BRAND NEW: What’s going on NOW?

*Trigger Warning*

This post has been delayed for a few weeks because of how hard it is to put my current state of mind into words in a completely honest fashion. The last post in this series, “BRAND NEW”, was dedicated to what got me spiraling out of control again and collapsing into a state of relapse. This post is completely dedicated about what I am going through now, and how my new recovery is affecting me.

 

I’ve always had trouble adjusting to new things, simply because I grow anxious when I have to change my patterns and go outside of my typical comfort zone. So when it finally fit me that I was moving to college, my anxiety shot through the roof. As previously mentioned, moving to college was a huge ordeal for me, and making friends was so incredibly difficult for me. However, in a way, this was a distraction from some of the other pain that I was fighting through, because I was more focused on fitting in, just like in high school. Now, this has completely changed. I have a fabulous group of friends and support system that I love more than words can describe. Nonetheless, this has caused my mind to really focus on the roots of my anxiety and depression. Over the winter break, I confessed to my mother that I needed help. I needed to talk to my old therapist and try to form words about the storm that has been trolling constantly in my head for so long without me saying a word about it.. The great thing about my mother is how loving and accepting she is; she called my therapist within the blink of an eye and had me an appointment for the next week. I sat that week over break and wondered what the hell I was going to say to her and how the fuck I was going to describe the turmoil that was rampaging through me body at every waking moment of every day. The morning finally came where I had my appointment with my therapist and my mind and heart were racing at a million miles an hour on the car ride there. I sat down on the couch in her office and I made some small talk for a minute. She quickly cut me off and said, “Josh, I haven’t seen you in 2 years, so what the hell is going on that made you run back here?” My heart nearly stopped.

 

I kept walking around the truth of what was really going on in my life. She cut me off yet again and quickly told me that lying to her was pointless because she knew every single excuse that I had in my book. She was asking questions about my triggers, and if I had the temptation to cut and purge in the present. I lied. I told her no. When in my mind, I was thinking about my true answer; how I wanted to, more than anything, to make fresh cuts on my skin and be reminded of the pleasurable pain that used to grace my skin daily. How I felt like I was gaining weight and the easiest way out was to throw up everything that I eat instead of exercising like a healthy and logical person does. However, the brilliant woman that she is could probably see through the lies that I was weaving in that session. I talked for about 30 minutes without her saying a word, she just listened – she replied to my massive monologue with just one sentence: “Josh, you’re clinically depressed and have extreme anxiety, I don’t know why you keep avoiding this.” I sat there, stunned in silence. About 3 years ago, I was prescribed to an anti-depressant called Wellbutrin, which made my moods a lot better but had intense side effects such as vomiting that I just couldn’t deal with. So after about 4 months on this medication, I threw the bottle away and was determined that I wasn’t depressed anymore, that I didn’t have anxiety any longer, and that I could fight off any of my problems on my own (but we all know how far I got with this and how many times I have told myself this in the past).

 

I began talking to her about how I finally understood that I probably was clinically depressed and had an intense amount of anxiety that handicapped some of my every day life. She finally asked the crippling question that I had been dreading so much: “So, how do you feel about trying some medication again, Josh?”, my heart absolutely sank. For any of you the have read my blog in the past of follow me on basically any form of social media, you know how much I talk about reaching out for help when you need it. You can also conclude from my blog and social media that I seldom follow my own advice, a lethal trait. I don’t like to ask others for help, and I certainly didn’t want the help of medication again. However, with the urge to draw blood from my body and let it drop on the floor, and with the urge to leave my meals in a porcelain bowl, I felt as if I didn’t have any other options. So the next day, I picked up a prescription for a new anti-depressant that was also supposed to calm my nerves and help to deal with the effects of my anxiety. I felt embarrassed asking for help, I felt like I had failed on my own,, that I was letting everyone down, little did I know that medicine could be the best thing to make people be proud of the progress I could make while prescribed.

 

So here I am typing you this blog about 2 weeks into my medication and wondering if I was going to start feeling better. I didn’t think anything was working until today… I was rejected from my dream job at a place I have gone to for my entire life. I longed for this job more than just about anything I ever have. I had prepared for the worst, knowing that I was probably going to fall apart if something like being rejected happened. I was ready to go to war with myself yet again. However, when I got the news that I didn’t get the job, I cried for a bit, and then I started to laugh and smile. I started to think about all of the possibilities that could take the place of the job until I reapplied the next year, and all the places that I could go and the people I could meet. For the first time in my life, rejection felt like it had purpose; and for the first time in so many years, I felt like I understood what God (Refer to some old blog posts on God and you will see to clear struggle that the two of us have had over the past several years) wanted me to do. I firsthand saw God today, in the oddest of places – in rejection. Today I felt like I understood God’s plan and I didn’t fall apart at the sight of rejection. Is it the medicine that gave me this optimism? Or was it just a strike of luck? I was so used to dogging on myself and hating myself more and more when rejection happened. However, I put my all into the things that I attempt. I may fail several times, but I always put maximum effort. I did the best that I could, and me getting this job just wasn’t in the cards. God wasn’t ready to deal me that hand, and until he his, I’ll play the hand he thought was best for the present time. 

 

“BRAND NEW” is all about telling the past, present, and future of my new recovery. This post was dedicated to my present, where I am, and what I’m experiencing through my new recovery. I opened my world to you completely raw and unedited. I would love to hear the experiences you have had with medication to deal with mental illness. Today, I am happy, for I feel that this medicine could actually be working with me to find a route to happiness. I am becoming brand new, a brand new Josh, and a brand new form of confidence and commitment.

 

I would love to hear from you, truly.

