of Bridezillas. I love gowns and tears and vows and celebration. Too bad nobody takes the marriages seriously post reception, but that topic would require more typing than my poor college student fingers could handle.

 I guess the moral of the story is if Taylor Hicks sings me down the aisle, stop the wedding. And if it rains, do everything humanly possibly to ensure that there is not ONE drop on that baby. 

Karissa and Jaaaaake sittin in a tree...

The other day I was thinking about my studly fellow and panicked. I suddenly became obsessive about remembering every single little detail of our relationship, and then started freaking out even more about how many fun little stories I had already forgotten. I decided that I need to document as many details as I possible. It's important to hang onto. So, I guess this is the story of us :)

I started high school in 2003. I had red and gold highlights in my hair that was parted down the middle. I wore clunky black and hot pink vans and a roxy backpack. My face had just discovered what acne was, and I always smelled of either Tommy Girl or Lucky You. Hott stuff, I know. Anyways, I was a Jesus Lover and quickly fell into a group of similar humans. Jacob Allen Yeager was one.

I knew who he was, obviously. Everyone did. I never spoke to him. However, I did sit next to him in Jarod Warren's green honda on the way back from an FCA lunch. We were nothing more than strangers that mingled with mutual humans. 

I think I remember the first time I said his name. I was flopping down in my seat in the front row of Lab Bio, right next to Becky Oxborrow. It was relatively early in the school year.

"You know Jake Yeager?" I asked.

"Uh-huh," she replied, preoccupied by her lab book.

"Did you know he had braces?"

"He does? Since when?"

"I don't know. I don't think I have ever seen his teeth before. He opened the door for me on the way over here and when I said thank you he smiled, and there were the braces."

Her attention was suddenly caught, "Oh my gosh, he has a crush on you!"

"You're an idiot. What are you talking about?"

"I'm just sayin...He's never opened the door or smiled at me. You should ask him to Sadies."

"WE DON'T EVEN KNOW EACH OTHER!" And that was that. 

We didn't have any more run ins with each other until one weekend while I was at my dad's house. I was on MSN Messenger, because thats what freshman year consisted of. I was having a super normal conversation with Becky when she randomly suggested that I add Jake (superdude_123, :) obviously)  as a friend. Apparently Beck and Jake secretly became friends at some point in time, and he confessed that he did in fact have a crush on me...black and pink vans and all. I (kriskris_07) went ahead and added him. I was all about new friends.

So, we started talking and didn't stop until 5 hours later, literally. I don't know what it was. We clicked. Instant best friends. I don't even remember what we talked about exactly, but I do remember racing down the hall for a bathroom break or glass of water so I could get back to our conversation as soon as possible. 

Unfortunately for Jake, I was crushin on other peeps, and was a total brat and didn't even give him the time of day. It doesn't make sense in my head why I was so stupid, but I was 14 so I guess that sorta explains it. Anyways, we maintained this awesome friendship. 

Of course Becky soon told me about Jake's interest in me. We were best friends, and it was inevitable. I didn't really believe her, or at least didn't think it was that serious at first. But then I started seeing signs, really really precious puppy love signs. 

Example: Before Jake and I became friends, his hair was frosted. Give him a break. It was 2003. Anyways, I loved it. Give me a break. Again, it was 2003. Well, one Friday during brunch I told Jake he should frost his hair again. I left to my dad's house for the weekend, returned Sunday night for youth group, and tada: frosted hair :) 

I'm not sure why I didn't agree to be his girlfriend the moment I met him. I thought he was attractive, he listened to me and was always interested in what I had to say, he made me laugh, yada yada yada. I think it was just too easy, and I had to do the whole thrill of the chase thing first. Whatever. I think I'm going to stop for now. I'll continue periodically. I'm realizing now how much of these past 6 years I'm wanting to capture. 

God, in all of this.

      So, we all get it. I was depressed, and had GAD, and hated life. I've written about it (http://karissaelise.blogspot.com) and hopefully you've read it. I purposely left all of the God details out of the story to save them for a separate post, and then failed to do it. Since I don't want to bail out on God...here we go :) 

      I can't remember NOT being a Christian. There was never a crazy "aha" moment when I realized that I loved Jesus and wanted him to rule my life. I just did. We were pals. I could always feel His love. We rarely fought. It was nice. 

