Posts Tagged ‘lies’

Considering I’ve never been a fan of lying, I have to set some things straight on here. I’m currently studying abroad and it has been one of the best experiences of my life. I’ve dealt with some major issues, all within the first few weeks of arriving. To make this readable, I won’t include the gritty details right now. I will sum it up as such:

-I found out the day before coming here that my brother was going to have brain surgery in a few weeks.

-Right before his surgery, my biological family insisted that I see him, didn’t believe I was studying abroad and harassed me about not seeing him.

-I asked my biological father (the only person I talk to on occasion to not tell anyone that I was here as I didn’t think it would ameliorate the situation.

-Said person did in fact break his word and tell people I was studying abroad. His relaying this fact did more harm than good as I had initially suspected.

-Prior to the surgery, my grandpa became sick suddenly and died. When I asked my father if I should attend the funeral, his e-mail reply was “no need to disrupt school”.

-No one told my brother about my grandpa dying until after his surgery. My dad didn’t even make it to his own dad’s funeral.

It’s no surprise that my motility disorder only worsened throughout my time here. I fucking hate food. Every single time I eat I either become nauseated, regurgitate food, throw up (unintentionally) or have gurgling in my esophagus and stomach indicative of the spasms.

Over the break, I hope to see some therapists and doctors that I had over the summer prior to coming here. My friends already say I should be in treatment again. I know that I do not want to end up in the cycle of treatment. Plus, I’ve been offered an amazing opportunity to extend my studies here doing a neuroscience internship at a hospital. These sorts of opportunities don’t just happen upon someone in the States, they are hard to come by. When presented with the possibility that I could become sicker while here, my honest response is “so what?”.

Bluntly put, I’d rather die at least trying to get ahead in life then return to my basically nothing life in the States. I’m sick of missing out on opportunities because I’m physically or emotionally unwell. I crave having a family and the host family I have here is the closest thing I’ve experienced to a “normal” family. I just have no desire to appear sad in front of them or express my negative emotions. I judge myself, thinking that they expect me to be level-headed because of my age. After all, their two older kids are younger than me and out of the house and supporting themselves from what I know. One even has a two year old. I believe in my twisted world I must come across as stable and without issues and this is how I portray myself to most everyone.

Sometimes, I see the school psychologist and lately she’s been questioning my mood. I know she can pick up on my sadness even though I assure her repeatedly that I’m FINE. FINE = fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t want my experiences to be halted by psychiatric treatment. Not here, not now. I just don’t know how much longer I can keep this jig up.



Don’t tell me to go to bed because:

1. You want to go to sleep

2. Knowing my sleep history, forcing bed upon me does not resonate well with me and my well-being

3. Knowing what happened the last time I went to bed before I was dead tired (meditated and continued having nightmare after nightmare until I was finally asleep. This makes me think that you want me to have another nightmare, and that you don’t truly care about my needs.

Tell me to go to bed and I assure you, you will have greater problems than you began with. Let me be, and no issues will occur. I hate the night, there’s no need for your attitude to make it any worse.

Not only are you trying to be in a position of authority over me when clearly you are threatened by my retorts, and consider them arguments, you try to listen to an incompetent individual in the house who at the moment is talking out loud to herself and smacking her lips intermittently singing some bs song in a smoker’s voice. I fucking swear, if you listen to her and don’t re-direct her shortly, then you have fallen even lower in my Respect Book, and I will have less and less for you.

Creating a rule that doesn’t exist and attempting to implement it on a whim doesn’t sit well with me. It insinuates that you are narcissistic and don’t actually think you need to work to have a paycheck.

It was already a rough day for me, figuring out a lot of new aspects which contribute to my disordered eating, no need to push my emotional boundaries right now thanks.

I can’t do this shit. The jealousy takes over and I feel like I constantly have someone lying to me from some angle. Everything K said to me in our last session and seemingly understandingly still had me contemplating the possibilities that B may be telling the truth and K is lying to me and I feel absolutely perplexed and stumped and out-of-wack.

This all began with a gun control panel my friend wanted to attend. I cautioned her away from it since she was in a bad spot and thought going would allow her to release some of her pent up emotions about this hot-button topic. I tried to steer her away from it, afraid her voice wouldn’t be heard to the effect she might anticipate.

