10 Tips for Moving Back in With Your Parents

Living at home again is hard. You are not the same person you were before you left for college. Things have changed… For the worse.

1. Do things as a family! Be creative, try a new recipe or maybe go on a hike. Even if things sound lame remember that you are living at home and your life is inherently pathetic.

2. Remember: You can’t spell Parent without Rent. Just something to keep in mind. Under no circumstances should you pay for housing. That defeats the purpose.

3. Help out around the yard unless your parent pays someone to do so already. You don’t want to step on anybody’s toes.
4. Don’t neglect your physical health. Consider turning your old room into a fitness center so that your parents don’t have the satisfaction of doing so later on.
5. Don’t complain about your commute. Your parents have been doing it your whole life. Commuting can be an excellent time to brood about your current situation.
6. If you find your dad’s stash of weed, don’t smoke it! You don’t know what that stuff is laced with these days.
7. If your parents put a sock on the exterior doorknob of their room, it means they probably haven’t done their laundry in a while.
8. Don’t neglect your love life. Make sure to tell all potential mates about your living situation, but refer to your parents as “chill, older roommates” who “definitely did not birth you.”
9. Remember that in Europe, it is customary to live with your parents until the age of 25. Here it is not. It is important for you to move out as soon as you can.
10. If you stumble home drunk, do not crawl into bed with your Mom and start crying about how you’re an unemployed writer making top 10 lists for no money.

What A History Of Self-Harm Is Like

I was 12 years old the first time I self harmed. It stung when the hot water from the shower touched it for the first time. But from that point on, I couldn’t stop. With every cut my admiration grew fonder and the razor became my best friend, but I needed more. So I began burning myself with lighters, erasers, anything that I could get my hands on that would leave a burning sensation on my skin. After a while, just the thought of not self harming left a bitter taste in my mouth. So I continued catering to my need of burning and tearing open my skin for 3 miserable years, and that was just the beginning of my fight to stay alive.

The best time for me to self harm was in the shower. So I made sure to shower every night and sometimes in the mornings before I started my day. I wouldn’t be 5 minutes into the shower before I grabbed the razor, bared down, and began making dozens of deep lines across my hip. After I was done, I would look at my artwork and begin to smile. I felt invincible , like no one and nothing could hurt me, nothing could take away my shine. But the feeling of being indestructible was soon overwhelmed by the distinct feeling of being numb. Numbed to the stinging sensation when the water hit my hip that I once loved, numbed to the fact that I was tearing open my once perfect skin and enjoying it, numbed to the fact that I was slowly killing myself, and I didn’t mind.

Soon after I discovered the feeling of being numb, it was like a black cloud hovered over me and sucked the love out of my heart. I was bitter, angry, mean, all of the things I swore to myself that I would never become. I began hating myself. I would look in the mirror and pull at my skin so hard it would leave bruises. I felt hideous, in fact, I felt as if I resembled a man. My facial features, at least to my eyes, were masculine. It got to the point to where I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t take pictures, I couldn’t go get the mail, without having make up on. Without my makeup, I felt like when people saw me, they thought, wow, she would be cute if her eyes weren’t so small, if her nose wasn’t so big, if her cheek bones were more defined. Along with this overwhelming feeling of self hate, came my best friend, depression.

Depression is an old friend. I met my dear friend, depression, in 4th grade, the first year I was bullied. I would cry in the mornings and beg my mom to let me stay home. I would tell her I was sick, that I threw up, or my throat was hurting. She, being the loving and caring mom she is, of course let me stay home. She had no idea how bad it was at school. I didn’t want her to know, just because I was terrified of it getting worse. Soon after I began crying and faking illnesses, I got to the point where I worried myself sick, literally. I got mono, also known as the “kissing disease”, in February of my 4th grade year. I honestly don’t know where I picked up the bug because I had never kissed anyone, so I assumed I caught it from the water fountain. I was out of school for over 40 days after I was diagnosed. I missed so much school, I had to go on home bound, which is when a teacher comes to your house once or twice a week, and gives you your work that you have missed. I didn’t get on home bound until around the last three weeks before I returned to finish my 4th grade year.

Ever since I met depression in 4th grade, she has stuck around. She left my life my 5th grade year, only to return 10 times as strong when I began my first year in middle school. My 6th grade year was hell, to be honest. The self harming was still very much an issue and my “friends” had left me behind for new people. My heart was broken, and so was my spirit. Girls at school began calling me a whore, a slut, ugly, fat, you name it. I was called it all. Girls tried to fight me, they tried to trip me in the halls, they turned people against me, and they made my only friend choose between me and somebody else. I had a lot to deal with. I don’t believe anyone, no matter if you’re 12, 13, 17, 30, or even 80 years old, should be put through so much. No one deserves that.

