Packet of Wildflower Seeds

Recently I wrote about the feelings that would lead me to consider suicide. I explained, however, that suicide isn't really my first choice for getting away from the pain I experience. Truthfully, I wish I could run away from everything and live in a place where no one knew me or had any expectations for me. Based on a journal entry from October of 2004, it seems I've had similar feelings for a long time: I feel so much pain right now, even though I shouldn’t. I can’t do it.  I wish I wasn’t this way, but it’s horrible being reminded every day how everyone is better than I am. It just all seems so pointless.  I obviously don’t matter to anyone.  I’m not good at anything, so what can I contribute to the world? I don’t know what to do.  I can’t run, because I’ve been doing that too long.  But it’s what I really want to do.  I want to be away from all the people I know: the ones who scare me, the ones who ignore me, the ones who hurt me, even the ones who love me, if tha

This past week was a little rough at work. In an effort to deal with the stress, I allowed myself to ponder what I could be doing if I had made different life choices. Is there a perfect career out there for me? I don't know. My gut feeling is that there is not. Nonetheless, here are some other jobs I have considered: I frequently wonder if I missed my calling by not choosing to write for a living. My most influential English teacher encouraged me to write; even one of my history teachers called me for a meeting one morning to ask about my future plans. Based on the quality of my papers, she said it would be a shame if I gave up writing completely. In middle school I did think I would write, but ultimately I was too afraid of deadlines, criticism, and stiff competition to pursue that path. Those are probably still reasonable concerns, but sometimes I daydream about writing science nonfiction books or articles for magazines. By now it's obvious that I love sharing knowledg

It bothers me that I don't have a clever introduction to this post, but maybe it's just as well. I realize this one has the potential to make people tune me out. They might say, "she never has anything happy to say." "She doesn't appreciate all that she has." "She shouldn't share those things publicly." But here I am. So... Have I ever thought about suicide? Yes. I suppose most people have. You just thought about it as you read that sentence. Perhaps the more pointed question is: have I ever considered it? Yes. I won't go into details, and I will specify that it's not my ideal path (that's an explanation for a future post). It's sufficient for this story to say my thoughts were concerning enough at one point that my then-therapist recommended I go to the ER, just to be safe. There, the medical professionals asked me the always-tricky question: why? I don't know, but here are some possibilities. Because the good

Growing up, I generally wrote poetry to express my feelings; with no intended audience I had no concern for how "good" my work sounded. However, in high school - the time of learning new SAT vocabulary and literary analysis terms - I sometimes tried to throw in words just because I had recently learned them. Other times I used words simply because I liked the sensory experience they evoked. For example, many of my poems contain the word "obsidian" because I think it conveys a darker and more mysterious picture than other options. It is from these habits that "Twilight on Summer" was born. I wanted to write a poem about the change of seasons, but upon reading the work, it is also obvious that I wanted to use some fancy words. At the time I wrote it, I remember being very satisfied with my impressive vocabulary. Now that I am older, when I revisit the poem, I cringe. Too much of it doesn't make sense! Take a look: Summer drains along blackened eaves

This summer I had the opportunity to attend an Evanescence concert. I started listening to Evanescence in high school; I appreciated that they touched upon deeper subjects, but they did so in a haunting, beautiful way rather than a make-your-ears-bleed style like heavy metal. Not everyone may like their music, but it's hard to argue that Amy Lee doesn't have a great voice. One day I was listening to Pandora, and a song played from Evanescence's little-known demo album Origin . I really liked the song, so I tried to find it from other sources. This led me to YouTube and another song from Origin : "Field of Innocence." The song discusses the loss of childhood innocence and wonder. The powerful lyrics include the following: I want to go back to believing in everything and knowing nothing at all This touches upon so many maternal nerves right now. First of all, time is passing too quickly. My kids are getting bigger, and I feel like these moments are slipping th