Then I got depressed. Then I stopped answering His calls.  He would leave messages and they would go unreturned. It wasn't because I was mad at Him. We didn't have a huge blowout fight. I didn't call Him names. I just didn't feel it anymore. It seemed too tiring to work on our relationship. All I wanted to do was sleep and sulk. It was as easy as that. My Bible got dusty, church seemed too early, and 88.9 was MIA in my car. Every once in a while I would try to rekindle the flame, but it got to the point where I didn't think it was possible to get back. Nobody knew this of course. But maybe they did. 

When the panic attacks started God started to make an epic comeback. I think it was because I thought I was dying and praying seemed like the only thing to do. Again, I was in church the first time I got a panic attack. I now see the meaning behind that. 

So I would pray (mostly in desperation), but I didn't exactly get the results that I was anticipating. Well, I never died, so I guess in a way I did. I didn't get a rush of "God is in my life" feeling. It was just sorta, I would pray, my panic attack would momentarily stop, and I would move on. Aka, I used Him. He knew it. Therefore, our relationship wasn't fixed. This went on for a little over a month. I felt like we were ok, though. I didn't understand how bad it was, because it had been pretty bad for a while. That was the new norm. 

  One night I remember hanging out with three of my close friends. It was late at night, in the middle of summer, I was well into having panic attacks, but nothing had happened that day. Anyways, we were talking about pretty heavy stuff (well they were, I was listening). The conversation was about spirituality, God, and after life. All of a sudden, so clearly, I heard my mind say, "You don't love God. You don't care to happens to you after you die." I freaked out. Thinking I had a brain tumor was like stubbing my toe now. I couldn't breathe, my heart hurt, my head pounded, and everything was fuzzy. Oh my gosh. I didn't love God. I wasn't a Christian. I felt trapped. I felt like I was just told my eternal destiny. It was clear, and simple, and straight forward. I was a God-hater. 

I sat with my friends for the rest of the night, and failed to contribute anything of substance. I didn't want to tell them about my realization. I didn't want to tell anybody. Nobody would want to love me now that I didn't love God. I went to sleep, woke up in the morning, and then heard another thought. It was a more peaceful thought. It told me to stop being a weirdo. It explained that the thought wasn't mine. That I do love God. I can anticipate an eternity in Heaven. I tried my hardest to listen to the new thought. However, for the next week or so, I battled back and forth between the two. Luckily, with the help of my momma and an amazing woman from my Coalinga church, I kicked the gross thought out of my head completely. 

After that moment, I realized that God needed to leading the way, because I wasn't very good at it. Soon after, I was able to start attending my church in Fresno, that as helped me SO much. Suddenly everything began to make sense to me again. I felt love, and peace, and hope. My chest stopped burning and headaches subsided. I felt comfortable with my Guy again. It was like being able to wake up in the morning without makeup and Snooki hair, and still feeling loved, beautiful, and worthy. Issues were laid out on the table, and we slowly began to address them. A dent is being made. 

I finally feel married to Him again. I know we will have ups and downs. It's inevitable that I'll be stubborn again. I'll slack in my share of the housekeeping. I'll be distracted by other areas of life, and will fail to give Him the attention He deserves. I may even be tempted to leave, but I won't and I won't be left, either. We are committed, and we won't fall into this ridiculous 50% of marriages end in divorce statistic. We are best friends for life. 

My favorite part of this happily ever after, is my new perspective of God. One of the reasons it got so complicated in the first place is because I felt pressure. I felt like I needed to go from Genesis to Revelations in 60 seconds, and kneel by my bedside with my head bowed to pray. Don't get me wrong, these are fabulous things, but sometimes when I try to pray with my eyes closed I fall asleep or start thinking about homework. Instead of feeling guilty or giving up on prayer all together, I find different ways to pray. I'll get Phil Wickham going on iTunes and journal pray. God is so limitless. 

I'll wrap things up with a chapter from Bible. We all know that I'm a Romans' girl, so here is chapter 12. I think you should take a peak, God-lover or not. There's good stuff here. Have a fabulous night, and a blessed week. 