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(P.S – Stay tuned for the finale post of “BRAND NEW” and several new posts coming in January and February 2016!)

J.B.S. 1/05/2016

BRAND NEW: What went wrong?

     Welcome to the three post series on ConfidencetoCommitment called “BRAND NEW”, this is technically the first post within the series, although there was an introductory post with a brief summary of what to expect within this series! Over the next 2-3 weeks, my blog will be filled with nothing but this series, but I already have some exciting plans for the blog within the next couple of months! This post, the first within “BRAND NEW”, is dedicated to what got me spiraling out of control again after a long period of recovery. So buckle up, and get ready for a whole lot of mess in a blog post.

 

I officially claimed to be in recovery on December 1st, 2012, from my eating disorder, and shortly after claimed my recovery from self-harm towards the start of 2013. After a struggling relationship and a struggling mind, I needed something to change in my life, so I decided that I must be the thing to change. I gave up my old tendencies and fought with all my might to find some true light and happiness. It was a shaky start, but with some support as momentum, my happiness could be seen within the distance. I found myself a fantastic support system that became some of the greatest friends I have ever known. The more time that I dedicated to recovery and the more friends I found by my side, the easier I found my recovery.   I slipped up a few times in regards to self-harm, but never let go of my recovery with my eating disorder. After these slip ups, a sense of strength came over me and I powered through my junior year of high school. My junior year presented some real battles within my life. I experienced the most excruciating heartbreak I can imagine, I came out of the closet, and I found old relationships with friends crumbling. However, I fought through and was so proud of myself and of my triumphs at the end of the year.

The summer after my junior year, I created this blog, ConfidencetoCommitment, which instantly sparked a following and a good number of views every time I posted. When asked, people explained that it was my brutal honesty and vulnerability on my blog that made it so appealing to them. People began to tweet me, to message me on Facebook, text me, and email me about how my blog and story inspired them to stay alive. I found myself in a place of euphoria, something that had been lacking in my life for so many years. Unfortunately, this feeling did not last, and came with am immense amount of pressure. I didn’t want to let my readers down and deliver a post that didn’t satisfy them. As my senior year began and was in its midst, I came across a series of people who doubted my morality, my kindness to others, and my ability to love others. This took a tremendous toll on my happiness and the security that I felt within my life. So Worth Loving (www.soworthloving.com) and To Write Love On Her Arms (www.twloha.com) are a portion of my life that I represent daily, through fashion, social media, and through what I thought was my actions. After some high school drama, I was doubted on many things, including the way that I was treating people because of problems that I had with them.

 One of my greatest flaws is how show my insecurities, which is through defensiveness. After not being cast as roles that I wanted within musicals, not receiving solos in choir, struggling with God, and struggling with how much of a joke I appeared within the LGBTQ+ community in my hometown, I fell back into a state of defensiveness to hide my insecurities. Regardless of how people were treating me, the way I reacted was so inappropriate and is now understandable how it was perceived as hatred or as someone who didn’t really embrace the So Worth Loving and To Write Love on Her Arm’s lifestyle. Instead of outwardly discussing my feelings like I had been doing on my blog for the past months, I found myself blogging less, telling my friends less about my pain, and putting forth anger instead of love to hide my true inner emotions. I felt as if members of my choir and of my theatre troupe hated me with so much passion that I had nowhere else to turn. I wanted so hard to spread love to them, and to make them feel so worthy of love and happiness, but my insecurities made me come across as a dark, sinister, and hateful person, which is something that my heart does not wish to represent. I was consumed with rage over the most miniscule events, because every single negative aspect within my life now seemed to be magnified by a thousand. My head was a raging sea of misery, insecurities, and jealousy, and forced my views of others to be misconstrued

After a few months of this, I began cutting again. I began lying on my blog (when I even posted) about how I was really doing, and I began making more and more enemies within he things that I loved most in my life. People saw me as a judgmental person, not as someone who wanted all to feel worthy. I was tearing myself up inside, I didn’t know how to tell them my true intentions because I had dug myself into such a deep hole. I began to doubt myself again. I doubted the way that I looked, the way my body looked, I doubted my talents, I doubted my relationship with God, and I doubted if I was even a decent human anymore. I convinced myself that it was okay to start cutting again. Each time it happened, I cut deeper, and I cut more and more and more. There was a time in the winter of 2014-2015 that I cut so much that my right and left arms, right and left legs, and hips, were covered with hundreds and hundreds of marks. I didn’t know where else to turn anymore. I hadn’t been to therapy in over a year, and I couldn’t bear to tell my friends that I was so depressed and anxious again.

 

As the year progressed, I fell into a pit of immaturity. I cared more about maintaining this “hard-ass” or “I don’t have feelings or emotions” side of myself, than focusing on how much pain I was putting myself through by not showing the love that I knew was in my heart. Scars that had long faded found themselves onto my arms yet again, and it felt as if I the years of work I had done was all for nothing. I graduated from high school having more enemies than friends in the things that I loved most (Choir and Theatre), which made me that much more ready to leave my town and move away to college. However, in regards to my mental stability, I was the farthest thing from ready to move away to a completely new location and be basically on my own. I wanted to run away from my problems, leave those who I had skirmished with behind, instead of pushing through what would only be waiting for me each and every time I would return from school.

 

I remember looking down at my stomach in the shower one day and not liking what I saw, something that hadn’t crossed my mind in quite a while, and had been of recently. I then looked to both of my arms and legs and saw marks that I had put there, and thought to myself “Well, if I can do one thing (cutting), I can do the other (purge)”. That night, I made myself purge my meal for the first time in nearly 3 years. I had fallen into such a depression again. I knew that people hated me yet again, and I knew that it was all in my control, and everything that had begun again within the past year was something that I could have changed, if I had only wanted to put forth the effort.  I’ve been told in the past that I am a very persuasive person, and that proved to be true by the way I convinced myself it was okay to leave the remains of my meal in a porcelain bowl that night.