Over and over again, we are told to ask for help when we need it. "Don't be a hero." "Don't try to do it all yourself." "Don't keep it all inside." So I ask for help. I admit when I'm feeling overwhelmed. I seek out the advice of those I respect, who know more than I do and who have been there before. Yet recently when I said I was going through a rough period and I asked people to contact me if it was okay to talk to them, only two individuals reached out to ask if I was alright. It's not just emotional assistance. I've asked for help with work or family issues and gotten no response. Sometimes people tell me they will get back to me, and they never do. I may remind them, and they say they will have an answer the next day, but I never get an answer. Sometimes they don't even respond to my initial inquiry. I feel like my e-mails go straight to their trash folders. In the end, I'm left dealing with the issue by myself

On the last day I had my seniors, I tried to give them an inspirational talk. It sounded better the second time I gave it after I had a chance to focus and refine it. Of course this isn't the exact speech, but this is generally what I told my students: Throughout the course of the year, there have been two things we didn't necessarily explicitly discuss but which I hope have been the foundation of everything we've done. The first is faith. I personally believe that the study of science is also a way to learn about God. Since God is universal, everything in nature reflects Him. It is amazing to consider how DNA controls all body functions or how the laws of physics operate in the universe. So many scientific phenomena and principles are intricate yet elegant. Even after learning about them, you still can't believe they are possible. Whether you believe that God created the world as described in the Bible, that there is no God, or that the truth lies somewhere in be

I've been struggling a little more than usual lately. I don't know if stress or other circumstances have played a role, but I know that I've had a hard time accepting myself and being positive in the past month or so. Over the weekend, I woke up and felt in my soul that I am going to die from this disease. Now, before you call 911 on my behalf, I don't mean that I am planning to take my own life. Many days, though, I feel that my condition has already sucked the life out of me. In so many ways, depression is winning. I'm never sure if I will find enough happiness to make up for the pain and doubt I experience. I don't know if I will ever be comfortable with myself. I wonder if I can let go of my fears and regrets. When things don't seem worthwhile, it's possible that I won't take care of myself like I should, which could impact my health. Many other conditions are also linked to depression. If they manifest, their physical toll could send me fu

By now you know a little bit about my story, and there is a good chance you also know other individuals struggling with anxiety or depression. You may be wondering about some ways you can support those who are suffering from mental illness. I am certainly not an an expert, but in my experience, it is most helpful when someone stands by me (emotionally and physically) when I am in my worst moments. You have to show your friends that you love them, ugly parts and all. During one of my most difficult periods several years ago, I struggled to function normally. Leaving the house - or even my room - was a challenge. During that time, an individual confronted me about missing church, saying he was "concerned for my soul." In my depressed state, I heard, "I think you're going to hell." And while the individual may have been looking out for my spiritual well-being, he never once asked about my emotional state. He never once asked what he could do to support me. I

Many years ago, I read a letter to the editor that really gave me pause. In it, a (presumably young) man insisted that instead of promoting abstinence-only programs, Christians should encourage individuals to engage in sex before marriage. The reason, he explained, was that couples need to know if they are sexually compatible before making a commitment. "You wouldn't buy a car without test driving it first," he declared. I am not going to debate the merits of various sex-education programs, nor will I philosophize about the morality of anyone's life decisions. I want to focus on this particular claim and how laughable it is. First of all, it is offensive to be compared to a car. I am not an object to be tested and purchased; marriage is not a transaction. Marriage (at least, the sacramental kind) is a covenant. That means husband and wife mutually pledge themselves to each other for the duration of their natural lives. There is no "buyer" and "selle

I remember after Kim Kardashian posted a typically revealing picture she expressed frustration that people labeled her a poor role model. She said that since she doesn't get in trouble with the law and doesn't drink or do drugs she didn't understand why it would make anyone upset that she was proud of her body and shared that with the world. I agree with the naysayers: I think the Kardashians are terrible role models. The reason has both everything and nothing to do with their controversial pictures. It's not that they post the pictures; it's that they ONLY post those pictures. No matter how hard the Kardashians claim they work, their success is entirely built around image. They peddle clothing, cosmetics, and diet pills by convincing us we have to look a certain way in order to be acceptable. The waist trainers, the lip kits, the "revenge body," - all of their products are tied into conforming to societal beauty standards. Furthermore, despite the f

