Addicted to self-destruction

I hate social media.

I hate my need to live vicariously through it.

I hate that it opens doors to show other people the best of who we are and what we do and almost always covers up everything else.

I hate that I have become a person who relies on it to remind me of birthdays and important events for people I claim that I care so much about.

I hate all the politics, spam, and makeup party invites that make you want to unfriend good people.

I hate comparing myself to pictures taken at the right angles and looking at group photos when I’m sitting in my room all alone.

I hate that numbers equal worth and that people get offended if your relationships aren’t “facebook official.”

I hate all the false expectations social media adds to. Pictures of couples that seem perfect for each other in every way, beautiful weddings, cute babies, families that seem to always be happy, and the most adorable pets and best parts of homes.

Does everyone really have it all together but me?

I hate how addicted I am to self-destruction.

The screen becomes my mirror and I don’t like what I see.

This is what social media does to me.

And what do I do but wear the same masks as everyone else…

Question of Affection 

How is it that you can break up with someone, and in that moment be comepletely sure it’s because you don’t feel for them what you thought you did, and then months later you are hit with a sudden wave of “did I really make the right choice?!” 

I’ve been wondering about this question for quite some time now as I’ve been personally struggling with it lately. How do we know if we really miss someone or if we just miss the feeling of a filled hole or two that someone provided? What if we just miss not having the things they did for us and don’t really miss them for who they are? 

It’s a confusing line to walk. Even more so when what you both decided to walk away from seemed like a pretty good thing; Or at least, it was comfortable. 

Maybe too comfortable…

I wonder if as much as we love comfort as human beings if there is a part of us that knows the things that are truly worthwhile in life often come with a large amount of discomfort and so when we embark on finding that other half that is so important to us comfort only starts out as enough, but finishes empty. 

However… If we haven’t found that new, challenging, wonderful relationship that fits us just right there is always this weird part of us that looks back at that comfort we once had and we suddenly miss it so much that we start to wonder if we made the right choice… 

This is my current struggle. 

In conclusion, I hate emotions. They mess with your head and make you unsure of when you were sure. 


Sitting in complete silence is like standing with your back to the woods at night.

I find my heart racing at speeds that should only come with fear and my mind immediately seeks out my insecurities. Why is it we are so bad at being alone with ourselves?

When I was in Psychology class at Liberty my professor once challenged us to go somewhere by ourselves, with no people anywhere around us, phones turned off and not even our own voices as background sound, and just sit for a few hours.

Easy. It will be nice to get away from everyone for a while any way.

Those were my first thoughts.

I remember hiking up the mountain behind our dorms and sitting on a stump in the woods with the intention of doing just that. The world around me was quiet, apart from the occasional breeze and, while it was peaceful at first, it eventually became incredibly unnerving. By the end of the first hour I felt like crying, running, checking my phone, and screaming. There is nothing like silence to reflect what you really think about yourself back at you. There is nothing like silence to make you scared to be left alone in life. There is nothing like silence to make you want to do anything and everything but just sit there.

I hated it.

I hated being with myself.

I hated myself.

I can’t say that this was the first time I realized this, but this was the first time I wasn’t able to distract myself from it with something or someone else.

The second hour was full of shortcomings, mistakes, missed opportunities, sadness, bitterness, fear, and self-loathing. There was so much about me that I found annoying and unworthy. I was a coward, I was overweight, I hadn’t applied myself in school, I was working a lame job, I was single, I wasn’t funny, I was a bad Christian…. I was the type of person I wanted to avoid.

I cried a lot during this hour.

I cried until I was numb.

I cried until I could no longer hear my thoughts and felt nothing but emptiness.

The third hour was full of real silence. Real silence and staring. Staring at nothing and everything all at once.

I had faced myself. I had been tried, I had been tested, and I had been found wanting…

I remember looking up at the sky for a long time during this hour and wondering if God was watching me. I mean, really watching me; Studying me and wondering if He had made a mistake.

I sure thought He had.

The sun was setting at this point and it was growing too cold to sit still any longer. I didn’t miss seeing people anymore. I didn’t long to check my phone or distract myself. I didn’t wish to go back to my dorm; But it was time to go and so I got up and started walking.