Surprisingly, questions were allowed to be asked by the audience about one hour in. Equal gender distribution was in attendance and when fielding questions, 2 of the 10 questions “chosen” by the men panelists (female didn’t even speak) to be answered were male. Disgusted and ashamed that gender discrepancies continue to exist in a “liberal” nation. Males simply have two “near” circles below the navel, and females, above. If only it were that simple.

I walked out and left after cussing under my breath at their being no point in attending if not everyone can voice their opinion. My question would have been fielded to both parties, and addressed the individual panelist, not a political affiliation. The question would have been, “Have any of you ever seen a fellow human being who has sustained a gun shot wound?”

I firmly believe people’s opinions would change if they knew of a close range injury/emotional repercussion from force or threat with a firearm. I’ve had the “pleasure” of treating a patient with a gun shot wound to the head. I’ve also had a few guns pointed at me while holding a four month old baby by those meant to protect and serve.

To the student who got fired up and said “the reason for gun control is so the crazies don’t go and shoot their kids”and continued on huffing complete with a horrific, accusatory look on her face at my friend… you have NO IDEA who the crazies are… I think you’re one of them.

So yeah, you wanna speak your mind? Go the fuck ahead AFTER being exposed to a firearm outside of a controlled environment, outside of your protective bubble, away from a shooting range or hunting season (though I realize accidents/injuries occur there as well).

But anyway, I was so heated that I texted K, particularly because administration of the school was in attendance unbeknownst to me and I flat up left and am unsure if they heard what I said and will use that against me, some way somehow.

We had recently texted an hour prior to that for scheduling this week’s appointment. No response yet… one full hour later. And, according to B, she and K have spoken. So, who’s deceiving me? K, B, both?

If it’s B and she’s lying then how sick and how convoluted of a friendship do she and I have? Do we even have one? I think not. The moment I began to talk with her about something that was triggering, she made it known (and rightfully so if I believed she actually wanted to heal at this moment). I don’t feel let down, at least with her, just more of an inconvenience.

If K’s lying then it’s all about the money. It makes sense that she would text me when it’s financially-related… what about my fricking mental health though? Where’s my fucking support?

I hate that I’m going through this again. I feel trapped in an uncomfortable carousel, going round and round, without stopping. The images keep moving, life continues, and somehow I’m trapped and lost in translation.

I’m starting to have almost chronic (daily) pain from my extreme tightness attributed to Cerebral Palsy.

I keep thinking about what the neurologist said a few weeks ago about how stress seizures are really common in people who have experienced pre-verbal abuse. To sum up, pre-verbal abuse, is abuse that occurs at an age before the child can speak. It makes sense though, considering I barely uttered a word until the age of three anyway.


Growing up I was told that it was speculated that I developed CP as a newborn, probably a few days old. The story developed a bit as I grew older and could better conceptualize ideas. It was said to me that everyone (yes everyone) has clots throughout their body. The body is generally able to rid itself of these clots and there are no repercussions. Yet, since I was a preemie and came into the world at around 6 months, I was very tiny. Any clot that developed in my body could and most likely would be detrimental. That’s exactly what was speculated to have happened.

However, once my mother told me that she didn’t know I had CP until I was 1.5 years old, even though doctors said they mentioned it when I was a baby. It’s ok if you want to read that last sentence again, except no matter how I read it, or type it, it still doesn’t make sense to me.My dad has previously mentioned that doctors told him I COULD have a whole host of ailments, not that I did. I wonder if she’s confusing that with truth. No surprise there.

Might I mention that I went through my first two months of life and the concurring medical records for the first two months I was in the NICU. Every time something neurological was in the record, I paid special attention to it. I was given a battery of tests and had many many conditions charted in these records. I had a lot of diseases ranging from jaundice to severe hyaline,  membrane disease to apnea to bradycardia. You name it, I likely had it. The funny or ironic thing is that nowhere in these charts is there ANY indication of a neurological impairment.

I’m trying to play detective here and put pieces of the puzzle together. Yes, I know I over-analyze a lot of pieces of life a lot of the time. I doubt that will change. You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure this one out though. Look at this picture:


Do you “see” any neurological issues here. Key word, “see”. A lot of babies have eyes that still need to play catch up with their brain A.K.A. one eye wanders, both eyes can’t focus on the same fixed point at the same time. This is common. Look at my eyes. There’s nothing abnormal there.

