Why Getting Help Is So Hard

by J.A. Anderson | September 7th, 2017

Recently, I came forward and explained my anxiety to my mom. I’m getting help now, which is good.

But it’s so hard.

First of all, the guilt. It’s ridiculous. My anxiety makes me guilty about having anxiety. I feel as if suddenly I’ve made everything about me. I’m selfish, it’s just an excuse for attention, etc. And all of these are so untrue. But it happens anyways.

It causes more anxiety. Suddenly, I have to talk to doctors about it. I have to explain to my teachers, face to face, that my anxiety gets so bad, I have to leave the room. I have to journal down what’s happening to explain it in the future. It’s a lot to do, but it’s important. But to me, it’s more on my to-do list, adding to my anxiety.

And it’s a little embarrassing. It isn’t my fault I have anxiety. It isn’t anyone’s fault. But as I try to tell myself to breathe, it’s just math class, there isn’t anything that could possibly go wrong here, I feel stupid. I know my anxiety is irrational, but I can’t always stop it. Now I have to talk to doctors, teachers, counselors because my brain believes sitting in class or raising my hand to talk requires a fight-or-flight response.

All I’m saying is, get help no matter how hard it is. You’re worth it and you owe it to yourself to get better. It might be harder, but it’s a lot harder to suffer in silence.

short poems

Beautiful and Broken

by J. A. Anderson 

The most

Beautiful art

Comes from the

Most broken

Minds

 

Stories Never Die

by J. A. Anderson

The smell of

Pages aged by

Time

The binding

Broken by

A hundred hands

The title

Almost unreadable now

So faded,

But not gone

And yet the

Stories never

Die

 
Dad’s Shoes

by J. A. Anderson

when i was little

i used to wear

dad’s shoes

and stomp around all day

but Now

I only stare at his

Military boots

And cry over the

Only thing

Left of him

 

 

More Poetry at “always anxious, sometimes brave.” and “A Handful of Roses.”

anxiety.

Anxiety

by J. A. Anderson

They are watching me

Even if you say they aren’t, they are

I feel their stares

Can hear their comments about me

Whispered harshly under their breath

The eyes of them stalk me

Even if i am alone

I can’t breathe unless I tell myself to

My stomach always acts as if I’m about to lose everything in it

Where are the exits?
Where is the bathroom?

Where, where, where?
This room is too small

Too dark

My mind is too small

Too dark

My thoughts don’t stop

They just

Go. Go. Go.

I’m drowning inside

Though I’m dry

I’m dying when I am most alive

I can see everything in color

But why does it seem so black and white?

Nightmares haunt my waking days

Where are the exits?

Why are they staring?

When can my thoughts

Just

stop.

 

falling down isn’t failing. not getting up is.

written by J. A. Anderson | July 25th, 2017

We’ve all been there. That awful moment when you’ve worked so hard just to find out that…you failed.

Thomas Edison once said, “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways it will not work.”

So, let’s talk about failure.

Failure is defined as “lack of success.” What is a success? Well, success is reaching a goal or achieving something you’ve aimed for. We’ve all been there. You work so hard on one project, one idea, only to find out your hard work didn’t pay off.

We’ve all been there. You work so hard on one project, one idea, only to find out your hard work didn’t pay off.

Or did it?

Back in elementary school, I was part of a program called Oddessy of the Mind. You would work for months with a group of other kids on a skit. You would write the script, make the props, act, sing, dance. Everything. We would work for months on a six-minute skit, preparing for the finals.

We went in, pumped up on adrenaline and excitement, knowing that we had to win. We had done so well. The judges came around and read off the winners only to find out that we did not win.

It was the worst feeling. My heart dropped into my stomach. My eyes started to burn, a lump formed in my throat. I told myself that I still did great, but it didn’t feel like that anymore. I failed. All that hard work down the drain. It felt like it was all for naught.

But it wasn’t.

We may not have won (we did win bronze two years in a row, making it to State the next years) but we learned so much. I learned how to write scripts, how to problem solve, how to be a leader. We learned how to compromise, how to work hard. So to the other teams, we may have failed.

But to me, we won.

If you ever get down because you failed, take a step back. Failure is another word for learned. Just because one way doesn’t work, that doesn’t mean you have to stop. Get back up. Brush yourself off. Look at what you did, and find a better way to do it. Redefine your success. You did not fail.

You learned.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” -Winston Churchill.

“Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly.” -Robert F. Kennedy.

“Failures are finger posts on the road to achievement.” – C.S. Lewis

 

 

Boys Will Be Boys

Boys Will Be Boys

by J. A. Anderson

 

i’m in third grade

a boy pushed my to the ground

and sat on top of me

he didn’t move until i made him

no one tried to help

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in fourth grade

a boy threatened me with

chunks of concrete from the black top

no one stopped him from

throwing them at me

i had to defend myself

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in the fifth grade

a gang of boys chased me

grabbed me

pulled on my hair

held onto my arms tightly

they didn’t let go until i got free

no one yelled at them

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in sixth grade

and i sit with my legs open

it’s comfortable and

a boy sits the same way

i’m told to sit like a lady, with my legs closed

no one told him to sit with his legs closed

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in the seventh grade

a boy made a sexual joke

about me

no one told him to stop

i didn’t make him stop

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in the eighth grade

a boy called me a bitch

no told him to shut his mouth

he didn’t apologize

and i didn’t make him

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in the ninth grade

a boy smacked me across the face

i hit him back

no one told him not to hit

he still thinks it was okay

Boys Will Be Boys

Held Responsible For Their Actions.

