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.

Sharing, Conversation, Love, and a Smile

I am just going to apologize for the length between my posts now a-days, unfortunately senior year is a bit harder and more time consumer than I expected it to be (AP Lit, Chamber Choir, Musical Theatre, Working) But I felt as if this topic deserved a bit more conversation and explanation.

Suicide prevention day is September the 10th. I fully support TWLOHA and SWL and these companies are dedicated to preserving the lives and happiness of others. Recently at my school, a girl committed suicide. Any time I hear of these stories, my heart breaks. It breaks because I know others who are currently starting at death in the mirror wishing it to come to them in the night, and how I was once one of those people. What aches me, is within the same day, Joan Rivers passed away, a woman who I think is absolutely fabulous. I found others and even myself and my friend talking more of Joan Rivers of times than the girl who just took her own life because she felt that she had no one left for her, nothing left in this beautiful and crazy world for her. I felt awful, and immediately was so grateful for the friends I have struggling that are still alive. I wept for her family internally, and couldn’t even bare putting my friends or family through what they are right now.
The story supposedly was that this girl had some relationship struggles and took her life that night. It seems to me that there was a bit more background information, and I’m sure there was. This girl probably had some locked up hurt that was trapped inside of her poor soul. I never knew this girl, and I wish that I could have reached out to her as a friend, maybe just one more friend, one more conversation, one more smile could have saved her life. This is where the importance of sharing and conversation come into play.
My darkest times were when I was strictly keeping all of my pain and sorrows to myself, praying for death, but an easy death, one in which I wouldn’t have to do anything to end it. I was a coward, a scared of death, scared of life. I was trapped within my own mind and my own disease. Eventually, I found some friends and some lovers who I entrusted my struggles with. Nearly instantly, I felt a wave of relief come over me and a gigantic weight come off of my withering chest. My life was saved because I opened up and was able to share my problems and others offered me solutions and love. All I needed was communication, relating to someone, some love, a lot of sharing sharing, and a flash of a toothy smile. I needed someone to care and to talk to me. Some days all the kept me sane was a quick smile from someone and a quick hello.
The importance of conversation is never ending, sharing could save your life or someone else, a smile could keep someone from taking their own life that very night, and caring could change the world.
Let’s do it together, loves.

Timeline of Recovery

I was just scrolling through these old pictures of myself- I found this.
At this point, I was still so sick.
I was still cutting myself every night.
I thought at this point I was the closest thing to attractive I had ever been.
I was sick.
I was lost.
I was alone.
I was starving myself. I was deprived from love.

I had just been caught…
I was about to start my road to recovery.

About six months later, I posted this picture to instagram.
From having an eating disorder-Having a six pack…
I appear to be healthy, right?
Take a look at my arms, see anything odd?
I was still cutting.
I look happier..But was I really?

I then found this picture…
My one year eating disorder recovery anniversary…
I hated myself still at this point. But I was clean.
I was clean. I was unhappy…But I was clean.

Now here I am, the happiest I have ever been.
I have best friends, I inspire others.
I am alive, and I am free.
Just as you will be one day.

LOOK AT ME I’VE GOTTEN A BIT CHUNKY COMPARED TO WHAT I WAS, BUT I LOVE MYSELF SO MUCH BECAUSE I AM SO SOOOO WORTH LOVING.
I showed you my timeline of recovery…
Let’s see yours!

Your Story Has Value

A common thought within my mind is that my recovery and telling my story of it is completely without a purpose.
Although I am very proud of all that I have accomplished, until today, I felt as if my story was just like a thousand before mine.
Today, a young woman came up to me, shaking, with tears falling out of her eyes, explaining to me how my blog had inspired her to stop some harmful actions and start getting better. My heart instantly began to beat.
To hear that my words, my story, my life, had helped someone get on the road to a happy and healthy life.
This young woman had been contemplating on whether or not to speak to me, and finally allowed herself to do so. I saw the pain within her eyes and I saw how desperately she wanted to feel loved by herself. This young woman gave me the boost that I needed to continue this blog.
You may think that no one is listening to you, that no one feels your pain, and that there is no value behind your story of recovery and your story of struggle, but I ma here to tell you that all of these things are 100% wrong.
You may be sitting alone on your bedroom floor because none of your friends can understand why you’re so obsessed with your body.
You may cry yourself to sleep every night because of the body you have covered in scars.
You may wish that the next time you fall asleep, not to wake up.
I know how it feels to ponder upon how wonderful death would be, and the feeling of believing your life is worth than any hell waiting for you in the afterlife. I know what it feels like to plan out your suicide and have it all written out.
But I know that my pain, is pain that thousands, possibly even millions of people are feeling, and that my story, your story, their story, can inspire someone else to become healthy.

I looked in a mirror after this conversation with this young woman, and I felt damned good. I smiled to myself, knowing that I had completed the goals I have always strived for- to inspire others.
Since my publication of my recovery and homosexuality, I have attracted young gays, young women, and friends my age pouring their stories to me. As overwhelming as this is, I need to let people know to fight through it.
Fight through the bitches, the ass holes, the cutting, the burning, the starving, the throwing up, the drinking, the drugs, the beatings, the sex, the lies, and the hatred.
Fight through it all. Fight through it so that you have your own story to tell one day.

I am living proof of how depression and anxiety cannot defeat you if you fight.
I am here to tell you that someone looks up to you, whether you know it or not.

If you are reading this right now, scared to death of your thoughts, I am here.
Your hatred is nothing more than a phase.
You have value.
One day you will have a story of your recovery.
And that story will have value.
I love you all.

Do not be ashamed of your scars, use them as a conversation starter, you never know who could really need the help. Use your experiences as lessons, use your past as a warning, and always always always, continue to love yourself. After all, you wouldn’t still be alive if you didn’t love yourself just a bit, aren’t I right?