I’ve been told I was a handful as a baby (and many times thereafter). I cried often, barely slept. It makes sense for someone to have a sick baby and not want them around and try to hurt them. It also makes sense to have a caregiver get frustrated with a baby. I understand all of that. I’m not blaming anyone, probably because it would almost be Mission Impossible to find out exactly what happened 25 years ago.

Parents fighting all of the time. Annoying baby. Sick baby. Tired. Trying to do anything to make the crying stop. May have already taken it to lesser extremes in the past and resolved “issue” of finicky baby. Too late to go for a car ride to soothe baby. I don’t know, I’m just guessing in the dark here.

I’ve been looking at videos online of ways to improve the symptoms of Cerebral Palsy and am bothered because my mother seeks out every imaginable treatment for my brother and his condition (NF2-Neurofibromatosis Type 2). Why won’t she spend her time seeking treatments for me? My way of life could always be improved. After all, probably everyone’s could.

Maybe I developed CP from shaken baby syndrome, maybe I wasn’t. Either way, I’m still stuck with Cerebral Palsy and stuck looking at surgeries or advances or practices that could have improved my life had my parents sought out appropriate treatment for me as an infant. Why would you want to seek treatment for someone you didn’t want in the first place though?

Grand, evidently I wasn’t connected to the internet last night when posting, so those who tried to initially read the post, only got a subject line. And I get to write the post again and rehash my feelings over the past few days, focusing on two days ago (Wednesday). Since I need to put most of it out there and trying to figure out ways to heal, this post is going to be full of inserts. Hey, everything’s a little better with pictures!

I decided it would be beneficial if I started out with an e-mail I sent to K on Sunday, hours after our session where my lack of support was the main focus and K seemed to be annoyed that I was back at square one. I refused to believe I was back at square one and sent the following:

It wasn’t until later Monday afternoon I received this response, no doubt though K had been fully supporting B throughout this time. This is K’s reply:

I replied back in less than an hour, take note to the last sentence of the e-mail:

This was BEFORE I knew anything extra had been occurring between K and B. I’m practically begging for support, saying how much I need it, asking a direct question. I have yet to hear back from this e-mail. What I did get was this, on Wednesday afternoon via text from K.

There’s a lot I’d like to say to this, such as:

-What makes you think I want to talk to you?

-You think you deserve my money?

-Why would I drive two hours, using gas money I don’t have to come get a slap in the face?

-For what?

-Are you going to come to me?

-You really don’t see how your actions have affected me, do you?

Yet, I’ve not responded. I have a lot of negative energy festering within me. None of these responses would be particularly productive.

Every week I had a card that I give to K which outlines my emotions for the week, written down daily. This is mine for this week:

Yeah, definitely not ok, and haven’t filled the card out since.

To make matters even more confounding, I received this e-mail from the head of Study Abroad Wednesday afternoon:

You’d think going to a school with approximately 1,000 students and maybe 100, probably more like 50 (or less) of these students applied to study abroad this fall, that maybe, just maybe they could take the time to insert my name into this e-mail. I went immediately to the study abroad office after receiving this e-mail. Actually, first I started twitching and almost had a stress seizure and was on the verge of a major meltdown. I took some deep breaths, thought about how I wanted to come across to the director, whose shares the same name, to top it all off with K. How fitting, lies all around, withholding of truth, all around.

College K couldn’t even give me a specific reason as to why I wasn’t accepted by the school’s study abroad committee (done internally, not to where I’m actually planning on studying abroad. Everything she said to me was in blanket statements. She speculated that perhaps it’s because I’m a transfer and the committee wanted me to become more acclimated with this school. As if a full academic year isn’t enough? She also said maybe I wasn’t specific as to why I chose to study abroad in the fall. She said and I will, “fight for this” followed by, “I can’t promise you that the decision will change.” I will study abroad this fall.

I WILL PETITION THIS. I will study abroad. I will go to the supervisor’s supervisor. This WILL happen. School is the only thing keeping me alive. Without this study abroad experience, many things about school fall out of place; my decision and connections to attend medical school abroad, which ultimately leads to my career as a physician abroad.