Romans 12

Living Sacrifices

 ¹Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. ²Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

 ³For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you. ⁴Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, ⁵so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. ⁶We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. ⁷If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; ⁸if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.

Love

 ⁹Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. ¹⁰Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. ¹¹Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. ¹²Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. ¹³Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

 ¹⁴Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. ¹⁵Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. ¹⁶Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.

 ¹⁷Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. ¹⁸If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. ¹⁹Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay,"says the Lord. ²⁰On the contrary: 
   "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; 
      if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. 
   In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head. ²¹Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

We're like totally Bff's!

I went to college in August of 2007. I decided that I hated it two days later. I shouldn’t have been so culture shocked. I was an hour away from my hometown. I lived with family members. It definitely was not a big deal. Except it was. I had a feeling I wasn’t in Coalinga anymore.

            For those of you not fortunate enough to know the details of my endearing little town, it is small. You start school at Cheaney Kindergarten. Then you go to Bishop for 1^st, then Dawson for 2^nd and 3^rd, then Sunset for 4^th and 5^th, then Coalinga Middle School, then Coalinga High School.  Students (usually) start together and finish together and learn everything about each other somewhere between.

            I’m not here to publically blast Fresno, or even imply that nobody in Fresno (or other larger towns) have friends like mine, but in that first week of college I learned more than I’ve learned in the past 2 ½ years of college. I learned that my  friends are special.

            Don’t get me wrong, like all friends there have been comings and goings. There were times when I thought some friendships just weren’t going to last, and some times when they really didn’t. I don’t want to focus on that, though. I want to (and feel like I need to) focus on how remarkable the lasting are.

            I know my best friends. I really really know them. I know that 5 seconds after he finishes his drink, Josh Warren will stick his hand in his cup and begin eating the ice cubes. He doesn’t just eat them though. He shoves a chunk in his mouth, bites off a piece, then sticks the remained back in the cup. It’s borderline disgusting. His car smells like summer and the Jurassic Park ride at Universal. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t love zebras. If you are with Ashley Jennings for an hour, she will have applied chap stick approximately 6 times. There is a good possibility it will be one of the jumbo lip smackers ones that 7-year-olds love. Right now she is maturing though, so it is rose scented. However, it actually smells like chocolate. She is guaranteed to be wearing at least one neon color, and her wrists are always covered in obnoxiously beautiful bracelets. I actually know all of her secrets, and will definitely be writing a tell-all book if she becomes famous some day J. Audra’s white Hyundai creeks when it makes a left turn. Also, the day she got the car, she slipped in a Panic at the Disco CD. It got stuck and remains forever. She has a birthmark behind her ear, and the Big Dipper in freckles on her forearm. She is also a kleptomaniac, so if you have a perfectly sharp number 2 pencil with a full eraser, guard it. BJ will make reference to the fact that he is good looking at some point in any night. He will also be sure to Scat (sing, not feces) and speak in his own made up language. He owns more clothes than I ever will. Also, Brooklyn. Somedays Jake speaks in accents. He also claims that every song is the first song he and his grandpa played together on the guitar. He is a hinter, not an asker, and will never let you throw away food.  They are my pride and joys.

            When I came to Fresno, and began conversing with my peers (which I gave up on in a week), I realized that they didn’t know their friends like I know mine. Perhaps their ultimate best friend, yes, but it was different. While some teenagers had Riverpark and movie theatres to occupy their time, we didn’t. We ALWAYS had to create our own fun. So we made movies, and toilet papered teacher’s homes. We spent hours upon hours playing cranium, and drove golf carts in the fields. We had bonfires, and deep conversations in the hot tub. We shared Pans of Gold at Perkos and indulged in sunflower seeds, Mountain Dews, and pepperjack cheese slices. Our entire lives, we were forced to be creative and partake in activities that require A LOT of bonding.

            We’ve grown up together. There are some awkward romantic histories (because for some reason, in high school, we never dated outside of the group). We are a family. It is horribly dysfunctional, but completely beautiful. We are funny, and obnoxious, and loving. We are comfortable with each other and share a bond that’s honest and pure. They annoy the crap out of me sometimes, but they accept that sometimes I just want to watch Dan in Real Life or Elf again. They know that I’ll fall asleep 30 minutes into the movie (even though I’m at 6 in a row! Horray!). They give me sinus massages, and I’ll pop their backs. I’m Kris, not Karissa.