 

When I first decided to give up purging my meals, it was just something that clicked in me. I told myself that I did not want to live a life like that anymore. Two and a half years later, the same thing commenced. I did not want to hurt any longer, and I did not want others to be hurt because of the things I had done within the past year. As simple as it sounds, the only thing that truly got me out of my relapse was me. I had to rearrange my thoughts, tell myself I was worthy of life and happiness, and find the things within my life to be thankful for. Just as I was persuasive enough to allow myself to purge and cut, I was also able to persuade myself to suit up and quit living in a pool of self-pity.

 

     I relapsed, but it didn’t end my recovery. It was merely a road bump, and allowed me to refocus my thoughts, energy, and time, to becoming a safer and happier me. 

 

 

     I hope you will join me over the next two blog posts within the “BRAND NEW SERIES” here on www.confidencetocommitment.wordpress.com, as I discuss my new recovery tactics and where I stand today with my recovery.

Thank you, for your support and dedication to this blog, it means more than you could imagine.

J.B.S.

12/16/15

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BRAND NEW: The Introduction

Well, Well Well... Look who we have here. After nearly a 5-month hiatus, I have returned to the blogging world to share the past near-half year of my life, as well as some incredibly difficult truth.

 

When this blog was first created in June of 2014, I had the sole intention of discussing issues such as depression, anxiety, self-harm, and eating disorders, considering that at the time they were so much more real than they are to me today. I still live day to day with my anxiety and fight each and every day to stay strong (as cliché as that may sound). However, as I have moved to college and started such a new and fresh chapter in my life, I have learned that under the blog name “Confidence to Commitment”, there is so much more to discuss; this confidence and commitment must always be used, even in a simple task of meeting a new person and possibly building some sort of relationship.

 

In August of this year (2015) I moved to Georgia College and State University to be a theatre major (I have now switched to pre-early childhood education with theatre as my minor). I began my journey here at Georgia College as a completely difference person than that one I am now, typing you this blog post at nearly 2 am (during finals week may I add). I came to Georgia College the same person that I was in high school: secretly struggling and stubborn enough to not as for help when needed. I walked into my first class, a libertarian economics class based off of Ron Swanson from the hit TV show, “Parks and Rec”. The name of this incredibly unique class was “Swansonomics” (Ironically the same class that I have a final exam in… in 7 hours…). I had absolutely no idea what to expect. I learned then and there that I was on my own until I figured out other arrangements. We will be taught the material and are able to ask a few questions, but we were on our own for preparing and understand the material. This soon became a common pattern within my newfound college life.

 

I was so excited to arrive at Georgia College because I got a fresh start. A fresh start from high school, although I barely implemented a fresh start I way I was acting, considering that I was the same hot mess that I was throughout high school. I had on rose-tinted glasses all summer waiting for move-in day, but little did I know that most things were either incredibly different or the complete opposite of what I expected. Throughout my earlier education, I never had a problem with finding friends and flocking to a group of people to associate myself with. I assumed that with a student body of 6,000+ undergraduate students, I figured there was at least one that was just like me. After a couple of weeks had passed, I found myself rather empty handed in regards to what I had come into Georgia College looking for. I was frustrated that I hadn’t made my mark on the school yet. I was upset that I watched all of these people with their new friend groups and I struggled to find someone to sit with in the Max (the school’s meal plan), which was something that I never really experienced in grade school.

 

You know those movie scenes where someone is all dressed up and a car speeds by and splashes a murky mixture of water, mud, and gravel all over their clothes and bodies? Well, ironically enough, after a night of feeling down about myself because of the lack of friends I had made, I walked to class one rainy morning with my umbrella. As I am about to turn the corner to reach my 9 am class, a giant and lifted truck splashed a cold puddle (it was more like a small like if we are being honest here) all over me. As mentioned earlier in the blog post I am too stubborn sometimes to ask for help when I need it, and here help was, brisk water all over my bag, clothes, hair, and skin. Although I would have much rather of experienced this in a much less wet and cold manner, this was the most determining factor in the realization that nothing is the same in college as it was before I came, and that is exactly how it is supposed to be. Just as I learned in 2015 that things aren’t always going to work the same as they did two years prior, in 2013.

 

I’m not saying that my friends came flocking instantly, but damn, it sure felt as if when I gave up control and let life happen. After that, I began to blossom and find my happiness with my own group of people. I have made some incredibly and unforgettable friends since that incident on a rainy morning. Giving up my control of wanting to maintain the life that I had prior to coming to Georgia College is hands down, one of the best and most rewarding decisions that I have made in quite a long time.

 

I was so stuck on finding the same kind of friends that I left at home that went off to different colleges, and even a few friends that came to Georgia College along my side. But that was such a mistake, a mistake that taught me such a valuable lesson; never be afraid to reach out. The friends that I spend my free time with are such a crazy bunch. Friends who are loud and outspoken like myself, friends who prefer to observe, and everything in-between make my life here at Georgia College so much easier and filled with joy.  You can bet your ass that I’m the same, vulgar, loud, and borderline obnoxious guy that started this blog just over 18 months ago.