You know one of the worst parts? A few weeks ago I asked a group of friends how long it usually takes to hear the committee decision to study abroad and was told by friends that though they didn’t know how long it would be until I heard the decision, they’d NEVER heard of someone not getting accepted. When I mentioned this “rumor” to college K, she said, “actually 25% of people weren’t accepted for the fall term” I’m thinking, “OH DID ONLY 4 PEOPLE APPLY?” You do the math.

My application was crisp, clean, and reviewed multiple times by my advisor and myself. In the application there are a few medical-related questions, such as allergies, ever been hospitalized, have a psych condition. It was also noted “Your answers to these will not affect the committee’s decision”. I checked yes to all three of these AND attached a one page, single-spaced explanation as to how I manage each issue, and how I’ve worked and volunteered for extended periods of time in the past.

Bullshit. Absolutely bullshit. You really want to tell me that my application, along with a GPA higher than 3.0 (3.0 is generally minimum GPA required) wasn’t sufficient? Then something else racks my brain. What if my recommendation letter wasn’t decent? What if it completely didn’t recommend that I study abroad?

I sent my petition in on Thursday morning, after my advisor reviewed it again, saying it was, “a good document”. This is nonsensical and unjust. I HATE THAT MEDICAL REASONS CONSTANTLY HOLD ME BACK IN LIFE BECAUSE OF OTHER PEOPLE’S BELIEFS ABOUT WHAT I CAN DO. This happened at the resort that I worked at too, and sometimes have cost me jobs. I hate that I am sooo honest that it hurts me, even when I think people will have only the best intentions. With all of my exposure to horrific events, you’d think I wouldn’t be so naive and trusting. Rarely can I actually imagine that someone is lying or evading the truth. And yet, they are. Most people can’t handle even hearing about what I’ve been through, so when a piece of my life is laid out on a piece of paper, it still comes with people applying their restrictions on MY life since it’s as though I’m a piece of crystal, so fragile, so in need of constant OVER PROTECTION that in actuality doesn’t benefit me, merely hurts my chances to thrive.

Considering that I’ve had a lot of things thrown in my face and continued to persevere, I can only hope I’ll continue to get my strength from somewhere. It’s getting harder and harder with each passing day. My initial instinct upon being deferred to study abroad was to self-injure. Problem with that is that it’s practically summer and the temperatures resemble that of a summer day. I hate being hot, and I don’t want to be subjected to the third degree by anyone. So what have I done? Well, the invisible self-injury. This one commonly goes by the pronoun “Ed” to play on words.

I’ve restricted my intake to the point that by Wednesday I’d lost 6 lbs in less than 2 days. Granted, much of this is water weight, except I haven’t wanted to stop restricting. It’s way easier to feel physical pain than emotional pain. At the moment, I don’t feel much of either.

I’m torn too because I want so badly to talk with someone who understands my situation. The closest person to that would be C. However, if I told C, there’s a good chance she too would be ripped apart, devastated, and right now there’s no need to spread the pain I’m feeling to another person. At least I have the decency to recognize that telling her would do more harm than good.

On to the good news of Wednesday. There was a pre-brief meeting for the Alternative Spring Break I’ll be attending next week. During the brief, a man from an organization in town working with the homeless came to speak to our group.

I absolutely despise people mentioning skin color as a factor, and even have said to multiple individuals, “You’re not black, you’re a shade of brown, we’re all just shades of brown. The only difference between you and me is that one of our skin absorbs more melanin than the other’s.  The only people who can say they’re white are people with albinism because they truly are, their skin doesn’t absorb melanin. Now if we want to talk about cultural differences, let’s talk cultural, NOT skin color.

In this briefing, we went around the circle talking about any previous experience we’ve had with the homeless population and our thoughts about those experiences. A common theme was that people worked in a soup kitchen one or two times, and had skewed perceptions about people who were homeless, often attributing it to mental illness. When it got to my turn, I mentioned my variety of work with homeless populations, concluding by saying, “I’ve also experienced homelessness.” Imagine the look on the faces of most in the room, most who are of “minority” status by skin color. It was something to the effect of, “WHAT? The white female doesn’t have a perfect life?”

Growing up, my biggest fear was becoming homeless. I was even told I’d never be homeless. Well guess what? It happened and I somehow made it through that period. It will likely happen again, I’m not going to pretend to shove it under a rug and store it there for decades. At the end of the meeting, people talked about where they’d be staying before and after our trip. One person didn’t have a place to go and someone recommended she talk to residential life to stay in the dorms for those periods. I wished her luck being that I had a big incident with residential life prior to winter break. Summing it up, I was assured I could stay there without any mention of additional fees. The week before finals I was told this was not a possibility and VERY LONG STORY SHORT, that’s how I ended up back at the sober living.