            When I grow up, I don’t want to live in Coalinga, but I do want to live in a place that allows my children to make friendships like the ones I was blessed enough to make. I want them to make their own pizookie and have real conversations over sweet tea. I want my daughter to talk to her Uncle Josh like I talk to Steve Warren. I want the girls to spend hours in a white Echo at a park. I want my son to go camping and feel manly after his first cigar with the boys. I’ve just been very, very blessed, and sometimes I don’t remember. Thanks, friends J

Wrap up.

       My recovery from depression definitely wasn't easy or graceful. It consisted of many instances of me thinking I was cured, and then relapsing into a few days of feeling completely overwhelmed and hopeless. Luckily, after a mixture of therapy, doctor's appointments, and prayers, I broke my habit of convincing myself I was dying, but that wasn't the end of all of the anxiety. As I mentioned in my previous blog, I had an insecurity crisis, and experienced anxiety and depression on another level that I would have never expected. 

      I want to move on, but before I do I have a few more things I would like to talk about. Just some words of advise, if you will. I'll bullet point it. I love bullet points. 

• My Grandma Bonnie, who I mentioned in a previous post went to the emergency room about 3 weeks after my grandpa passed away. She is the one who had been suffering from depression for years, and she also had other diseases that made her constantly feel unwell. Something was different, though. After a series of several tests, she was diagnosed with Leukemia. She passed away three weeks later. I am weird about grieving. I usually focus the pain on how much everybody else feels pain, but with Grandma I felt a different sense of heartache. She died in depression. I know she loved God with all of her being, so I rejoice in the fact that she is now more joyful than I could ever understand. However, it hit me that I COULD NOT let depression defeat me. I NEEDED to gain control. Now, I definitely didn't right away, seeing as how that was in October, and I was fully cured in June, but it was a wake up call for sure. 
• I think I mentioned that I was put on anti-depressants? Anyways, I was. Now I am two things: stubborn and an idiot. I'm stubborn because I'm part Italian and also because my mom is Tina Morris. I hated being on medication. Not only because of the usual reason of it being scary and the possibility of the side effects being far more damaging than the initial issue. I was mostly miserable because I hated feeling that weak. It was hard enough for me to sit vulnerably and accept help from a therapist. It felt overly whimpy to me on medication. I realize now that it isn't true, and while I wouldn't suggest anti-depressants as the first step towards curing depression, it does prove to be beneficial in some circumstances. Now, why am I an idiot? When my therapist and doctor put me on the medication I was probably told 2 million times, "DO NOT STOP THE MEDICATION ON YOUR OWN. WHATEVER YOU DO, LET US WEAN YOU OFF." Approximately three weeks of taking the medicine, I quit. Cold Turkey. I told zero people I was doing this. Most people who know everything about my year don't even know this. For about a week I felt like I was possessed by a demon. I wanted to die. I felt like everybody else wanted me to die. I felt like I was going to be trapped in this state forever. Luckily, I could talk myself out of it and convinced myself that it was because of the medication. However, it was disgusting and scary, and I was afraid of telling everybody that I had quit taking the pills that I dealt with it alone. It could have easily been a disaster, but God is merciful, and I am blessed. BUT if you are or need to take anti-depressants someday PLEASE don't be an idiot like me. Listen to the doctors. 
• As I said before, I fully recovered in June. As in, four months ago. I haven't really researched, so I don't know how long is typical. I do know that it is a process. I also know that it is sort of a fun process. You will get BEYOND encouraged and motivated, and then you will feel infinitely worse than you did to begin with. To me, it became a game. That's kinda sick, and I'm probably the only freak who felt like that, but defeating the depression and anxiety was beautiful. I'm proud of myself. I'm proud of every single person who has recovered. It's scary stuff. It is also a sweet experience, though. Don't give up. 
  

Well, that's all from me. I definitely was disorganized and confusing, but that's my story. I really hope it helps. Well I guess it's not the whole story, because I still have two more entries lined up on this topic. Next one is a special treat :) It will be written by a special guest. Clues: He is handsome. He writes well. He is one of the best people I know. Be excited :) Then I'll talk about God, and it will be fun. THEN I'll be done and will start blogging about not so depressing (literally) things. 