 

I knew from the second that my senior year of high school began that I was ready for a fresh start and to leave to cattiness of high school behind. However, something that never crossed my mind prior to moving to Georgia College was how relieved I was to have a break from the space where so much darkness, so much pain, and so much scarring took place. I know live in an apartment with one other roommate. I have my own bedroom and bathroom and I never thought I would be able to say that there was a mood change with bedrooms and bathrooms. Every single time I walk into my bathroom at home, I see the silhouette of a boy sitting on the bathroom floor slitting his wrists, compressing cries, and finding a way to get every piece of the meal he had just eaten out of his stomach. What’s becomes complex about recovery is how support systems dwindle and the things that you used to tell yourself to feel better no longer work. Fresh wounds on an arm need and attract more support and love then faded white scar on a wrist from a few months prior. I found myself craving the feeling of creating a new mark and craving the satisfaction of clearing my stomach after a meal, no matter the size.

 

Something that is always hard to admit is the act of relapse. Within the year of 2015, I would be a dishonest blogger and dishonest person if I told you that I didn’t bring a blade to my skin and that I didn’t skip meals and that I didn’t leave my meal in a toilet bowl. It’s hard to tell those you love that maybe you have not made as much progress as you once thought you had. That’s something that’s so baffling about recovery. I felt that for nearly a year and a half that I was unstoppable, that I could help others who struggled with self-harm and eating disorders, and that sense of being unstoppable was what brought me back down to the tile floor that I used to sit on in the bathroom. I look down at the scars upon my arm and I know what I’ve been through. I know where I went through it. But most importantly, I’m learning all over again how to fight the right path to recovery yet again. I was addicted yet again to conflicting pain on myself, I craved the pain, and I craved the feeling of having complete control over myself. This same control held me back from happiness at the start of my journey at Georgia College.

 

I found myself in a place of power. My more popular blog posts were reaching upwards of 10,000 views and I was receiving mail, social media requests, and emails about how my story inspired them to put the blade down, to step off the scale, and find their path to recovery and to happiness. I was so concerned with keeping my reader’s happy and keeping them on a right path that I lied to you all about the state of mind that I was in. 

 

The moral of these two almost completely topic points was how they needed a fresh start and new mindset. I came to Georgia College and had the wrong mindset to find my happiness. I had to learn within 2015 that some of the tactics that I used to keep the blade down and the food in my stomach back in 2013 aren’t the same ones that I need to use now to keep my body clean from new scars and my stomach full with yummy foods (accepting the freshman 15 has been a while other journey…). I had to find two new paths for my new life. I had to change my mindset and figure out new ways to find happiness.

 

This blog post is the first of a series of five. The series is “Brand New” and will include the process to recovery the second time around and the changes that will be made. I am making a promise to each and every one of my reader’s that this time around, there is nothing but complete honesty.

 

I’ve taken away from college that so much changes, and just accepting that change will lead you down a successful path.

I am Joshua Shepherd. I am brand new. I have a new mindset, a new set of friends in additions to the ones who wait for me at home, and new possibilities that greet me each and every day I walk out the front door. Sometimes… I don’t even try to avoid the big puddle, wondering to myself if it might lead me down yet another path of rejuvenation

 

I am 5 months clean from bulimia and 3 months clean from self-harm. It’s taken a lot of adjusting falling from nearly 2 years clean from an eating disorder to back to zero, but it was the wakeup call I needed to continue my happiness and to encourage the happiness of others.

 

The first time was just practice, let’s have BRAND NEW start.

 

Always,

J.B.S 12/09/2015

 

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Inspirations

Caution: This post may be triggering for those who have struggled with self-harm or eating disorders in the past or still struggle today. Proceed with care.

A murky mixture of salty tears and maroon blood splash against the tile floor of my bathroom; A boy lets out muffled screams and lets a shaky hand containing a blade smack against the ground, defeated. Thrashing, gasping, and vomiting; December 1^st, 2012, a day like many others, frequently revisits my mind and clouds my thoughts. The bathroom floor became a second bed, hand-crafted specifically for my dry heaving and “Why Me?” attitude. But something was different about this night. Something happened within my mind that had never been touched upon before. A sense of courage, a sense of determination, and the first step towards a long recovery that is still a battle.

It was hard for me as a child to pinpoint who I admired because of how quickly everything changes, particularly in your youth. In the fall of 2012, in the midst of my journey to skin and bones and uncontrollable self-harm, I never thought of what effect it had on myself and my health, and I certainly never though of someone of something that would inspire me to thrive in other aspects of my life besides weight loss. However, I constantly tweeted about how much Demi Lovato was an inspiration to me, hoping that someone would get a clue about what was going on with me. Today, Demi still stands out to me as a phenomenal musician and spokesperson against bullying, self-harm, and eating disorders. However, in a time of gloom and hopelessness, would Demi be there for me when I needed a soothing tone to mellow my raging soul? Relationships and friendships failed as I reached the heart of my depression and eventually, I sat on the bathroom floor with no one to complain to. No one to text in the middle of the night, my typical message of,

“Tonight’s the night, I’m going to do it. I’m going to cut so deep that no one will ever have to worry about me again.”

That was when everything changed for me. When my messages were just being read, but no one was replying. I had driven everyone that I cared about away, until I was all alone in this world.

Towards the start of my blog, I made it seem more like I just stopped starving and cutting myself and that everything was fine and dandy and recovery was easy for me. It was true, I was clean from self-harm for nearly a year, until I found myself on that same bathroom floor yet again. Self-harm is so unnerving because you don’t even recall picking up the blade, you don’t recall slicing your wrist, or your leg, or your stomach, all you remember is the shame you feel when you’re wiping blood off the floor and yourself. In just a few seconds, I had ruined 1 year…12 months…52 weeks…365 days… of resisting the urge. It wasn’t until my first relapse from self- harm that I started finding my inspirations. How ironic that it was those who tore me down and who sat next to me in class that I found the most unimaginable inspiration and courage to fight on. How dare I, have the audacity to reply to a text stating, “I want to cut. I want to purge. I don’t know what else to do.”, with “Stay Strong.” How could I recommend and preach a lifestyle of cleanliness and hope when all I did was sit in my own pool of blood, vomit, and hypocrisy every single day.