Just. Like. Girls.

Fashion is Heart Vol. 2

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I say I’m learning how to love myself because it’s a process, one that will never end. Bodies change. Weight fluctuates, especially if you hate running in cold weather like I do. We age and wrinkle. We can’t always afford the luxury of buying attire we love. We might not have the time to do our nails regularly or put on mascara in the morning. But I love myself, and hopefully you do too, through all of it. Hopefully what I’m wearing isn’t as beautiful as the way I smile and greet others. Hopefully I’m a positive role model for others, someone people want around, because I’m kind and smart and adventurous. Hopefully the me I have to offer is a whole lot more than what I look like. But, it is nice to take some photos in clothes I love once in a while.

Do you live in Michigan or somewhere that I could travel to by car? Let’s do a photo shoot! Let’s talk about non-traditional beauty standards and drink chai tea and smile. Live too far? Send your photos to hyypeonline [at] gmail [dot] com to be featured on Hyype.

Love, as always,
Kelsey May & Jamie


On the model: “Free Your Mind” t-shirt is a Plato’s Closet find, men’s section, size Small.
White chalkboard-style text on black t-shirt is also a Plato’s Closet find, women’s section, size Medium.
Blue scarf is from Goodwill.
Blue anti-Line 5 t-shirt is custom made from Woosah Outfitters.
Bracelet & orange beaded earring from Women At Risk Boutique (check them out FOR SURE, because patronizing an organization that employs / supports previously trafficked women is the best reason to treat yourself to new jewelry and apparel).
Nail polish is from Ella + Mila, a vegan make up and nail polish company.
Shark ring is from Etsy authfashion (one size fits most) and is still in great condition after over a year of owning it.


Model: Kelsey May

Photographer: Jamie Anderson

Changed Me.

A short story by J. A. Anderson

 

That’s all it was. A window. With two sun-bleached drapes hanging limply on the sides, a small crack in the corner, chipped paint covering the wood around it.

And yet, it shaped my life.

My sister jumped out of the window a few years ago. Maybe it changed me for the better. Maybe for the worse. All I know is that it changed me.

I have stared out of this window at the city streets below, watching cars slosh on by during thunderstorms while rain splattered the glass. I watched the sun dip below the buildings and then watched as a few orange slivers disappeared beneath the horizon. Maybe that changed me, too.

One day, I saw him outside the window. He looked up while I looked down and he smiled a small, crooked smile. I scratched my number on a paper airplane. I wish I could say we met and fell in love, but that was a fantasy.

The airplane fell into the puddle he had been standing in. He had walked away and never looked back. The crooked smile was misread, the squint in his eyes not disbelieving my beauty. I was not as radiant as the sun or as mysterious as the moon.

And maybe that changed me, too.

I guess I’ll never know. Life throws little things at us. And big things. All that change us, for better, for worse. For whatever reason. And I guess I’m happy that something changed me.

If you are changed, you cannot go back to the same person you were.

Maybe that’s better.

Maybe that’s worse.

 

I hoped you enjoyed this little short story. It is completely made up. Want to read more? My Wattpad account is linked here!

Thanks for reading!

I cut off twelve inches of my hair. The Art Form of Self-Expression.

My hair was over a foot long. So for my birthday, on July 13, I decided to have it cut.

All together, they cut off about four feet of hair which I plan on donating to a program called Wigs For Kids (linked below.) I’ve donated my hair three times now and will continue to do so as long as my hair grows.

My hair now hangs a little longer than chin-length and I’ve never felt so confident and empowered from a haircut. Maybe it’s the wave in it. Maybe the length. Maybe because it makes me look a little older. But I feel ready to take on the world.

I also like feeling a little rebellious. My hair is short and dyed a blue-green color, which is not very “feminine.” Girls are supposed to have long, natural hair, right? Nowadays, it has become more normal for people to have different haircuts. Pixie cuts, shaved heads, long hair and everything in between. But still, it’s fun to be a little rebellious now and then.

And then I dyed it blue with real hair dye. Not Kool-Aid, which I have also done. I love it so much. Not just because it looks cool or because it’s fun, but because it’s self-expression. Everything you do is an art form, it’s self-expression. Have fun with it!

Speaking of self-expression, I really do think it’s an art form. How you dress, how you do your makeup or if you choose not to. How you act. The things you love. The way your hair is styled. It’s art 1. I think it’s so beautiful that people like to present themselves in different ways that they think is beautiful to them.

If you are looking for some sort of change, get a fun haircut. It’s empowering and fun. It makes you feel good.

Do you have a lot of hair? You should try donating. Wigs For Kids is linked here.

Is your hair dyed? Do you have a cool haircut or just got one? Let us know in the comments!!!

art1
ärt/
noun
  1. 1.
    the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.