I went to residential life to see if my chance of staying may be favored this time by the fact that I was participating in alternative spring break. I got a harsh greeting from the director, and much attitude, except that after that, I was approved to stay in the dorms (which are otherwise considered closed for the break). This is a BIG relief because I was going to stay at another sober living that I was going to have to pay for and realistically, I can’t afford. Plus, I was going to have to sleep on the couch as they didn’t have a bed for me.

After this, I went to dinner and was sitting alone. I looked up and saw a girl who asked me to sit with her the other week. At the time I declined her request, saying that I was going to sit at another table since I hadn’t seen people there in a while. That was a white lie. In truth, I imagined our conversation to be really awkward. She speaks in monotone pitch, and that can be awkward. However, she was sitting alone too, and it didn’t make sense to me that we both eat alone, feet from one another. I joined her, and you know what? I WAS WRONG. She may have a monotone voice, except she has so much more to offer than that. She has a good soul, and she is a really good conversationalist. That’ll be hopefully the last time I jump to major conclusions and don’t step out of my social comfort zone in similar social situations. She is so kind. My own discomforts and assumptions held me back. You know what happens when someone ASSuMEs…

I still feel queasy and a bit uneasy. That is most likely due to the lack of nutrients I’ve consumed over the past three full days. Eating disorders, the invisible pain, the pain that even when you’re not eating, eats you… from the inside, out.

Though I still believe in Karma, a final thought:

I just woke up from a dream. I actually figured I’d have some bad dreams going to bed last night, and since I tend not to recall my dreams, didn’t fret too much on it.

I was in a parking lot, waiting to meet my family (first error because I don’t keep in contact with them). As I was waiting for them to arrive, I saw that I needed to lock most of my car doors manually (second mistake because I haven’t even owned that car in three years). As I was doing this, realizing I was in a sketchy neighborhood (third error), I saw a women holding up what appeared to be a gun to a group of people. Then when she shot them, it appeared like they were being tazed. At that point, I wasn’t able to locate my car keys to drive off and basically froze.

That’s when the lady approached me, asked me how old I was. I told her. Her reply? “You’re too young, just a baby, I’m not going to hurt you.” With that, she rested her knife in my car. She stood around, searching through some bag. Not wanting to do anything drastic, and eying the knife, wondering if I should just take it and stab her, I didn’t do anything. Next thing I know she slashes my thigh with the knife and tells me, “You’re going to need to go to the hospital”. I replied, “Nah, I’m okay.” slightly confused, and not actually in pain because the knife wound wasn’t deep enough to require sutures. Suddenly, she continues on, and slashes both sides of my neck, all with a big crowd around. No one did anything. I put my hand to my neck, said “hospital” and woke up.

Seeing as how the summer is drawing to a close (in the Northern Hemisphere), I find this to be a bit of a relief, air temperature aside:

I moved 3,000 miles in March, with all of my belongings, couldn’t find a permanent job. I sucked it up and went 3,000 miles back from the coast I came from, different location to work for the summer. I had a pretty awesome gig, and I was prepared to be in optimal shape when the job concluded 14 weeks later. One small problem, the job concluded 4 weeks later (for me). I was let go, told it was due to low enrollment, yada yada, and forced to leave the premises within 2 hours, having no where to go. Might I mention that I worked all morning, and was in a summer planning meeting when I was pulled out for what I anticipated to be a minor incident. WRONG! Long story short, I was on a plane to travel another 1,000+ miles 5 hours after the incident.

I went to live with my dad who essentially lives in two houses, but these are both owned by his, shall we say “partner”. He was supposed to marry her in April and HE called off the wedding due to uncertainties, yet is still living in her houses. I think he doesn’t want to give up the luxury she provides, as he is too frugal to obtain residences such as hers.

Due to hers and my relationship discrepancies, he kicked me out of the house less than two weeks into my stay. I was again forced to pack my belongings in an expedited manner, all with the looming threat that it could and would be tossed onto the streets.

