“Chelsea are the champions of England for the first time since 2010. They have been the best team, Hazard has been the best player and Jose Mourinho has been the best manager” (the Guardian), “Jose Mourinho hailed his Chelsea players for their display in their Capital One Cup final victory over Tottenham” (Mirror). Chelsea won the Premier League in 2015, with a stacked team of superstars like Eden Hazard, Fabregas, John Terry and Diego Costa. In this solid season, only losing five games in all competitions, Jose Mourinho led the Blues to victory in England. I remember running around the house and jumping with joy, rubbing the accomplishment of 1st place in my brother’s face (who supports Arsenal). Everything seemed perfect at the moment, with Hazard winning PFA player of the year, and six players from Chelsea making the 11-player Team of the Year. What could ever go wrong with such a wonderful squad, passionate manager and unwavering confidence?
Details pertaining to the events and people within the following article have been altered to protect the identities of all those involved. We ask our readers to protect the privacy of the victim and all those mentioned by not contacting anyone presumed to be the victim or any other individual involved.
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It was the middle of eighth grade, I was fourteen and I thought I had everything figured out. Everything that I thought I knew was about to change though. I was always told I was pretty and I had had a few middle school boyfriends whom I had held hands with and even kissed. I had a sleepover with my friends which was just your usual girls talking about their peers and boys, who were not completely awful at that point. I loved my friends with that innocent kind of love you only have before you suffer from real heartbreak -- before they betray you. You see, my one friend had a brother who always seemed to have an interest in me that went beyond being an older brother figure in my life — but this isn't a love story.
Let’s lay it all out on the table right now. I am mildly bipolar, I know, it has such a negative ring to it. I also deal with an anxiety disorder to just top it all off. I watched my parents almost go through one of the messiest divorces ever and I was dragged right through it all and used as a weapon of mass destruction. Believe me, my parents are good people but, we were all in a time of weakness and sadness in our lives. Anyways, long story short: they ended up getting back together--la la la la, happy music plays--and we’re all fine. Well, in reality, it’s not perfect. Even to this day, if my parents don’t come home on time I still think they must have left me. This anxiety has been there my whole life. I can even remember as a child feeling nervous and on edge for no reason, but this event really brought it out. For about two years after the event if I heard a door open late at night I was sure that one of my parents was leaving me. After this event, I would get really sad for absolutely reason. I would cry and cry or I would be oddly irritable. My parents just thought it was my hormones changing but these feelings didn’t go away. Then, in a few days I was happy, on top of the freakin’ world. I began to believe that this was normal and that everyone must feel this way and that there was nothing wrong with me. The divorce happened in the 5th grade and for seven years after that, I lived a life of high mountains and short valleys.
I wasn’t flightless. I never had been. I’d been shattered by the remnants of a past that could haunt, but my wings had not been torn or tattered by the testament of time.
I wasn’t cautious. I never had been. I’d tasted the richness of the saline ocean and skated through the gravel of a man made storm.
I wasn’t preposterous. I never had been. I’d danced along the bounds of the unthinkable and found my way from the fallen a thousand times a day before I woke.
I wasn’t worried. I never had been. I’d leapt across the caverns of fear in the years long before and did not foresee a time when I would again lack ease in my own endeavors.
It took me years to come to terms with the person I am today. It took me months to find the courage after finding myself to tell my family. It took me weeks after I returned to school to tell my closest friends. It took me hours to find the words and to rehearse how I would say them. It took minutes for me to approach my friend to tell her. It took me seconds to say, “I’m gay.”
I was sixteen when I first started seeing him. Only sixteen, and as fragile as a flower not yet blossomed.
I’d dated before, this was the truth. I’d survived my fair share of arrogant pigs or tyrannical jocks, and I’d learned in my sixteen years how to recognize the signs of someone who you thought would be destined to hurt you in whatever way they saw fit. I think that this is why I didn’t run from you.
You were different. You liked to read to me over our four hour Skype calls or watch movies with me in the quiet of the three a.m mist. You opened up without asking, telling me that you trusted me with all that you had, all that you wanted, and all that you were going to be. So, as any sixteen year old girl would, I fell for the pretty words that you whispered in my ears. I fell for the way your eyes widened when you smiled, or how you found everything that I did fascinating, beautiful.
Last night, a commenter took some time out of his/her day in order to bring some attention to a few things on Socialism: An Explanation. As the editor-in-chief and overall founder of this website/blog, I would like to make an official apology because this commenter did bring up many good points, especially the fact that as people aspiring to make a difference in the world, we need to consider counterclaims and other stances, just as many of us learned to do in Theory of Knowledge. Our fact-checking definitely could improve - in fact, in will. Our articles from this point forward will go through three different checks rather than just one before they are posted if they have to do with political issues.
I have lied about receiving therapy for the last five years of my life and so few people know what I deal with on a daily basis. Of course that seems silly, why would I lie about such a crucial aspect of my life? The reason has quite a bit to do with the stigma surrounding mental illnesses, especially depression. It took me two years after my first suicide attempt to open up to anyone for fear of being ridiculed. I felt like I had failed my family and my friends because I had given up on myself. Society has always portrayed suicide as a cowardly escape from the real world. Don’t believe this. Suicide is never the answer, but just because you long for death doesn’t mean you’re weak. Nor does the contemplation of suicide indicate a cry for attention. These are some of the things I have learned about dealing with mental health:
The Twitter account “Meninist” is very toxic to our young society which is often heavily influenced by social media. This account perpetuates a false meaning of feminism and alters what it truly stands for. These “meninists” make feminism seem as if it is a group of crazy women who hate men. Yes, there are crazy, radical “feminazis” and “neo-feminists”, but they do not embody what feminism really is. The radical things they do bring attention to the concept of feminism and many interpret what they see as its real meaning.
First of all, let me tell you about my cat. She's the take no one's crap type, the my way or the highway, the my voice will be heard, opinionated cat. She'll rip you to shreds if you try and take her favorite blanket and heaven help you if you switch her brand of food, but when she is at the vet, something changes about her. She goes limp, she won't make a sound. She's just defenseless dead weight, a completely different animal. Something about that environment completely deactivates who she fundamentally is.
Now me, I'm outspoken. I can't stay quiet when I witness injustices. I cannot let someone's humanity be questioned or threatened before me. I just can't do it. Like my cat, I know what is right for me and I know to be a self advocate... Little did I know even I could be silenced.