Walk In The Rain With Me

How Very Far I've Come

Thursday, March 26, 2015

It really hit me this past week that 1. I'm sixteen years old, and 2. I'm a junior in high-school, which means that 3. I'll be graduating next year.

Just let that sink in a little bit...

I'm. Graduating.

Next. Year.

When you start your first, official year of high-school, four years seems like such a long time to wait. When you look at those four years ahead of you, they could just as easily be an eternity.

But then you just keep plodding along, day after day, week after week, and suddenly you look up and realize- What the heck!? I've only got one year left!!!- and that's what I did this week. I looked up and realized how very close I am to the end. I'm closing in on the last lap of the race.

When I start looking forward at how quickly my childhood is coming to an end, I inevitably begin to look back at the person I used to be. When I look back, I realize just how much I have changed. I realize that the person I am now is completely different from the person I was even just a year ago.

Looking at old pictures of myself makes it particularly obvious just how much I have changed.

The picture above is from 2009, when I was just ten years old. It's hard to believe that little girl was ever me. So adorable, so sweet. This was the year she got her first taste of how difficult life could be, but she still has so much laughter inside of her. A laughter I work hard to hold onto.

Here I am at my 11th birthday. This little girl has never had to relearn how to smile for a camera. She still hasn't realized that not everyone thinks the way she does. It's never occurred to her to care what other people think about her.

This picture shows a twelve year-old girl who has started to see beyond the bubble of herself. And once she did, there was no turning back. If only I could show her a little of what I have learned. If only I could remind her that- no matter what she thinks- she's not broken. If only I could show her that it's alright to not get it.

Thank you to Jennifer DiFranco for taking this beautiful picture of me! Visit her website HERE.

This one was taken in the fall of 2012. Approximately six months later, I would experience the first symptoms of an illness I am still living with.

The thirteen year-old in this photo knows nothing of the struggles she is about to face, but she does know what it means to struggle. She has seen loss, and suffered heartache. She has felt grief and guilt, and didn't really know how to deal with either of them.

Physically, she is strong in ways that I no longer am. And yet, because of what I've been through, and because of the very things that have made me "weak", I have a strength that little girl does not yet know.

This is one of the few, good pictures taken of me while I was 14, because the year it was taken- 2013- is the year everything changed. First, we thought it was a stomach bug. But then it never went away. That 14 year-old girl got weaker, lost weight, and felt as if everything she'd held so dear was being taken away from her. The answers she got only seemed to lead to more questions.

2014 was a difficult year, too. The fifteen year-old girl in this picture is leaning on a shopping cart because she couldn't walk through the store on her own. The fact that she is still smiling absolutely amazes me.

But this fifteen year-old also learned so much. She learned how to live with a new normal. She discovered she loved photography. She re-found her passion for writing. She started learning how to smile for the camera again.

And this is me... With all of my strengths and weaknesses, because of everything I've lived through and all things I've learned...

This is who I am.

I can say with absolute honesty that I am grateful for all of the things I've been through if only because they've made me the person I am now. I know it's cheesy and cliche, but I wouldn't say it if it weren't true.

I love who I have become. I love my weirdness and my nerdy tendencies. I love that I have come to accept my differences as assets instead of becoming frustrated with myself for being "broken."

Am I perfect? No. Are there still things about myself that I don't like? Yes.

But you know what?

I think I'm finally OK with that...

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What makes you most nostalgic? Share your thoughts with us in the comment section below, over at my Facebook page, or email me at anastasiarosewrites[@]gmail[.]com!

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101 Things: Counting Down

I've been continuing work on my paper cranes, as usual, but I also checked off "Get a facial" (#90), and wrote a letter to 26 year-old me (#75).

life

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Tuesday, March 17, 2015

life

A Window to My Soul

Thursday, March 12, 2015

The camera is an incredible thing...