The car rental place neglected to pick me up, even though their slogan is “The Company that PIcks You Up” and I was stranded on a main street with 2 checked bags, a carry on, and a personal item. About an hour into this event, my father leaves with his car, only to return within a few minutes. He nearly ran me over (within inches) upon his return. On purpose, who knows?

A nice family walking by helped me carry my bags to the train station a few blocks away and prayed with and for me. It was a nice gesture.

I made it to a hostel in a major city for the next few nights. I had been offered a job at two places; one at a camp I previously attended, and one at a premier tennis center. I would have opted for the tennis job, however the supervisor got back to me the day after I accepted the offer to the camp job. I am not a taker-back of my words, so I told the supervisor that if he still wanted me after the completion of the camp job, I’d be open to that.

Working at the camp, I found was an entirely different experience than being a camper. It was still multi-cultural, and it was a consistent paycheck for nearly two months. I received an award for Counselor of the Week and voted “Hardest Worker” by my co-workers. My days consisted of anywhere from 15-18+ hour work days, which is legal if you’re salaried. I worked, and I considered that my duty; I believed my co-workers to be lazy and unmotivated. When I’m told to do something, I do it. I wasn’t going to take any chances of being let go early at this job.

At the conclusion of this job, I journeyed back 3,000 miles and low-and-behold, was told that I could have the tennis position. I figured my luck was changing for the better; I was thrilled. I was supposed to work M-Th, 7 hour days. It would prove to be hard to locate a residence for a short time period (only 1 month until school began), yet I was determined to make it work.

The first day on the job, I only worked a three hour shift. I contacted my supervisor, who I still have not ever met in person, and inquired about my work hours. He informed me through texting that I would only have mornings, and gave no explanation as to his reasoning-as though he had known it all along and was simply trying to get me to “cover” people, not actually fill in as an additional instructor. Though my second day, a Thurs., I did pick up the full shift, this was an exception.

Knowing I was going to continue to commute long distance and couch surf/hostel hop, I decided that it would be within my best financial and emotional interest to discontinue the employment temporarily. I knew that I would be living closer in one month. I communicated the fact that I was looking for a second job to my employer the first day I was working (with less hours than promised), and he was ok with that, or so he said.

My emotions were all over the place since I had many inconsistencies over the last few months. I know of a decent mental health hospital and was willing to an outpatient clinic I had done in the past. Though not ideal, overall, I trusted the hospital.

Intake day: Friday. I was asked if I could agree to a safety contract, and I said obviously not. The previous night and that morning, I had a dissociative psychotic episode and superficial wounds on my scalp were the result of these episodes. Note- I am NOT psychotic, though I embody characteristics of it occasionally. Sure, you might not take an instrument to your head, but can you honestly say you’ve never done something quite a bit out of the “norm”? If you can’t, you’re boring (total joke)! Perhaps you merely possess stronger positive coping skills than I.

I was admitted into the hospital for ten days, and met some amazing people. I didn’t actually talk the first two days I was there. On the fifth day of my stay, I was told that insurance was no longer going to cover my stay. Long story short, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. There are infinite amounts of details that concur with this, but for the sake of our attention spans, I’m breaking it down into this: I didn’t want to walk out of that hospital with a ridiculous amount of debt. The average psychiatric hospital costs $1000-$2000 PER DAY, minimum.

I made up my mind after two appeals with the insurance company failed. I was ready to die, I wasn’t scared, I didn’t feel alone, I didn’t feel an absence from spirituality. To be redundant, I was ready. I wrote out a will (though I knew it may not be considered legally-binding), and I scratched some thoughts on a paper, to no one in particular.

I attempted in the hospital, and as you may be able to notice, it didn’t work. Today is the one month “anniversary” of my attempt, and I’m going to be blunt-I’m still a little pissed it didn’t work, and essentially confused. I’m not actively suicidal; I just find that I’m constantly fighting to live a productive, fantastically awesome life.

I transferred to a college where there was a HUGE housing mishap that has yet to be fully re-mediated. I didn’t make the tennis team due to my footwork. The coach said my technique was good, my instinct on the court was good, and my fitness was lacking. I can beat people on the current team; I have passion, motivation, and dedication to the sport. These qualities aren’t something everyone on the team possesses; it was self-admitted by a member of the team.

When are people going to embrace differences in one another rather than run in the other direction?

This has been a synopsis of this summer; perhaps the most significant summer I will ever endure.

Thanks for reading!