To the Unwanted, Unappreciated, Unknown Teenagers Alike

For this blog assignment, we were asked to write about our ideal reader, or who we are writing to when we write these posts. “It has to be a person that is famous in their field” reads the rubric. But I do not write for a person that is famous, and I do not write for a person that is professional in what they pursue. I write for teenagers alike to me. I write for the people that aren’t anything special to our society. I write to you because I’m one of you, and I understand what it feels like to be unwanted, to be unappreciated, to be unknown. So if I am given an F on this assignment, I will take full responsibility without regret, because I will not bullshit my way through this assignment, and write to you about someone I don't even care about, to get an A on my report card. So here it goes.

To the unwanted, unappreciated, unknown teenagers alike,
I admire you for putting up with the hell thrown on your shoulders. I admire you for having to listen instead of speak for the first decade or more of your life. But I admire you more if you have found your voice. And I admire you even more if you have found your place and stuck your feet in the ground. But I admire you if you are lost just as well. I admire you for always having to care more about your future than what is happening right now. And I admire you for being so strong when others think you are weak. I admire you for not letting yourself fall when people push you down. I admire you for showing up for school even when you are sad. I admire you for having to deal with adults and often times being expected to be one.

Don’t stop being a kid to be an adult. Please live out your childhood. And don’t let yourself think that you have to be famous or professional (basically and adult) to be appreciated. Because I appreciate you more than I do adults.

I feel that we shouldn't be expected to admire someone for their superiority. I don’t look up to famous people for being famous. I look up to people that really deserve it, I look up to people that matter because they work hard every single day to get to where they are. Teenagers don't stop working off their place in the world, famous people have their whole pretty lives in safe hands. And when us ordinary teenagers age, maybe we will be famous, and maybe we will professional, but we will be adults by then, therefore most of the blood, sweat, and tears will be left in our teenage years. I admire the teenagers that work their asses off even when no one believes in them. Even when no one appreciates it. Even when it goes unnoticed.

So let it be if I fail this assignment. Because it was worth it to tell you the truth.

Photo Courtesy: Stability

Suicide is a Permanent Solution to Temporary Problem

Suicide. It’s a term that parents refrain their kids from knowing about. It is shamed upon. We run away from it; we don’t understand it. But it’s time to talk about it. I have a dear friend that has struggled with this. His brother attempted in sixth grade by overdosing on Ibuprofen, luckily he was found and saved. But, did he want to be saved? Was he okay with the thought of his slow and painful death when he was sitting on the cold bathroom floor, weak and unable to change his mind if he wanted to? Or had he accepted the fact that he was about to leave Earth, never to be seen alive again? My friend’s next two encounters were his own, he followed his little brother’s lead and swallowed a whole bottle of Advil. One-by-one they went down his throat.

Somewhere around this time, he ran away. I was worried sick, I didn’t know where he was, or if he was okay, or if I would ever see him again. First it was unreal to think that one of my very best friends had left me without saying goodbye. I was so stressed out that I failed a math quiz. That was my first reaction. Then a couple days later, I found myself teary-faced staring at my boat where most of our camping adventures took place, and then my jeep trailer where we would hide out from all of the Ashtyn-obsessed children that camped with us in Moab. He was a friend different from all others, he was the friend that I only ever saw in my happy places; Moab, Jordanelle Reservoir, and Flaming Gorge Reservoir. We were all happy there, no problems, only good times, boat rides, jeep trailing, and campfires. It was a surreal place with dreamy memories, no one was ever not happy there. And that’s how I remembered him, I never realized how serious his depression was until he was gone. But he wasn’t gone forever, he came back about 30 minutes after my breakdown.

A lot of people mistake my care for him as me “liking” him as more than a friend. But this isn’t the case. I care about him because he is my best camping buddy, he is my friend, he is my brother that I never had. And to hear that he hates life, that he doesn’t really want to be here, it kills me. But on January 1st, 2016 during our hour and a half long conversation at 6 in the morning he told me something about suicide that changed his mind. He said “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” That quote reversed his thinking. That quote save his life. And I will always respect those words for saving my camping buddy from choosing death over life.