I was left once again pondering the beauty of photography last week after an impromptu photo-shoot with my eight year-old brother.

I love these spur of the moment photo-shoots with my siblings, because they're so very raw. They're never posed, they're certainly not perfect, and sometimes they're a little bit messy... But they're real. They're open, honest, transparent, and so very beautiful.

Now, it all started out like any other "photo-shoot." I was trying my best to keep up with a very active eight year-old, and he was scurrying about in the snow talking a mile a minute about this, that, and the other.

This is usually what happens when I take pictures of my siblings- they ramble on while I listen and snap as many pictures as I can.

Sometimes I manage to catch a genuine smile...

...But most of the pictures look a bit more like ^this one!

So, we were just playing around in the snow together when I suddenly had the idea to offer my little brother the chance to have the camera. He's seemed interested in it on the few occasions when he slowed down long enough, and I was interested to see if he would get any usable pictures.

I think he only took about four or five before he got bored, but when I got inside and started looking at what he'd taken, I was struck by the fact that these pictures of me really were beautiful.

I am beautiful.

I truthfully do not have many body-image issues. I don't think I'm ugly or fat or whatever, but I also don't often think of myself as truly beautiful.

My little brother does, though. To him, I am beautiful. Not average. Not ordinary.

Beautiful.

As I looked at those four, beautiful pictures he'd taken, I was reminded why I first fell in love with photography. I fell in love with photography because of its ability to become a window into the soul of the photographer.

When I saw myself through his eyes, I was reminded how much I want other people to see themselves through my eyes. I want to show other people how beautiful I think they are.

It's interesting (though I suppose not very strange) that the hobbies I am most drawn to in life- writing and photography- intrigue me because of their ability to allow me to show other people what's going on inside my head.

I have a very difficult time actually relating to people very well. I'm not sure why, but it's very hard for me to talk to people and tell them what I'm thinking or feeling. I tend to feel like the alien in most social situations- the outsider who doesn't really know what's going on or why.

As a result, I don't end up connecting with very many people. I have a few close friends, but I don't get the impression that most people I "know" actually know me.

And I realize that a large part of this is my fault. It's my fault that I distance myself from people who want to get to know me. It's my fault that I can't get myself to ever fully trust anyone. It's my fault I'm afraid to open up.

But when I get behind a camera or start throwing my thoughts onto a piece of paper... that's when I'm finally free. That's when I'm able to get my thoughts outside my head. That's when I'm at home with myself. That's when people finally understand me.

Cameras and pens are my key to showing people that there really is something interesting going on inside this head of mine.

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What is your key to connecting with people? Is it easy for you to relate to people, or is this something you struggle with? Share your thoughts with us in the comment section below, over at my Facebook page, or email me at anastasiarosewrites[@]gmail[.]com.

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101 Things: Counting Down

I'm still working on my paper cranes, but I've also written a letter to myself (#75), and listened to classical, new age, jazz, and world music (#41)!

humor

An Open Letter to the Doctor Who Did Not Understand

Thursday, February 26, 2015

An Open Letter to the Doctor Who Did Not Understand

Dear Doctor X:

I am going to assume that you remember who I am, but just in case, allow me to refresh your memory a little. I am that girl you saw a few weeks ago: the one who didn't make any sense. I am that homeschooler who's graduating a year early. I am that patient whose blood-work looked fine and yet could hardly walk on her own. I am that girl who has an obscure chronic illness that you really don't know much about.

Yes- that was me.

I am writing this letter today not just for myself, but on behalf of so many other people who are misunderstood. On behalf of all the homeschoolers, and the EDSers, and anyone living with some kind of chronic illness.

Because you, sir, made a few mistakes during the course of my office visit, and I feel that it's important these things be pointed out for future reference.

First, I would like to direct your attention towards my chosen method of schooling. I am, as you will remember, a 15 year-old, homeschooling junior in high-school. I am graduating a year ahead of most kids my age, and am planning (at least for the moment) to "go off" to college almost immediately after finishing high-school.