Romans 12:12. 

      

Intimate.

     This entry is embarrassing for me. In my opinion it's the most intimate one of all, and in turn, painful to write. With that said, this is not a pity party. Please don't think I'm being pathetic, because I think what I have to say is vital for women to hear (sorry gentleman). I do have one warning though. It isn't going to be 100% honest. Everything I state is completely true, but not the COMPLETE truth. Somethings aren't appropriate to address via facebook, BUT if you really want to talk about it and have questions I would love to talk about things one-on-one. Anyway, let's move on. 

     Growing up, I never really had confidence issues. I was lucky to skim through middle school without any major self-esteem problems. I was definitely awkward, but I didn't care too much. I went through pretty much all of high school with Jake as my boyfriend, and he always made sure that I knew how much he loved me. It was always enough. I never had any trouble talking to people or being myself. I was comfortable. Of course, I always had things that I wished I could change about myself (most in appearance and character), but my flaws never controlled my life. 

      A couple months after I found out about my dad's affair, I began to feel weird. It was a weirdness that went beyond my already established depression and anxiety. I felt as though I didn't have any worth. Suddenly I felt unlovable. I knew it was silly. I had tons of people around me who I had always thought loved me, but I began to slightly question it. I couldn't fathom why somebody would love me. I didn't think I had anything worthy to offer. My dad had made that apparent. 

      From the moment I was born my dad had one job. He was supposed to love me unconditionally. If he ever couldn't manage to put food on the table or shoes on my feet, he could always love me, and love me unconditionally. He failed. The way I see it is that whenever he met the woman that encouraged him to cheat on his family, and it came time for him to make the decision that would affect his future, there were two things that could have happened. He could have either not thought about the wife and three children he had at home, counting on him to love them, OR he could have thought of us and not cared enough to stop. Both cases are disgusting. I assume that latter is what actually happened. This thought REALLY affected me. If I wasn't worth sticking around for to the one man who was OBLIGATED to never stop loving me, who would find me worthy? 

      I began to resent myself because of this thought. I suddenly felt ugly, stupid, dull, and unable to ever be beautiful, intelligent, or captivating enough. I was certain that I had nothing to offer any man. This was obviously directed towards Jake. The more I thought about it, the more I knew that I was unworthy of love. 

       The obsessing started fairly quickly. I hated everything about myself. EVERYTHING! My hair frizzed too much, my brown eyes seemed generic (when you could actually see them that is. They were squinty and disgusting), obviously my nose was abnormally huge, and I was the only college student with this much acne. I showed way too much teeth when I smiled, and my lips just didn't seem proportionate. As I mentioned before, my weight had landed in the high 90's, and offered no evidence that I was a female. I was genuinely disgusted with every one of my physical features. Things I had never cared about soon mattered so much. 

      I specifically remember one Tuesday (I only had class MWF), lying on the couch and crying hysterically because I felt so ugly and helpless. I went to the bathroom, sat on the counter, and stared at myself, just judging and criticizing every single feature for nearly an hour. My words were harsh, and I was nothing less of abusive towards myself. 

     To top it off, I felt like my personality had been stolen, and I had nothing comical or intelligent to offer anyone. I was worthless. Literally worthless. Jake was going to abandon me. It was obvious. I knew he had already found a woman more beautiful, hilarious, and intelligent that I ever was or would be. Plus I was a maniac, so it was hopeless. 

      This is the part where I'll shy away from details, even though people will probably now think way worse things than what actually occurred. To summarize, I became insanely insecure, jealous, and paranoid. Of course during all of this there was a cue for beautiful women to enter, and I reached a state of mind that turns my stomach when I think of it. I became a different human being, a psycho one. I'll admit it. 

      In my head, I knew that Jake didn't want me. Of course, I also knew what he DID want. She didn't have a huge nose, even though Jake would assure me that my nose was perfect, and any other one would look ridiculous on me. She also didn't have boring brown eyes, even though Jake assured me that my eyes sparkled and danced more than any colored eyes he had ever seen, and that in the sunlight they turned Edward Cullen-ish and were amazing and unique. She also didn't have a goofy smile that exposed way too many teeth, even though Jake assured me that my smile was what attracted him to me in the first place. Of course, he was lying because that's what men did. My dad lied. He had obligation. Jake didn't. If my dad didn't think I was worthy, Jake surely didn't. 