My struggles with self-harm had become no secret for those who knew me, those who saw my arms, those who sat next to me in class. It wasn’t until those same people started wearing the pain from their lives on their wrists that I began to truly recognize the power of effect. I thought to myself one night as I laid wide-awake staring on my ceiling, if I showed these people that I could stay clean and represent someone who had looked self-harm in the eyes saying “Fuck you, I’m coming out on top.” Strangely enough, this centered my thoughts more and allowed my recovery to have more of a purpose than just fighting for my happiness. I was now a warrior to defend others and the happiness that they deserved to withhold.

That’s where ConfidencetoCommitment was born, on a quest to push others along the path to find their own joy and safety by understanding the horror that I put myself through. This blog serves not only as a way to inspire others, but as an outlet for myself. I find that the more I blog, the more honest I am, and if I don’t explain a “G-Rated” version of my story, that I am more motivated to not judge myself in the mirror and to not leave fresh wounds upon my skin. I slacked during the school year on updating the world via ConfidencentCcommitment, and it clearly showed on my arms. I can proudly say that my readers, followers, and dear-friends are the reasons I stay strong and are true inspirations. This post goes out to all of y’all. Lots of love.

-J.B.S 07/17/15

Joshua? It’s God…

 I crave God. I crave salvation. I crave acceptance. I crave normalcy. I crave connection. I crave to understand. Unfortunately, my cravings are not satisfied. All of my cravings seem to be centered around God and the lack of relationship I continue to NOT have with him. I’ve spent the majority of my teenaged years fighting against religion and those who have a passionate connection with it. Ironically enough, the only thing my heart truly craves is a vivacious connection to one, specifically Christianity.

For those who have been reading for a while, you have had more than enough insight to understand my story and the struggles that have existed within it. Throughout my struggles with depression, anxiety, self-harm, and eating disorders, I have never thought to place the blame upon myself; God has always been what I like to call, “The Younger Sibling” for me, that person I can place all the blame on, although completely innocent. It’s has always been so easy to just lay in my bed and sob big, whooping tears into my pillow and shout out, “Why Me?” “What have I ever done to you, God?” “Why are you picking on me?”. No doubt about it, I can’t control the fact that I was diagnosed with Clinical Depression and Anxiety, but I can control how I handle the aftermath and the issues that come along with them. I would slice my writs, and while blood was flowing from my skin and veins, I would stare at the ceiling and question God, blame God, and not once looking at the situation that I HAD CREATED, only looking for someone, or something else to blame it on.

I’m sure someone reading this feels the same, probably with a different situation, but still the same. Your boyfriend has broken up with you, “Why Me, God?”. Your mother has been diagnosed with cancer, “What has my family ever done to you, God?”, or you just can’t seem to find happiness in your life that is gifted with so many possibilities, “Why are you doing this to me, God?”.  It’s taken me longer than I’m comfortable to admit to come to the conclusion that God isn’t punishing us, he isn’t trying to destroy us – all God is trying to do is teach us, nurture us with knowledge, and to help us grow with experience. The difficult aspects of this is that sometimes these lessons affect us in ways that hurt us, make us cry, make our stomachs twist into a thousand knots while we grasp onto them for dear life… but it isn’t to tear us down.

Each and every summer, since I was a rising 1st grader, I’ve attended Camp Mikell, an Episcopalian Church Camp. Every week that I spend there, whether I am a camper or a counselor, I feel close to God, something that is unrecognizable for me otherwise while I am at home.  I tell myself constantly that when I return home after that week at Camp Mikell ended that I would continue this relationship with God to the best of my abilities. This safe and easy relationship with God that is formed while at camp became rather difficulty the second I pull into my driveway at home. Camp, a place disconnected from the outside world is centered around finding a healthy relationship with God – the outside world, strains far and wide away from religion and focuses on things that are “more important”. Factors from my anxiety and depression begin to come into action when away from Camp Mikell, and my motivation to strengthen the bond between my and God weakens and is no longer a priority.

Relationships with God always seem to be so misleading because of how easy some people make them look. I know that all of us have been scrolling through Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook and have seen a picture of someone who was celebrating that fact that they had just been baptized at that morning’s service, and how they were so incredibly grateful to start their lives fulfilling the word of God. It’s seems so easy then doesn’t it? As a younger teen, I used to think that if I just got baptized that I would instantly feel the fervor of God’s love and instantly see his life plan for me.

     As I grew older, I began to wonder if religion was even cut out for me, am I an atheist? Is Camp Mikell just making feel a false impression of God? Why hasn’t God reached out for me? I pondered upon this for several years until this past week, it just hit me… God isn’t going to appear to me in my room at 2:03 am and boom “Joshua? It’s God, I think it’s time that I explain to you how all this work so it becomes easier for you. No more worries, no more stress, let me just lay it all out here on the line for you.” Although, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?

We all have physical developments of what we believe God looks like within our head. A woman, a man, a light, a cloud, etc., but God doesn’t physically show up in our lives. He isn’t going to pop up and give us life advice when we are unsure of what to do. What is SO incredibly beautiful about God is the relationships he forms and the beauty that he leaves on our Earth. He won’t physically come to us and say “This is the college you should attend because…” or “Don’t marry him, he isn’t right for you and won’t make you happy in the long run…”, but I’ve been able to slowly devise my relationship with God because of how mysterious he is. The signs that he has left for me along the way, the extravagance of his world, and the relationships he has allowed me to form.