My crippling battle with suicidal thoughts, severe depression, self harm, anxiety, and BDD (Body Dismorphic Disorder), lead to my final breakdown and landed me a 6 day stay in a mental health facility. My family, friends, church family, and best friend, were shocked. They had no idea that I fantasized about dying, they had no idea that I imagined my mom walking in my room to find my lifeless body hanging there. These thoughts, feelings, cravings for death to be the answer drove me to insanity. But it also taught me a lesson about loving, fighting, breathing, and existing. It taught me that it’s okay to take medicine for you mental illnesses. It taught me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with seeking help. It taught me that I am strong, I can not be broken. I stared at suicide as it held it’s pretty hand out for me, but I resisted. I won.

Society now a days, throws a rock at you and yells catch, but before you can gather your thoughts, they throw 2 more rocks and expect you to be able to keep your head up, when the weight of all of those rocks is bearing down on your chest. This comparison to my experience with depression relates perfectly. I couldn’t keep my head up. I cracked under the pressure and thought that suicide was the only way out. But I’m not mad at myself for it. I grew as a person during this experience, and sure, recovering from wanting to die isn’t easy. There are days where I want nothing more than to pick up the razor and make art. But I can’t. I can’t do that to my family again. I can’t do that to myself again. I’m a fighter, and in the end, I will defeat depression. I will win.

No, I Will Not Shut Up About Running

There is a lovely Wall Street Journal Article that came out recently, telling runners to get over the fact that they run. Stop it with the half/full-marathon stickers. Stop it with the running gear. Stop it with the running magazines. Seriously, runners, just shut up about it already.

And I only have one thing to say to that: No. I will not.

I will not take down my half-marathon sticker. With any luck, I’ll be adding a full marathon sticker to it in October. I worked hard to train up from a comparatively meager 3-to-5 miles. I fought fatigue and injury and self-doubt to be able to run 13.1 miles. That ubiquitous oval is a symbol of that hard work. If I had instead logged the hours at a job, worked hard, got promoted, and spent the fruits of my labor on a luxury car — or a pair of luxury glasses, or flashy jewelry — would you have the same disgust for me?

I will not stop running around outside, making all you sedentary people feel bad. I hate gyms. Running inside defeats the whole purpose of running for me. And furthermore — have you looked around most neighborhoods as of late? The only other people out there right now are fellow runners. Much like long stretches of races, where there is nary a bystander or even a fellow runner in sight.
I will not refrain from wearing runner’s gear. I refuse to apologize that I invest in apparel that will make running a little easier for me by reducing chafing, wicking sweat, or — in the case of the impending winter — keeping the wind from stabbing me in the skin. I will continue to wear my hot pink running shirt, because it does get people’s attention: namely, the attention of drivers on roads without any sidewalks and very little shoulder.

I will continue to read, write, and talk about running. I will seek out advice on injury prevention and discuss running as a whole with other runners and use that camaraderie to push me forward, to go outside and run when the only thing I want to do is sit around and eat potato chips.

Because here’s the thing: contrary to the self-indulgent belief, running is actually a pretty isolating activity. It’s tough and it’s unforgiving, but I do it — but many people do it — because running gives me peace of mind that few other things do. I go outside and — even though it can be tough to get myself going at first — I find my zen. It’s damn hard work, but I persevere and I’m not going to “get over it”. In a world where people Instagram their scrambled eggs and update Twitter to tell everyone that they’re at the grocery store, I will not apologize for my 13.1 sticker.

You want a 0.0 sticker? Go right ahead. But mocking runners will not validate your existence, sedentary or not. We run because it matters to us. Because the end result far outweighs the hard work and sacrifice. Distance running has been around since long before civilization. It’s the one physical trait humans have over the rest of the animal kingdom (because we certainly are not the strongest, nimblest, fastest, or strongest). There will be no apologizing for working hard to stay physically fit, the same way there will be no apologizing for anyone doing any type of hard work to achieve a goal (and being proud when they achieve it).
In short? We get it. You don’t run. Now get over it.

Please Do Not Change Who You Are

Please do not look at these men — these lovers who take in what they can when it benefits them and walk away when it stops — and decide that it means you are unlovable. Please do not mistake that fire in your heart for a burning in a building, something that needs to set off the alarms and the sprinkler systems and be put out. Please do not think for a second that a careless heart is somehow an indictment on you.

Please do not change who you are.
You are the poetry that reveals the beauty in the tragedy. You are the enthusiasm in the most mundane. You bring a passion to the everyday and God help anyone who mistakes that for insanity. You are all that you are, good and bad, up and down, negative and positive. You are human, capable of the whole scope of experiences and tastes and explanations. Do not feel that you have to subdue all that you are because of the hurricane that resides with the rest of your weather.
Be that hurricane! Let them choose the easier girls. They are after the McDonalds, easy and convenient and unsatisfying. They’ll learn. They will learn even the easy girls have nuance. They will learn that the easy girls are not even girls in the first place, but women. Women with a juvenile label and a crafted demeanor they hope comes off as low maintenance. They’ll learn even the easy ones are difficult, with their wants and desires and opinions, and they’ll move on once again.

Because there is no easy in love. There is no easy in being human.

It is not love to go after the girl who simply giggles at jokes and admires silently and acquiesces instantly – all in the name of said low maintenance. It is not love to sidle up to the equivalent of a live studio audience, laughing and applauding on cue and staying silent otherwise. It is not love to be with someone who never shows the side of themselves that is not always the calm serene spring. It is selfish and careless companionship and it is destined to be doomed.