        This sick way of thinking almost ended our relationship. I worked so hard to pull Jake close to me, and attempt that he would never leave me, that I did the exact opposite. I overwhelmed him. I wasn't Karissa anymore. I definitely wasn't the 14 year-old-girl who he had fallen for 5 years prior. I was in no way the girl he had spent growing up with. I was legitimately a different person, who was obsessed with what I didn't have. I couldn't grasp the fact that just because I didn't look, think, or act like (fill-in-the-blank) did, didn't mean that how I did look, think, or act wasn't good or worth loving. 

     This way of thinking didn't apply only to my relationship with Jake, but it transcended into all aspects of my life. I always think about how embarrassed I am about the people who just met me this past year. I was probably the most awkward human being on the planet. Whenever I was around somebody I wasn't fully comfortable around, I was constantly wondering if they were thinking about the fact that I wasn't beautiful. I was sure they were judging all the unfunny things I would say, and how I would sit silently like a freak. I knew they noticed the worried face I would get, and how I was cold and unapproachable. I'm pretty sure I ruined a handful of potential friendships. Sad, but true. 

     Pam helped me alot. She would make me do different assignments to make me realize that nobody was as flawless as I thought. She made me find positive things about myself, and to accept any compliment anyone gave me, and then periodically repeat them back to myself. To be honest, I didn't follow alot of the directions and that's probably why it took me so long to improve, but it felt reassuring to have somebody who understood, and made me feel like my feelings weren't uncommon. 

     I reached a point where it almost felt good to cut myself down. In a sick way I enjoyed convincing myself that (fill-in-the-blank) was better than me. Attending this continuous pity party became addicting. I couldn't stop. Until I did. 

      After a series of my breakdowns, Jake and I had reached our breaking point. We were both exhausted, and questioning if it was worth it. It was at the last possible second that I realized what I was really doing, and how ungodly I was really being (more on that later. I'm dedicating a whole blog to the God part in all of this). I realized how much of an impact I was having on ALL of my human relationships, Jake's being the most prevalent at the moment. For the first time in a long time I remembered how much we had. I'm not saying that our relationship prior to this was perfect in any way, but I had always thought there was something special about our relationship. It was natural from the beginning, and I could never picture anything ruining it. Here I was, doing just that. I knew I needed to get back to freshman -year- of-high-school-Karissa. So I spent a night in deep prayer and reflection, and I made the executive decision to do it. I finally let go of everything that the past year had burdened me with. Mind you, this was in April 2009, but better late than never. Now, I was SO lucky to have a wonderfully graceful man who was able to have confidence that he knew the real me, and patient enough to know that I would return to that person. 

     I have to admit, that I'm still weird sometimes. I'll find myself being harsh towards myself about things that don't matter, like the size of my nose and clearness of my skin. I'll also occasionally feel nervous around people who don't fully know me, and act like an awkward freak. But, all of that are normal things that normal people do. The difference is that I now when to stop. I know not to let my negative thoughts overwhelm my logic and control my happiness. That's what I hope can be learned by this little side story of my story. Something that starts as a simple thought caused from painful feelings, can erupt into something SO damaging, if left untamed. 

      Do I blame this on my dad? No. Even though I feel like I said, "My dad ruined my life," 5 million times last year, it isn't true. Did my dad do something crappy that made me feel crappy? Yes. I had a choice though. I could have understood that my dad didn't fail at showing me uncondional love because of something that I'm lacking. I could have understood that just because I don't see beautiful and flawless when I look in the mirror doesn't mean Jake doesn't think I'm beautiful. I could have understood that just because my dad had an affair doesn't mean that Jake will be lead to do the same. I fed myself lies. Nobody did it to me. I was in total control, and let things get out of hand. I will take total blame. What saddens me is that SO many women (not to leave out men, but I don't think like a man, and don't want to speak for one) have had feelings like the ones I've described. The reasons for it vary, but it's all primarily the same overwhelming feeling of feeling unworthy. It can however be cured, with hard work and prayer. 