When I was a small boy, I used to question my mother, a woman who is spiritually strong, about God. “How do we know is he real momma?“. My mother would grab my hand and point up to the sky and the sun the was setting. She would look down at me and say, “Look baby, look at the colors, look at the clouds, look at how majestic that sky is.” I would ponder upon this as she would continue, “I go to bed at night not knowing what kind of God there is or what God has in store for me, but I know, when I look up at the beauty of our sky, that no man and no science can create that beauty by himself/itself.” This one conversation has been the amount of the few things that has kept me holding on to my relationship with God.

God creates beauty. And God has such a wondrous effect upon our world and the people that live within it.  The following quotes have been gathered from REAL people that I know with a REAL connection towards God.

He is the anchor that held me in place during my darkest and hardest storms.

Allowing God to come into my life has been the best decision I have ever made in my entire life. He is such a gentle, kind, guiding, and perfect Father to me. He understands everything about me and loves me with all my flaws. He accepts me with open arms. He has helped me turn from my addictions and the issues of my past and is leading my on a true path towards hope for an amazing future. HE IS SO GOOD.

Look at the devotion within these quotes, the absolute admiration for God, the trust within him. I want the love that these quotes exemplify, I crave to understand God… And I truly think that I am on the right path.

No, my relationship with God isn’s perfect. Yes, I struggle every single day with it. But have learned that he is here. He is looking out for my best interest. He wants me to succeed. Although I have spent most of my life blaming him for my faults and issues, he still loves my unconditionally.

“Joshua, It’s God, and I’m here for you.”

Update on Anxiety / What does Confidence to Commitment even mean?

I’m stuck. That’s my conflict. I’m so incredibly stuck. I’m in a place in my recovery where I’m taking one step forward and two steps back. I’m disappointed to say how much I have been struggling lately because of how much I thrive off of the support by blog gets. Every time I feel down, have an anxiety attack, slip-up, or say a negative thought, I think of my small group of fans who commit to reading my blog every single time I publish a post.  I feel ashamed to sit here and type these motivational posts when I cannot even stay true to them myself.

I’m stuck in between determine whether or not I need to go back on my anxiety medicine, but I don’t want to give in and say that I can’t do it on my own. It all goes back to “the first signs of anxiety” ; trouble falling asleep because my mind moves a million miles a minute, trouble focusing, panic attacks. It’s hard for me to watch myself slowly deconstruct again. I can’t find something to hold on to. I’m reaching, and I’m reaching, and I’m reaching, just for a hand, or a bar, or something to latch my shaky hands onto, but all I find is a fistful of doubt and disappointment.  That’s what’s hard about anxiety, not knowing when it’s going to flare, not knowing when you’re going to break down, and not knowing the next time you’re going to feel yourself genuinely smile.

My blog name, “Confidence to Commitment” was the first name I could think of when creating this page nearly a year ago, but I’ve never really explained it to my readers. Through my anxiety, I’ve struggled with these two aspects the most, confidence and commitment. Although I’ve finally found a sense of satisfaction in my body and my appearance, I struggle to feel confident when in a room of people. I can sing my heart out on stage and play any part I’m asked to do, but the second I’m asked to truly be myself in front a group of people, it’s the most gruesome and painful thing you could ask me to do. Anyone who knows me experiences my bubbly and loud personality, but seldom understand how difficult it is for me to be myself in more than just a small group of close friends. Although I’m confident in my sexuality, I constantly worry about what my father will think of my outfit of the day, or what people I run into in public places will think of the feminine qualities of my persona. Commitment, is my biggest fear, because I rarely find someone, whether it’s a friendship, relationship, or family tie, that I feel comfortable and safe around. I’ve been hurt too much to just throw myself into something that I don’t know the outcome of. I strive to be that boy, that boy who can just fall in love without questioning what’s going to happen if this happens, or what’s going to happen if that happens. I abandon most of my relationships because of how fearful I am of being left alone without someone to latch on to. What’s so ironic about my issues with commitment is how I destroy any chance at commitment I have because of my fear of it. This blog bloomed because of my constant battles with anxiety. It’s so hard for me to continue typing because of my anxiety, my fear of what my readers may think, my fear of letting the world know how shaky I am with recovery and with dealing with my anxiety, my fear of not being accepted.

There’s this stigma that surrounds anxiety, this stigma that says WE (the person suffering through anxiety) control it. I wish I could explain how much I desire for my anxiety to be controllable. The nights I’ve sat on my bedroom floor, sprawled out, wondering what the hell was wrong with me, the mornings I wake up after just falling asleep minutes ago because of a night filled with haunting thoughts of WHAT COULD happen. This stigma is what leaving anxiety an open door, a vast majority of the population are unfamiliar with how devastating anxiety can truly be. I’m opening my mind and soul to this blog post because of how unbelievably incorrect this stigma is.

My anxiety is such a horrifying yet beautiful experience on a daily basis. I am watching myself break down more and more every day, yet I am aware of what is breaking me down. I’m dry heaving, I’m sobbing, I’m shaking, but I’m learning, I’m realizing, and I’m understanding. Anxiety is something that I honestly cannot control, but it’s something that I know I can learn to control.I know I’m human, I know I make mistakes, and I know I’m not the only one out there. I’m nervous to release this post about my anxiety because of the vulnerability that is shows, but telling the exploring the process of recovery through venting and blogging is the most incredible experience. My story of anxiety isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but it’s mine. I encourage you to send me your stories of anxiety, recovery, depression, or anything you desire to tell me and join this battle- this battle of mental illness, let’s take this down, together. We are So Worth Loving.