"No Violence Statue"

Photo Courtesy: Prospect

The Fault in Your Birthday Cake Candles

When I was little my dad used to say “you’re growing like a weed, goose” and “maybe if I stop feeding you, you’ll stop growing.” I would always react by angrily telling him that he was dumb because I would die if he stopped feeding me and at the time I didn't think that weeds were pretty so I’d tell him that I grew like a flower. But standing here as a freshman who spends most of her time with a junior and some fellow freshman students, I regret how I treated my childhood. All kids want to do is get older and older, they count each and every candle on their cake just to make sure it is just as many as their new age. Those very candles burned out my creativity. Now you can picture yourself, all dressed up perched on your chair, eyes focused and reflecting the small buds of fire melting undesired wax onto your frosting, eagerly waiting for the untuned singing voices to stop. All for what? To blow out those damn candles. To be able to say “I’m six” instead of “I’m almost six.”

Truth is, I would do a lot of things to be almost six again. I would do a lot to go back to the time that I didn’t know what dirty jokes were so I could speak freely without the worry that people would laugh because what ever I said relates to sex some how. But no, I’m stuck here for a little while. I’m stuck seeing people that I love want, and try, to commit suicide. I’m stuck seeing the people that I love cut. I’m stuck here seeing the people that I love drown in their own goddamn tears. I’m stuck here seeing people I love burn in the extra fire those new candles provide because they just can’t blow them out anymore. I’m stuck here. And I’m sick of it.

The ironic thing is, no matter how much I hate those candles, I still look forward to them. I still have hope that they’ll bring me to a better place. That it’ll be better when I’m fifteen. They are a drug. The glory of age is a drug. It makes it hard to stay centered in your life. Its magnetic force pulls me so hard that I have to remind myself that the things I am touching and the objects surrounding me are real. My mind is so busy I forget to “stay real.” I’m so content thriving in my thoughts that I can’t focus at what I’m doing at that actual moment. I work in auto pilot most of the time, so used to my life, so bored, that I keep myself entertained in a separate dimension while I nearly unconsciously do what ever it is that I am supposed to be doing. This is why if you were to ask me to describe what I did yesterday I wouldn’t be able to tell you without struggling to remember what I actually physically did yesterday. I’m constantly trying to escape the now by time traveling into the future. So theoretically, I’m constantly trying to escape my current age, by day dreaming about the next cake full of candles I get to see.

Photo Courtesy: my mom, Kristin (yes, that is me)

Sawyer and Service Dogs

I know a family that has a four year old boy that can not walk named Sawyer. Sawyer has a disability called CP Cerebral Palsy that holds him back physically. He has the ability to speak, but at four years old and seeing his older sister run a round for his whole life, he has a yearning to be as physically capable as the children around his age. He has recently been offered an amazing gift that would change the course of his life forever. A 40 grand gift to be exact, called a service dog.

With the dog comes a best friend, a family member, and an inspiration that would turn him into “the kid that has a cool dog” instead of “the kid that has a wheelchair.” Dogs have a way of understanding the human mind better than we ourselves do. They decode every emotion we let off, every movement we take, every signal our brains let off and react accordingly. Dogs know when we are sad before we even shed a tear. Dogs can pick up signals of stress and anger. They can even detect a health problem in a human before the human them self.

I own a 8 year old, purebred but unpapered, golden retriever. She is my best friend above all. Until about two years ago she was just the typical dog that knows basic commands such as sit and stay. I then developed an interest in horse jumping and not owning a horse or knowing where to take lessons, I trained my dog to jump instead. Over the course of two years-worth of training, she’ll jump three foot with only a flick of my hand as a cue. No treats to bribe her. No leash to force her. Only trust and an amazing relationship between dog and human. The most amazing concept about it in my eyes, is that I know she would do just about anything I asked her to do. I know for fact, that she would jump on three legs if I asked her to.