We are made for struggle.

I feel as if right now I have three purposes.

To Struggle. To Learn from those Struggles. To teach about those Struggles.

I can’t help but feel awful when I think about some of the mean comments that I’ve said about people that I don’t even know. Don’t get this confused with being sassy- because sassy ain’t leaving any time soon.

When I was struggling with self harm and severe depression, I was a hateful person. I was angry at the world so I felt the need to take this out on everyone else. Angry remarks, swearing at people, attempting to shut out the world that made me so cold in the first place.

Nearly two years later, I still have enemies from that time period that will refuse to look past the fact that I’m different now.

I want people to know that what I went through was incredibly excruciating. My 8th grade year-Christmas of my junior year was a nightmare, and I hope that I never have anything that painful in my life ever again. I want to spread to the world how much I want to help, how much I want people to avoid the pain I went through.

I wake up in the mornings sometimes and just want to burst into tears because of how I’m feeling, but I remember that I’m alive and I’ll be damned if I fall into a pit again.

When people come to me now and explain to their stories and current struggles, it breaks my heart. Especially when someone explains to me how they cut themselves, starve themselves, hate themselves… I lay awake at nights thinking, thinking about how I’m alive, thinking about what others are going through, and thinking about all the people I know who wished that they wouldn’t wake up in the morning.

I want everyone to know reading this straight up, self harm isn’t beautiful, draining your body of it’s nutrients doesn’t make you beautiful, taking pills to wake up in a different universe isn’t the answer.

Self harm is an addiction, compared to cocaine by therapists. Eating disorders only destroy the body that is already so damned beautiful. Committing suicide prevents you from experience the wonders within the world- including the rest of your life.

I was put on this Earth to struggle. I struggled. I struggled so hard that I more days of wanting to be dead than alive. I struggled to the point of hating everyone and everything. I struggled to the point of ruining the majority of my high school years.

High school is a shit hole, let’s be real here, but I made it 100 times worse than it needed to be. You can change this. You can make the best of your years.

Next time you contemplate suicide, think about who loves you. Think about who you love and what you love. What would your mother do without you? How would your best friend make it through high school without you? How will you be able to pursue the passions within your soul if you aren’t even there to participate in them?

Throw away that blade. Kiss your wrist and live your life.

How will you share that special night with someone? How will you ever create a family? There are so many reasons I could type out to you tonight of why your life is worth living.

Your scars, your hurts, your body, tells a story. Tells a story of struggle, tells a story of LIFE.

You were made knowing that struggle would be apart of your life. What will you do with your struggle? Will you fall into the reigns of struggle? Or will you stand up and love yourself? Tonight you are beautiful, tomorrow you are beautiful, and you are always so worth loving.

We are broken people, but broken pieces make a puzzle.

We will struggle in life. I can 100% guarantee you that you will hate parts of your life. But what makes life amazing is that it keeps going if YOU put in the effort.

recovery still sucks 2 years later

Today I started my senior year of high school, an exciting point in ones live, however today was probably the worst first day of school I’ve ever been to. I started my morning at chickfila with some friends, running in to people that don’t enjoy me. Already at 7:30 in the morning, I felt judged, something that I definitely hadn’t missed all summer. I could already tell that today was going to be rough, and I already felt my face turning hot and red from frustration.
I had so much anger and anxiety built up inside of me today and I honestly have no idea what to do with it. Usually when I’m angry or upset over someone or something, the normal level of sass I have (which is still high…whoops) just escalates so that I have something to hind behind what I’m really feeling.
Today I felt hated for being gay. Today I felt judged because of that way I cross my legs when I sit, for the way I laugh, for the way I walk, and for the way that I talk. I hadn’t felt this insecure in several months. I looked for salvation in choir as I always do, and I found bits of it, but also added on to my struggles for the day.
As a senior in chamber choir and an officer, I should be jumping with joy and I am, partially. However, with news of solo sight reading tests and pass offs, my heart sinks and I know I won’t do well. Knowing that you’re not as great as something as you need to be really stinks, and when it’s going to affect your grade, it hurts.
Today and in the past few months, I have gotten in the worst habit of comparing myself to others again. I’m hurting a lot right now because I’m not in theater, but I have to constantly remind myself that if I was in theater this year, how much more I would compare myself to others.
If you’re reading this, I’m sure you understand what it’s like to have a passion about something. For me, it’s singing, and there is nothing more that I’d rather be doing (except for an occasional power nap), and when passion and anxiety miss, it’s a deathly duo. I don’t want to wallow in pity, because I know that I have talent and I know that just about nobody works as hard as I do.
I just want a moment, a moment of recognition, a moment of applause, a moment of satisfaction from doing a job well done.
I guess what I’m trying to get out of this post is that yes I’m “recovered” but I still have anxiety, I still compare myself to anyone I think is superior to me, and I am wounded inside right now from doing that to myself.
As hard as it’s going to be, gaining my confidence back my senior year is something that must happen. No matter what happens, no matter if I fail my sight reading tests, or don’t get solos, I will be confident within myself once again.
This goes for anyone: Being confident starts with being happy in the situation that you’re in. No matter how hard it is, or how unhappy you may feel, there has to be a positive aspect of every situation.
I’m more guilty of that than I would like to admit, not being happy within the current situations of my life. I need to work on my anger towards to world, and I need to stop taking everything in my life so seriously. I have one year left as a kid practically, and I’ll be damned if I ruin another year of high school for myself.
Through So Worth Loving and some tea, I will conquer my struggles of the year. Just like I always have.

Here’s to happiness and seniority kids!
Best of luck to all of you, no matter the situation you may be in!

Twitter- @JoshShepB
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