When you found out about this, I could tell you were puzzled, and I believe you jumped to some very wrong conclusions. From the confused expression on your face and the defensive tone in your voice as you asked me why I was "in such a hurry", I believe you may have thought that I was, perhaps, trying to get away from some troubling environment at home.

While I freely admit that our home is not perfect (whose is, after all?!), this "lack of perfection" is definitely not the motivation behind my graduating early, or my current decision to go off to college so soon. I first began homeschooling because my older sister had been homeschooled from the start due to her personality. I never had any problem with being homeschooled, and absolutely do not regret my mom's decision to do so.

One of my favorite things about being homeschooled is the flexibility in pacing. From the very beginning, my mom has made it clear to me that if I am comfortable with and enjoy a particular subject, I am free to work through it as quickly as I wish. Because school has always come easily to me (and actually been something I enjoy!), I worked through my pre-school/kindergarten program quite quickly, and by the time I got to first grade, I was actually at a second to third-grade level for most of my work. I don't say this to brag, but simply because it's the truth.

Because I was ahead and not in a public school system, I wasn't confined by my age. Since the first-grade work bored me, I moved up into second and third-grade classes. And because I had already learned all of the second to third grade classes by the time I was actually the appropriate age, I simply moved up to the third and fourth-grade classes.

And so on and so forth... I remained a school year ahead of most of my "peers", and here I am- a fifteen year-old junior in high-school.

Now that we've got the whole "homeschooling issue" out of the way (although I don't see why it should have been an "issue" in the first place), let's move on to the more important issues I want/need to bring up.

When we started talking to you about the health problems I was having, I began to get the impression that you simply do not know how to deal with patients like me.

I was, as you should know from both my medical file and our personal conversation, diagnosed with two chronic illnesses in the past 18-24 months. Both are known to cause severe fatigue and chronic pain, and despite not being traditionally "serious" (I'm not likely to die in the next few years because of them), they both dramatically alter life as we know it.

After getting sick, I was forced to reevaluate and readjust my life to accommodate this new "house guest." As much as I wanted to just go on with my life as I always had, my illness wouldn't let me. I could no longer be as active as I used to be, because overexerting myself would leave me hardly able to get out of bed the next day. I couldn't be spontaneous because every little thing had to be planned around my medication schedule, my hydration needs, and my decreased energy levels.

When I mentioned the fact that I hadn't yet gotten out of bed at 1 o'clock in the afternoon, you (trying to be funny) said, "What, were you lying in bed eating grapes?" To someone who longs to be crazy active again, this stung me in ways that very few things can.

No, I was not lying in bed being lazy just for the heck of it. I was busy doing my school-work, and the reason I hadn't gotten out of bed yet was because I knew I had to be somewhere later so I was trying to conserve my energy.

That's another thing about my illness- it has forced me to know, recognize, and actually pay attention to my limits. I used to be that kid who did everything. I was constantly rehearsing or learning lines for my next play. I was in dance class for hours every week, and watched my siblings in my spare time, all while keeping my grades up and attempting to learn the writing trade.

Dr. X, I was that kid. I was the "teacher's pet." I was that kid who never complained when she had to work hard in class. I was that kid who pushed through sprained ankles and torn muscles. I was that girl who had to be forcibly kept from dancing while recovering from an appendectomy.

Do you realize how much humility it takes to admit that you're not strong anymore?

Well let me tell you... It's a lot more difficult than you seem to believe.

It's not some walk in the park, and I certainly don't enjoy being forced into the role of "sick girl", "tired girl", or "girl who isn't allowed to do anything." I certainly don't enjoy feeling like I'm constantly recovering from the flu, or being banned from the jobs that involve going up and down stairs. I certainly don't enjoy having everyone know that I'm not allowed to do any heavy-lifting. I certainly don't like fainting in front of my friends.