There was a time that I wasn’t doing too well. I found myself feeling that almost everyone that I loved and cared for was leaving. I was separated from seven people both permanently and temporarily. I began to develop what I like to call a condition of separation anxiety that affected me in extreme ways. I had a migraine from every other week to once a week for about two months. I would have near-sleepless nights where I would just sit there, rocking myself back and forth crying unstoppably. I truly believe that what made me hold on the most, was the relationship I had with my dog. The reality of how much my existence meant to her, made me feel all that much more loved. She may only be a small part of my life, one being out of the thousands that I’ll meet, but to her, my dad and I are her entire life.

When I was only seven or eight years old, I jumped in the way of a trailer that was about to run over my dog. This was before I had even had her for a very long time, before a relationship as strong as the one we has now was formed. And I risked my life without thinking twice to save that of my dog’s. Even though neither of us were hurt, it wasn’t the most “fun” experience for me. It traumatized me, but I would do it again.

The family that I was talking about earlier is still considering whether or not they should take the responsibility of a service dog. It is a lot of work to own a dog and just in general they are a large responsibility but a service dog is much more. Wherever you go with your special needs child, the dog goes too. There’s no leaving the dog home or taking him to doggy-daycare. He or she has to be with you 24/7. I understand why they would see this as a problem, but they have already made the decision to take on a special needs child (they did not panic and put him into the adoption system like some people would) they made the life long commitment to keeping him happy and to provide all he will ever need. So in my opinion, why not excel in that commitment, make their son’s life change in ways that nothing else besides a dog would be able to do. When Sawyer goes through a rough patch, which like any kid, he most definitely will, he may not know how to communicate it to his parents. But this dog would be able to register what was happening without Sawyer even trying to tell him or her. I know very well how it feels, to have somebody care more about me than themselves, and I can only hope that my dog knows how much I love her. I love her like I love my mom and dad. I love her more than my life itself. I love her in a way I will never love anyone else. And this love is life saving. This love keeps me breathing. This love drives me safely through the hell that our world can cause. This love keeps my feet on the ground. This love is invincible, it would keep any kid, in any condition, a happy one, guaranteed. This love is better than any human love will ever be. This love is a love I will always chose before any other. This love, is a dog’s love.

This photo was taken by me in Moab, September of 2015.

Work Smart, Not Hard

“Work smart, not hard” is my dad’s favorite thing to say to me aside from “I’m going to be cleaning my guns when you bring a boy to this house.” Well I’ve been applying that quote of his (the first one) to my future. Working smart, career wise, would be getting a well paid job. But I have not yet found a job that brings money in with ease and would make me genuinely happy to do. I do know what job I want. I want to train and professionally compete horse. But the money that goes into that and the money that comes out, aren’t compatible.

So I will have to make a decision between worrying about the bills or not being completely satisfied all of the time. Or I could marry rich, but I can’t count on that. What I have come down to is that my job needs to have something to do with animals. Every one always says “Then be a vet” to that, but I don’t think that would necessarily be my ideal job either.


When is school going to teach me to balance my happiness and my success? When is school going to teach me anything significant to my life ahead? When is school going to stop asking me "What would be your ideal job?" and start telling me what different jobs are out there?

What I want most in life is to find and thrive in my happy place. But my happy place is too expensive for me to not have to stress about bills. And the second thing I want most in life, is to not stress about bills. The only way I am finding that I could possibly pull off both is if I found a well paying job, probably not animal included, and then train and compete in my free time. And still have time for a family and sleeping and eating.

Why does happiness seem so hard to find in this world? Why am I fourteen and already stressing about my adulthood?

Sorry for ranting but I feel the need to express what’s going through my head right now.

 Photo courtesy to Annika Amilie

What's Wrong With The World?