I wish I could tell you I found my purpose during those hours. I wish I could tell you that it ended up being the most comforting and peaceful time of my life and that it left me feeling inspired and refreshed. I wish I could tell you that I couldn’t wait to do it again.

None of those things were true.

In fact, it seemed like it had done more damage than it had done good as I dragged my feet through mud and pushed my way through thorns on the way back down the mountain side. Why on earth had my professor given us this stupid challenge?

It didn’t strike me until much later that at the end of those hours I had forgotten about everything and everyone else and had looked up.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized I needed more silence.

Going Through It

Most of the time I do not know what my soul needs. Most of the time I do not try things I feel I may not be able to do successfully. Most of the time I am frozen. Stuck in a place I should not be doing things I should not be doing. Falling behind and drowning in the mundane. Seeking things that have nothing to do with God to placate my misery.

But I long for more.
I long to be real.
I long for a faith that life can not kill.

I’m so sick of the motions.
All this struggle, this spew.
Please Lord, just give me a change I can feel.


I debated about sharing this with you all, but I have to admit I’m at a point where I do not know where else to go and I’m just so tired of being stuck. 

I think I have struggled with this since my mom died and we picked up and moved halfway across the world immediately after. I can not begin to tell you the emotional, mental, and even physical shock I went through with all of this happening at once. I lost my best friend, I lost my non-related friends, my hometown, and everything that was dear to me as a ten year old girl. To make matters worse, we moved from the far west to the far south east, which I have to say was an incredible culture shock. 

It took a lot out of me. I went from being an extreme extrovert who didn’t care what other people thought and loved being the center of attention, to this shy, timid shell that was not comfortable in her own skin. I was awkward and me, and everyone else around me, knew it. 

I was different at school and I was different at home. I never was like any of my family. I never got along with my father, I was five years younger than my closest sibling, I looked different, acted different, and believed different things. 

As the youngest I had a backwards mentality that I had to be strong for the rest of my family that was falling apart at the seams. I showed very little emotion for mom’s death apart from anger. They took that as “she doesn’t care.” But I did. 

I struggled to relate to anyone with anything that really made me, me. I struggled with who I was to begin with. I struggled with the emotional roller coaster that was inside my chest and my head at all times. I struggled with my faith. 

As the years went forward, I slowly started to stuff all of that down, suppressing it and trying to move forward. But even though I made a lot of good friends and put some pretty good academic accomplishments under my belt, at the end of the day I still felt empty, afraid, alone, and sad. 

It was not long before I was in college and many of those emotions were drowned out by apathy. As my family struggled with illness and depression and loss of jobs, friends, and cars over and over again and the weight of taking care of some of them started to fall more on my shoulders, I think I just gave up inside. 

At first I blamed myself. I thought my apathy was just me being lazy and selfish. I tried to change things over, and over again. I tried to find things to be motivated about. I longed to be passionate, to accomplish something great, and to make meaningful relationships. But the more I pushed myself to finish school, the more friends I made, the more I went to church, the more I worked, the more apathetic and empty I grew. Little sparks here and there just were not enough to light my long extinguished fire. 

I started sleeping more on days off, turning in homework as late as I could or sometimes not at all (I thought as long as I pass, that is enough), eating when I was not even hungry, spacing out with friends, avoiding family, and just plain not caring. The only part of me that kept me going was the part of me that wanted to avoid hurting those around me more and the thought of doing all of this work for nothing. 

I have to admit… Even those last two things are starting to lose their impact. I have reached the point where I know if I don’t do something I’m just going to become completely lifeless and drop it all. 

The part of me that hates that is writing this. The part of me that doesn’t want to be alone anymore. The part of me that wants help. 

Am I alone? 


Patches don’t fix holes. They are a cover up; A lie. What once was whole is really whole no longer and will never be again. 

Smiles and hugs don’t fix holes. They are actions that are ingrained in us from habit, but when our eyes no longer connect we are merely going through the motions. 

We care but we do not love and if we did not both miss what once was we would slowly fade from each other’s lives. 

Why do we pretend? Why do we fight for what has been shot to pieces and can not be repaired? 

I’m not sure I will ever know…

But I will keep trying to patch up these holes. I will keep on pretending because I just can’t let go of those memories we shared.