Do you really think, then, that I want uninformed doctors to insinuate I'm being lazy? You looked at my blood-work and my "brisk reflexes" and you knew I wasn't in immediate danger. You knew I wasn't dying, and you couldn't figure out how I could possibly be "so sick."

Please do not take this the wrong way, Dr. X... Do not mistake my snarky tone as anger towards you. I'm not mad at you. I am mad at our society for being a place that encourages thinking which leads to responses like yours. I am mad at the medical field for neglecting to educate doctors about the true affect chronic illness has on the person and not just the body.

You see, I understand that you don't "get it." I know that you don't know what it means to be sick but not dying.

And really, you don't need to.

But just trust me when I say that we're trying every bit as hard as you are...

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If you could write a letter to anyone, who would it be, and what would you say? Be sure to let us know in the comment section below, over at my Facebook page, or email it to us at anastasiarosewrites[@]gmail[.]com!

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101 Things- Counting Down

I have started making a time capsule [#16) with my best friend, and we'll hopefully get it finished this weekend! Also, still hard at work on my cranes. I'm 1/10th of the way there!

books

Reading: The Beauty of the In-Between

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Today, I want to talk about books.

I am a reader, and one aspect of finding joy in books (at least for me!) is rereading the ones that I love.

Some of my "non-reader" friends simply do not understand why I would want to read the same thing more than once, and I don't understand why they wouldn't.

I've spent a fair amount of time trying to understand where they're coming from. How do I find something so inherently beautiful about reading that they do not see? What am I doing that they are not?

Because it seems to me that there must be something to this beyond personal preference. There are so many genres of books, so many writers, so many writing styles that one would think there would be something out there for everyone.

It's possible that my "non-reader" friends just haven't found their niche, yet, and for some, I think that's probably true.

But there's something else I've noticed... There seem to be a few fundamental differences in the way I and my "non-reader" friends approach reading.

From talking extensively with these "non-reader" friends, it seems to be that many of them approach reading as the means to an end. They read to see the end of a story. They read to pass their English class. They read to make someone else happy.

And while I'm not sure I would say there is anything inherently wrong with this, I do think that much of the joy I find in reading is lost when you read only as a means to an end.

If you read with your eyes too focused on where you hope to be, you miss out on how you got there.

Because while the beginning and the end of a story are always what we remember best, it's the middle that makes both of them worth it.

It's like a road trip... The people who hate road trips are the people who only see how long it takes to get to your destination. The people who love road trips are the people who want to see the in-between.

It seems to me that many of the people who don't like reading never had someone to show them how beautiful the in-between can be...

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What do you think is the reason some people love reading and others do not? Let us know in the comment section below, over at my Facebook page, or email it to me at anastasiarosewrites[@]gmail[.]com!

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101 Things- Counting Down

I'm still hard at work on my cranes... I've also started on the letter to my hero (#82), and hope to check that off pretty quickly.

life

The Moments When It All Hits Home

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

There are those moments where everything you've been fighting for

Finally hits home...

In order to truly grasp the crux of this blog post, there are two things you need to know.

First off, you need to know that in 2013, I raised $1,000 to fund the building of a well (as in, a thing containing water) in Asia. It was an incredible experience for me, and you can read more about it here, here, and here.

Secondly, you need to know that I am a nerd. A nerd who really, really likes to watch videos by the vlogbrothers. Some of you may know of them. Some of you may know them better as John Green (author of The Fault in Our Stars and other YA novels) and John Green's brother (whose name happens to be Hank).

At the end of last year, I made it my goal to watch every single vlogbrothers video ever made. Since they first began making vlogging in 2007, this is 8 years worth of video footage!!! (I'm currently in the 2011... Only four years left!)

Yesterday, I came upon a video in which Hank Green (that's John Green's brother, remember!) shared some footage from his trip to Haiti with the people at Water.org. He was visiting the location of a future Water.org well that was going to be built, and while he was in the village, he went with some of the people to the actual place they drew their water from.