I feel very grateful that I have never experienced physical abuse. I was the victim of emotional abuse in high school, however, when I repeatedly turned down a classmate's request to date. Eventually he told me I was the reason he was depressed and he tried to make me feel like a terrible person. I have friends who have experienced much worse. Girls were told they were the "worst thing that happened" to their partners. A classmate claimed that her bruises, visible during pool class, were from martial arts, but we all knew better. One of my closest friends had an ex who attempted suicide and wrote a note essentially blaming her. She was smart enough to realize it wasn't her fault, but she was still very traumatized by the experience. Then there are the girls who simply cease to exist after beginning a relationship; nothing remains of their former personalities as they transform into extensions of their partners. Change is inevitable - and even welcomed - but there is

I wrote the following poem about the city of Philadelphia, though it represents the conflicted feelings we can have about any place, object, or event from the past: It's been two years since our painful break Two years - and still my heart does ache I'm paralyzed whenever I come near Plagued by gnawing thoughts and indistinct fear I can visualize one starry night When I was captivated by city lights Peace came to rest within my soul And I dared believe I could be whole But tranquility toyed with my fragile self And I fell from the blow I had been dealt I hope this nightmare does not last So I may return to the city long since passed As you may recall from my earliest posts (or knowledge of my background), I attended optometry school outside of Philadelphia. In those months, I hit a turning point in my struggles with anxiety. Things got really bad. I felt isolated and overwhelmed. It seemed like I was alone. Partly because of those facts, I did what nobody wan

I only feel worthwhile when I'm broken into pieces. The inner beauty must show on the outside. I miss the marks when they are absent. I must make more, I think. Swirls of colors and abstract shapes. I'm only pretty when I'm black and blue. The above passage is an excerpt from a poem titled "Inner Beauty." I wrote it in 2013, but I can still picture exactly what I felt as I wrote it. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was trapped in my own skin. I felt like I was stuck inside a person I loathed. I wanted to break free from my body. I wanted to run away from my past and what I envisioned as my future. I couldn't escape, though. I couldn't calm down using any of the regular methods. I felt an intense pain I couldn't stop. Unless...I gave it a source. I could beat the psychological pain with physical pain. If I hurt myself, I could shock my system and thwart the panic attack. Then I could begin the process of recovery. Som

Last fall, I was searching for books to buy my niece for Christmas. I wanted a title that celebrates strong female figures. While reading a description for one of the prospects, I noticed an odd book listed under "customers also viewed." I clicked on it. I don't remember the title, but the the gist of the book is that modern feminism is bad for women and terrible for society. The opinions expressed by the author reminded me of a controversy a couple years ago; celebrities were criticized based on whether or not they would identify as feminists. Many of the individuals who declined to identify as feminists said that "feminism" is a dirty or divisive word. Since I sometimes like to imagine what I would say if I were a celebrity being interviewed on the red carpet, I tried to fashion my own response. I had an initial opinion, but I had to strengthen it with facts and reason. First, I had to figure out what "feminism" really means. Given that "fem

The other day I told my daughter that my anatomy class dissected sheep brains. She asked a lot of follow-up questions. Our conversation meandered through topics such as scalpels and surgery before ending on C-sections. She asked to see a picture of a C section scar. Then she asked to see a picture of stitches. Then she asked to see a picture of the incision before stitches. I considered whether the images could be too graphic for her, but she was genuinely interested. Instead of a picture of the incision, I showed her a picture of a freshly born baby with his umbilical cord still attached. Blood, babies, the body - they are all just parts of our human nature, after all. This philosophy has led me to adopt another potentially controversial practice: I don't care if my kids see me naked. For awhile, it was a little out of my control. When we remodeled our bathroom, we didn't have a door. The kids could waltz in whenever they wanted. It was hard to tell them they were crossing a