Though Earth is only one in an infinite amount of planets out there, it’s the only one we know of that can host the survival of creatures like ourselves. But people seem to think that the world is the same thing as the Earth and that the world is what is wrong with us.

world |wərld|
1 (usu. the world) the earth, together with all of its countries, peoples, and natural features: he was doing his bit to save the world.
(the world) all of the people, societies, and institutions on the earth: [ as modifier ] : world affairs.

“All of the people, societies, and institutions on the earth” the world is not what’s wrong with us, we are what’s wrong with the world. We our very selves, are the world. We are the world as we know it, living our day-to-day lives on the Earth. We are not the Earth, we are the things ruining the Earth. And in doing this, we are ruining the homestead of our world. So when it comes down to it, we are ruining, destroying, ourselves.

Now, I am not proposing a solution. I do not believe that there is a solution. For every star that there is in space, there is a solution to this problem. The most simple one would be to kill off every single human being on this planet, but that’s not the most self-satisfying one. The problem is, every single human on this planet would have to contribute in their own ways, and that is just not going to happen. I have absolutely no faith that that many people would care. Hell, I don’t even care enough to do something. I have ideas of things I could do, but I have no time to do them. Even if I did have time, I’m too lazy. This is the problem for most others in this topic too. I know I’m not alone. No matter how many commercials, seminars, ads on billboards, and etc. I see, I will probably never decide to actually go and make a change. I hate myself for it, but it’s true.

That right there is the problem with the world. The fact that we are too caught up in our own lives to even think twice about going out and cleaning up our societies. We are the problem. We are the heart and soul of our own disastrous world. We are the reasoning for the tears we cry. We are the reasoning for depression. We are the reason for suicide. We are the reason for rape. And what are we going to do about it? We are going to put our heads down and act like nothing has ever been any better.

Photo courtesy to: Athenaeum

The Plain Out, Uncultured Truth of Why School Sucks

Adults seem to have this twisted view of why exactly their kids complain 24/7 about school. “Oh, she just dislikes school because of the homework” or “He doesn’t like school because he’d rather be gaming than learning.” This is not the case for many of these students.

School is cringed upon not because it takes effort or because we have to do home work at night. Kids actually want to learn. They want to have something to do. They want to have something to get better at. School is shamed upon by them because of the way it is set up. The way it is scored. The way it is taught. The way it is shoved into our brains as hastily as a toddler pokes the buttons on a remote. School is hated for its standards.

Standards are set by highly educated, fully matured, adults. The problem? These standards are for kids, not adults. So take the standards crafted by highly educated, fully matured, adults and add these to parent standards. Do a sport, be smart, be successful, do your chores, go to bed at a decent time, and have a social life. And then add the sum of highly educated, fully matured, adult standards and parent standards to sport standards. Sport standards differ due to what sport the child pursues but by high school it’s typically this: two to five hours of your sport at least two to five times during the school week, do well in competitions, condition at home, get good grades in school or we’ll kick you out. Oh, and have fun! If that doesn’t seem hard to you then great! Because there’s one last thing that everyone seems to forget about. Ready for it? Us students have standards for ourselves. Wow! Who would have thought? We have goals? Yes, we all have goals. I have goals, ones that are just as important to me, if not more important, than school standards. WHAT?!
Nope, nope, nope.
That’s not allowed.

School is more important than the way I view myself.

School is more important than what I want for myself.

School is more important than my happiness.

School standards, the standards made by people I don't even know for me and the other 1.436 billion students in the world are more important than my self-standards.

Strangers are deciding the path of my life.

And that’s the plain out, uncultured truth. Strangers rule me. Strangers tell me what to do everyday. Strangers tell me to shut up, glue my eyes to a white board for eight hours, and complete what wasn’t finished in the previous eight hours at home. Strangers tell me to not care about what other people think. And then they tell me to care more about what they want for me than what I want for me.

This is what parents don't get to see. This is what we are told to obey. This is school.

Photo courtesy: Friendship Circle