Looking at their "spring" and hearing his reaction to seeing it in person, I was absolutely struck dumb in awe. Their drinking water came from nothing more than a glorified, muddy puddle.

While I was still raising money for "my well," I (quite obviously) talked a lot about what exactly I was raising money for. During those talks, I always made a special point to mention the fact that these people walk several miles every day to draw water from muddy, dirty, contaminated water sources, but this was the very first time I ever really "saw for myself" what it might actually look like.

And as I watched someone from a very similar walk of life as I am coming from (a white, middle-class American) experience for himself the reality of these people's lives, everything really just hit home for me...

This is what I was fighting so hard to change.

I think it's just so incredible that his experience four years ago helped me continue learning about my experience from one year ago... How amazing is that?!

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What was one moment for you where something really hit home? Tell us your story in the comment section below, over at my Facebook page, or you can even email it to me at anastasiarosewrites[@]gmail[.]com!

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101 Things- Counting Down

I am still hard at work on my cranes, and I'm also hoping to write a letter to one of my heroes (#82) very soon!

fear

The Hardest Words to Write...

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

I've said it before, but I have to say it again- the words that are the hardest to write are often the ones that most needed to be written.

Last Thursday, I wrote about the fact that living with an invisible illness is like being a superhero.

It was a difficult post to write, and I sat there working off and on for several hours- writing, deleting, rewriting again- before I finally decided it was finished and ready to be published. In all honesty, I wasn't entirely sure I would finish it that day.

Some moments it would seem as though the words poured out of my head and jumped onto the screen. Other moments, it felt like I had to pry them out of my brain with a crowbar.

This topic is so deeply personal for me- and for many other people, as well!- that it was important for me to get it right.

When I had finally decided I was done, I took a few moments (as I always do) to look over the finished product. As I read back through the words I'd written, I knew that this was a good thing. I knew it was something that needed to be published.

But even though I liked what I'd written, there was a certain amount of doubt.

So often it seems that words from someone as quiet as myself have a tendency to get lost in the noise. Was this just going to get lost, too? Drowned out by all of the other voices that are part of the fray? And is it really worth the effort if that was their fate?

But in the end, I just decided that no matter how few people ended up reading my words, it was worth it. It was worth putting myself out there and making myself vulnerable. It was worth allowing other people inside those carefully constructed walls I build around my private life.

So I did it. I pushed the button.

After it was published, I didn't give much thought to it. I shared my blog post in a few places where I knew it could be beneficial (Facebook pages, Pinterest boards etc.) so that people could find it, but after that, I just sort of moved on.

The next morning, I got on my computer to do some schoolwork. For a while, I had almost completely forgotten about the blog post I had written the day before. It wasn't until late afternoon that I thought about checking to see if anyone had read it.

So you can imagine my surprise when I saw that it had gotten over 100 views! In my world, this is tantamount to going viral.

It had resonated with and touched so many people in such a short amount of time. It made people laugh, and it made people smile. It brought attention to something very close to me.

And interestingly enough, this isn't the first time something like that has happened. It seems that the words I find the hardest to write and publish are the words that end up meaning the most.

I think it's like that a lot in life. The words we find hardest to say and the things we find hardest to do God uses to accomplish great things.

Sometimes we just have to get out of the way and let Him move.

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Has there ever been a time when you were scared to do something, and it ended up meaning more than you ever imagined? Tell us your story in the comment section below, over at my Facebook page, or you can even email it to me at anastasiarosewrites[@]gmail[.]com.

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101 Things: Counting Down

Just look at all of those paper cranes!

anxiety

Because I'm a Superhero

Thursday, February 05, 2015

My body is verifiably insane... It perceives normal, everyday circumstances as a life-or-death situation and responds accordingly. It creates problems for itself that mystify even the most skilled of doctors.