I truly want to hear from you.

jshepherd637@gmail.com

Twitter

I am ALWAYS here to lend a helping hand, and can also use one, please, let’s do this together.

The Best That We Can Be

Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, strive, reach, and attempt, our best isn’t wanted. We pour our hearts into something that doesn’t want a glass full. We climb those ladders that lead to a nothingness reward. Each and every day we put our best face forward to achieve our so desired goals.  There’s something missing though – recognition.  We long for lovers who don’t exist. We long to be in the spotlight, we long to be 15 lbs lighter, we long to have lighter hair, and we long to be someone else. No matter the longing, no matter the thirst, some things simply never change. So what’s missing? Is it our fault? Are we truly doing all we can? Or is the universe just not ready to put out for us? We lie in bed at night and wonder what we have done wrong. We begin to tear ourselves apart, limb by limb, pound by pound, inch my inch, tear by tear. We lay in white sheets that are smeared with our disgust towards ourselves. Purity destroyed by our dissatisfaction

On the 5^th day of May in the year of 2015, I, Joshua Shepherd, type this post to you to declare that IT IS NOT OUR FAULTS. We work, and we work, and we work even harder to make our lives be filled with bliss, but it seems like there is always something in our way. IT IS OUR OF OUR REACH. If you have truly done all you can do and dedicated your heart in soul into something but the outcome isn’t to your pleasing, don’t fret. Our best is our best. If we give everything that we have and it doesn’t work out, we aren’t worthless. We aren’t done. We aren’t pieces of shit who can’t accomplish anything – we are human.  God put us on this planet to be the best that we can be.  Our happiness shouldn’t be reached on something or someone’s inability to see our greatness and to notice how valuable we truly are.

I’ve longed all year to have my love be returned by one who could never love me because of “how I am”.  We went nearly the entire school year without speaking but I remembered our brief friendship together. I remember the way I smiled at him; I remember the way I felt as if I mattered. I remembered the way we laughed to same and how my heart throbbed when I was around him. I sat pondering every night for nearly 9 months what I had done wrong.  It wasn’t until tonight when I realized his rejection and embarrassment towards me WAS NOT MY FAULT. I HAVE DONE AND DID ALL I COULD DO TO MAKE HIM ACCEPT ME THAT WAY THAT I WAS. MY BEST ISN’T FOR HIM. And although my best just didn’t satisfy him, it sure as hell satisfies me.  He will not longer rule my mind and eat away at my heart. All I’ve ever wanted to do was love someone. My best is all that I can do. My passion towards him will no longer consume my lifestyle because I know that I have done all that I can do. I am enough for ME. Just as YOU are enough for YOU.

For those who have been around my blog for a while (which is nearly a year!), although I have been a terrible blogger within recent months, know of my struggles with self-harm and eating disorders within my high school career. I’ve recently confessed to relapsing with self-harm. I’ve struggled these past several months with my relapse because of how ashamed I was of myself that it had happened. I couldn’t forgive myself for throwing away an entire year of hard work to a blade. To a blade that did nothing but cause me to feel remorse and an entire new set of rejections.  Today has been somewhat of an epiphany because of my realization. I’ve worked my ass off to recover from a variety of depressive issues. I’m human. I mess up. I falter. I stumble. But I stand back up again and start over. Recovery isn’t supposed to be easy, but it’s supposed to be worth it. I’m doing the best I can, and that’s truly enough to settle my mind. This being said, I am not saying go home tonight and slit your wrists, but If you do happen to have a moment of darkness, don’t beat yourself up. Stand up, Speak Up, and Start over.

Doing the best you can do is all that you can ask yourself in a moment of doubt. Whether it is with a love interest, a dream, or a recovery, all we have to do is use our determination to reach our final destination. You are all worth so much to the world; don’t let it get you down.

-J.B.S

May 5^th, 2015.

Send me an email- Jshepherd637@gmail.com … I would love to hear from each and every one of my readers. You’re all worthy of love and redemption from your past.

Wow. It’s been ages since I’ve published something on my blog. I guess I could try to lie to you and say that it’s because I’ve been extremely busy (in which I indeed have been), or that I’ve been too tired (also true), but it would be hiding from the fact that I have become overwhelmed with anxiety over the past several months. I’ve also been extremely ashamed to login to my WordPress and pour my heart out to the world because of how dishonest my blog has been at times. Over the past blog posts, I’ve explained my struggle in my teenage years and how I overcame them, but I’ve regretted saying how happy I am now, or how recovery gets easier every day. Sometimes, I take one step forward and what feels like a hundred steps back. I’ve told myself now that if I am going to keep up with this blog that I am going to have to 100% publish the truth of exactly what I am going through at that said point in time.

Over the past few months all of my time has been dedicated to theater and choir – what truly makes me happy in life. However, along this path, I have discovered how much anxiety truly rules over my life and how embarrassed I truly am. I the madness and whirlwind of my anxiety over the past several months, I relapsed in regards to the field of self-harm. What truly scares me about the event is how willing I was to do it, how quickly it happened, and how long I sat there slicing my own wrist open in attempt to feel something. In an attempt to feel something other than a constant racing heart, sweaty palms, headaches, and shaky limbs. I sat in the bath that night and watched the blood drip into the once pure water, now tainted with an eerie shade of red.