Embrace your storm! You will find nothing to gain by berating yourself. There is no prize, no metal, no achievement in telling yourself that it is wrong to be sad, or angry, or envious, or insecure. There is nothing awaiting you if you decide to drop your pursuits and desires in the name of “cute”. You are all of that, the same way every one us of is all of that. If a lover steps away, embrace that it just wasn’t meant to be.
Embrace that new storm and move on.
Be open to love, to communication, to another’s feelings and emotions. The rest are details to be mirrored and complemented when the right one comes along.
And he will come along. Let his storm feed your storm, not in a way that enhances destruction, but in a way that brings out both’s natural power.
You are exactly what someone is looking for, somewhere.
So please, do not change who you are.

20 Things I Don’t Understand At Age 20

I’ve read a lot of articles and lists lately to the effect of “25 Things I’ve Learned by Age 25” and “What I Wish I’d Known in My 20s.” I also realized recently that all the articles I’ve posted on here have come off slightly self-righteous and know-it-all-esque. I turned twenty two months ago. So after reading some of these other writers’ lists of profound wisdom and after reflecting on my own voice coming across as a bit of a self-proclaimed 20-year-old prophet, I came to the conclusion that I should clarify the fact that I know absolutely nothing. I have infinitely more questions than I have answers. So in the spirit of this newfound mantra of uncertainty, I decided to come up with a list of the top 20 things that I just don’t have answers to. Hopefully when I’m 30 I can write a list of 30 pieces of life-altering advice for the young and naive, but until then, here’s what I simply can’t get my head around (I’m sure tomorrow I’ll wake up with 20 more):

1. Why the good die young.

2. Why so many fall in love with the wrong people.

3. How to end a close friendship.

4. How to rekindle a close friendship.

5. How to control anxiety.

6. How to cope with the loss of loved ones.

7. The stock market.

8. How to deal with uncertainty about the future.
9. Why drawing black lines on our eyelids makes us feel more attractive.
10. Why people are still watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians.
11. How to replace jealousy with happiness for the other person.
12. How not to lose my debit card once a month.
13. How to be honest with my parents without making them worried.
14. Why I’m so terrible with directions.
15. Whether “no regrets” and “never a failure, always a lesson” are healthy attitudes.
16. How not to have FOMO.
17. How to pay off student loans.
18. What it is about our brain chemistry that makes us “click” with certain people.
19. Whether adulthood is as boring as it seems.
20. Whether time really does seem to pass more quickly with every year.

How To Be In Charge Of Your Own Happiness

One of the many new responsibilities that comes with adulthood is being in charge of your own happiness. Your mom isn’t around anymore to notice when you’re not smiling as much, to put your hair behind your ear and offer to make you a sandwich. She’ll be there to support you, as your friends will, when the going really gets tough. But they all have their own lives, and they can’t sit on the phone forever. As an adult, you’re in charge of your own happiness. 

This begins with the basics. Choosing a job — a career — that interests you, challenges you, puts a smile on your face more often than a scowl. A job that may leave you exhausted at the end of the day, but it’s an exhaustion that feels good on your bones because you know you did something worthwhile. It’s a job that adds a new dimension to who you are, one that you’re excited to talk about. And if it’s a job that’s below your skill-level and doesn’t leave you feeling accomplished, it’s one that’s at least putting you on the path there — time you’re putting in to get to the eventual goal.
It’s choosing a group of friends that make things better. It’s having one friend that you divulge all your secrets to, the one who won’t even smirk when you’re drunk and crying for no reason, and others that just make you laugh, or think, or get of your apartment. It’s shaving off the people who make you feel like high school, the ones who have just a hint of that conniving, competitive or jealous side we all used to have.

It’s choosing a significant other that adds something to your life, makes you a better person, not just someone to call at the end of a work day, or someone who only calls you in the middle of a Saturday night. It’s knowing when and how to not have one, and still feel complete.

It’s finding a place to live that can be your sanctuary, a place where you can go to escape from the world, where you feel safe, and relaxed. It doesn’t have to be big — it might even start out as cramped, dirty — but you’ll recognize that it’s up to you to wipe the windows clean, to paint the walls a color that embraces you every morning. It’s up to you to put down rugs and hang up curtains, to buy a coffee table and set out candles, to make cramped feel cozy. It’s up to you to make it somewhere you’d want to live, and get out if you can’t.

Beyond the basics, though, there are the little things. There’s remembering to go get a manicure, or order a luxurious dinner for yourself when you’re sad, and not just sit around and let it simmer. There’s forcing yourself to go to yoga because it calms you, or comedy clubs because you always leave laughing. There’s recognizing the bad trains of thoughts that seduce you down their paths, not letting yourself spend hours on Facebook mulling over things that aren’t going to change. There’s knowing when to do something else, to take charge of your own life because you’re the only one who’s going to, and besides, nobody else knows you go to comedy clubs on Wednesdays.