It's been a while since I wrote about being sick. It's not really that I've been avoiding the topic. It's just that I've been... trying to move on.

You see, I want a life that doesn't revolve around illness. There is so much I want to do, see, and accomplish, and it's my belief that I could do all of that without being sick. But that's not an option for me- as much as I would like it to be.

So every day, I go about my life and pretend. I pretend to be alright. I pretend that I'm not mentally and physically exhausted. I pretend that I feel like being out of the house. I pretend I'm not struggling just to stay on my feet.

In the end, one can only conclude that

I must be a superhero.

You see, when Bruce Wayne goes to the grocery store (what a joke, right?!), they might know he's a millionaire. They might have seen him on TV. But they have no idea he's a superhero.

Or when Clark Kent stops to buy gas, they might know he's a reporter. They might recognize his face from the newspaper. But they have no idea he's a superhero.

Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker...

No one knew.

My body fights so hard, one can only conclude that

I am a superhero.

I hide my powers so well, one can only conclude that

I am a superhero.

The world is full of superheroes. Full of Bruce Waynes and Peter Parkers who believe that the only way they can save people is by wearing a mask.

"Society tells you your only power is your invisibility. Tells you that they would save you if only they could see you, but of course they cannot see you. Of course they will not save you, no matter how bright you sew your cape. Invisibility is not a superpower, it is the best weapon of a broken system desperate to make their streets look clean."

So to all of the superheroes out there who still have a secret identity- you're not the only one. To all of the superheroes out there who believe no one will understand- it's alright to take off the mask.

Not everyone will understand... but there are still some who will.

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What's your superpower? Leave your thouhgts in the coment section below, over at my Facebook page, or email it to me at anastasiarosewrites[@]gmail[.]com.

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101 Things: Counting Down

I made this.

life

To Write or Not To Write

Tuesday, February 03, 2015

I feel like I've been very quiet...

For the past week or two, the words have just not been coming easily. I sit down to write something, and end up staring at an empty screen hoping that something good will come to me. On days like this where I cannot seem to find any words to say, I am left with a dilemma-

Do I force myself to write, or do I let it be?

It seems there are arguments for both sides, and they both make quite a lot of sense, to me.

On the one hand, you have people who say that you should write whether you feel like it or not. They say that when the words aren't coming, you should chase after them with threats of murder until they finally have no choice but to obey. (My words, not theirs.) As E. B. White supposedly said,

"A writer who waits for the ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting word to paper."

And then there are people who say that good writing shouldn't be forced. If you have to scramble to find something to say, then it's better to just be quiet than to add sub-par words to the noise. There is a quote attributed to Charles Bukowski that says,

"If [writing] doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it. [...] If you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don't do it."

So today I sat there in front of my non-existent blog post and wondered... do I really have anything to say?

And then I realized... of course I do!

The problem is not that I have nothing to say. The problem is that I hadn't yet figured out how to say it. And how will I ever find the right words to say what I want if I don't allow myself the opportunity to find any words at all?

So no matter how badly this turns out, I am going to write it anyways. No matter how much I will end up changing in the end, I am going to write it anyways. You can edit all of the "not-right" words that you need to, but the only way you can edit an empty page is by filling it up.

So to all of you bloggers, novelists, and poets out there who cannot find the right words-

Keep trying.

You'll find them one day...

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What do you do when creativity isn't flowing? Let us know in the comment section below, over at my Facebook page, or email your thoughts to me at anastasiarosewrites[@]gmail[.]com

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101 Things: Counting Down

I have origami paper!!!!!

Soundtrack of My Life

How Very Far I've Come

...

A Window to My Soul

An Open Letter to the Doctor Who Did Not Understand

Reading: The Beauty of the In-Between

The Moments When It All Hits Home

The Hardest Words to Write...

Because I'm a Superhero

To Write or Not To Write

About Me

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