It has been proven that self-harm can be just as addicting as cocaine. Just like cocaine, self-harm provides a momentary sense of euphoria, an escape route for souls that thirst something more than the pain that they have already endured. I sat there in my tainted water that night and couldn’t wait to do it again the next day. Just as most people who self-harm are, I didn’t feel like I had cut deep enough when I went to sleep later that night. I wanted more marks upon my arms, I wanted scars to stay forever. I wanted to always have a reminder of what a failure I had become. I nearly resorted to purging that night. I sat there in front of the toilet wanting to feel once again what it was like to have the bones of my body sticking out for all to see. It took every single ounce in my being not to give up my more than 2 year clean streak in just an instant.

The next day at school, I had dance rehearsal for an individual event for GA Thescon. The looks of horror that I received that night at rehearsal as my arms were exposed made me remember the reason I chose to give up self-harm originally. It turned me into a monster not just mentally, but too look at. My arms physically repulsed people and the questions that bombarded me just made me even more anxious than I had felt the night before as I picked up a pocket knife. I wouldn’t become that monster again when I came home.

I guess the reason that I am sitting here right now pouring my heart to you right now is because of the amount of people I was able to touch with my story. Nothing has ever made me feel more worthy in life than someone saying “Your story made it easier for me to start my journey of recovery.” Currently, a story about my recovery and life is hanging inside of my school for all to see. A young girl, who I have mentioned before wrote this incredible piece about the incredible human being that my recovery had helped me become. I’m here pouring my heart to you to show how human I am and how tough recovery is. I’m here because my recovery is still a battle every single day. I’m here to let my story be known and to hopefully again, inspire someone to put down the blade and let that bath water stay pure and crystal clear.

Imperfect behaviors

Something that has always bothered me is when people call me “perfect”. Lately it seems that everyone is striving to “look perfect” “act perfect” “find perfect love”, when in reality, such things do not exist. Anyone who knows me can vouch for how my views on the world change. Some days, I feel as if nothing can go wrong and the world is 100% on my side. Others, consist of a pessimistic attitude that hold me back from moving on in my life. This is why, I don’t enjoy having my appearance, attitude, story, or anything about me called “perfect”. Now, you’re probably reading this and thinking of how pretentious and ungrateful that I am, but really think about this one for me.  I know that in my heart, I don’t always act like I should, and sometimes, I don’t really treat people like they deserve to be treated. So when people tell me how “perfectly positive” or how “my story is perfect”, I begin to feel guilt inside. I feel this guilt because although I have come so far in my journey and in my recovery, I’m still such a huge work in progress. I am such a flawed human, and I don’t believe that people should think that everything goes the way that it seems from online. I make mistakes, I tell lies, I hurt peoples feelings, I judge before I know people, I judge when I know people… I am a human. And the only thing perfect about me is how perfectly flawed I am.

This past week, my grandfather passed away from internal bleeding on his brain which caused him to slip into a coma. Just a few hours ago, we finished the service. My family, the minister, and attendants of the funeral could not stop talking about how my grandfather was the biggest gentleman and kind soul that they had ever met. How he always reached out to love people and to make sure they realized how valuable they were to him, even if he had just met them. When I leave this world, I want to be remembered as a caring person. I don’t want to exit this world with half of its population having a misconception about who I am.

I am Joshua Shepherd, and I am a flawed human.

A flawed human in a flawed world.

A perfectly flawed human in a flawed world

A perfectly flawed human in a perfectly flawed world.

JUST FOR YOU

My school’s online newspaper recently wrote an article on my blog and my struggles throughout school and how I have overcome them. Raider Wire Journalist, Julie, came to my Chamber Choir during lunch about a month ago and gathered insight on my personality and on my blog. I was very nervous in my interview because I, although am a very chatty and personable person, I get very nervous in social situation. “So Josh, why do you write? Who do you write for? What inspired me to write?” I sat there and stumbled over my words. I wanted this article to be wonderful. Not only for me. but for Julie. I wanted this wondrous person to have her talents and inner beauty shine. I thought about my answers after the interview and I realized… I don’t write for me. I don’t write for my family. I don’t write for my happy friends. I write for those holding on to a wire that is rusty and cracking.  I write for those how stare at a revolver every night telling themselves to pull the trigger. I write for those who stare into the depths of a toilet bowl after every meal. I write for those who are like me. I write for those who don’t think they can hold on anymore. Whether one person reads my posts or a million do. I desire nothing more than to help YOU. That one reader that can relate to me. I write for you. Just for you. This is for you. Hold on tight my dear, we can make it through.

A few thousand reads later, I feel like my blog had been relatively successful. Is it the top read on word press? No. And although that is a dream of mine, right now, I am perfectly content with my small following. The loyal readers. The friends who read every post I write. The mentors I’ve had who’ve told me I’ve made my story into something. I love my base of readers. I love my blog. I love you all.

Sometimes in my darkest hours in the middle of the night, I wonder who would miss me if I died. Would people come to my funeral? Would I be remembered? If so, what would I be remembered for? My voice? My laugh? My looks? My intelligence? I Then begin to hate myself, because I talk myself out of believing that I am talented, funny, smart, attractive. I find myself in my old positions. Sitting on the ground, crying myself to sleep. Wondering if one little cut would really make a difference on my wrists. I snap out of it. My face is hot and hard from sobbing. I am okay. I am alive.  I remember that although I occasionally feel worthless, I’ve inspired someone. I inspired the journalism class to write an online article about me. So if anything… Julie, this is for you. My fight is for you. I am fighting for you. I will never stop fighting for my happiness and for you. We can do this.

So if you’re reading this, holding your wrists, your stomach, you pill bottle, or you’re next to you’re scale. If you feel like you can’t make it. I am here. And this is Just For You.