Ok, well I'm not going to proof read this (I never really do) because its awkward to read, but I hope this helps SOMEBODY. If something doesn't make sense please ask. I really feel passionate about this, and would love to share more details. I might elaborate on some things later, because this doesn't feel quite concluded. Over and out. 

The Shrink

     So fast forward a couple weeks from my stepmom telling me we were leaving my dad. She took him back again, only to be left with a still unfaithful husband. Ridiculous, I know. Now it's the week before school starts. A week before I'm planning to move back into the house with the two of them. The week that my dad has a "business trip", where we already know he is going to be with his girlfriend. My stepmom and I decided that we would pack up all of the stuff, and move out while he was gone. We were going to temporarily move into her parents house that was about 20 minutes away from us. Of course, I was staying in Coalinga up until the very last second possible. 

     A couple nights before I was going to head over to Fresno, we got a call that my grandpa (mom's dad) was in the hospital, in a coma. He had had a really bad asthma attack, and stopped breathing. They were able to revive him, but were afraid that he had suffered brain damage. My mom and I rushed to Fresno (1 am) and stayed all night at the hospital with family waiting for test results. It was the worst place for me and my anxiety to be. After hours of sitting in the waiting room, and convincing myself I was going to die of every condition the patients in the ER had, I went over to my Grandma Bonnie's (stepdad's mom). It was already morning by now, and I tried to get some sleep. I failed, so after about an hour, I just went out and sat with Grandma Bonnie (who was widowed and lived by herself). We talked for hours (we never really talked about things beyond school, work, and how Jake was doing). I recapped my summer, and opened up completely about my depression and anxiety. She understood everything, and was soon finishing my sentences. I suddenly realized that my grandma had been experiencing the sickness for years. Hearing her stories made me realize more about myself, and more about what needed to be done to change. I like to think of those hours with Grandma Bonnie as my first therapy session. 

     So, my grandpa stayed in a coma, unresponsive for another week. In the meantime, my stepmom, brothers, and I had made the move. We worked hard to keep the boys comfortable and feeling safe. They handled it better than I could ever imagine two little boys ever could. I think they were used to being without dad around. 

     Anyways, I was exhausted. Between starting a new semester of school (and living 30 minutes away from it), protecting my brothers, encouraging my stepmom, attempting to sort out my feelings towards my dad, and visiting my practically lifeless grandpa in the ICU, I barely had any time to go on WebMD and convince myself I was dying. Of course, I did manage to find time for that. 

      I was worsening daily, and my mom decided to call our insurance and get me hooked up with a therapist. We researched, found one that seemed right for me, and booked an appointment. Two days before the appointment, my family decided to take my grandpa off life support. I was devastated, but mostly heartbroken for my mom. I was plunged deeper into depression. 

      I started therapy. I was super nervous and super skeptical as I walked into the dimly lit room that smelled like candles, with a couch, and a side table that held a tissue box. Crap. It was too much for me. My throat grew lumps and my eyeballs rained as I explained my story to my therapist with the comforting voice (we will just go ahead and call her Pam). I quickly became at ease with Pam as she became almost misty-eyed. I knew she cared about me. She told me she thought I was strong, and assured me that I could conquer this. She would help me. I didn't believe it, but I figured I would try. It made me feel good to talk. I took a silly questionnaire that asked me questions that made me uncomfortable and weak, and it told me that I was depressed (no duh). I also got diagnosed with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder, look it up. Someone you know has probably suffered from it). 

      I felt like I was going somewhere. I moved out of the house my stepmom was renting, and into Jake's cousin's house that was closer to school. I felt bad leaving my family, but being so far away from people who comforted me was making things worse, and I needed to make myself better. I was putting so much effort being strong for everyone that I became more weak. They understood. I was also going to therapy twice a week, and with Pam's tools, suggestions, and listening skills, I began feeling less anxious about my health and the other day to day issues I would normally become easily overwhelmed by. However, I didn't realize that I would soon become anxious and overwhelmed by a new set of issues that were controllable, issues that I let myself acquire. 

(Issues that I will write about in my next posting that I will begin right now while I don't have any homework!)