Author’s Note:

I want to thank all my readers for their undying support. Without you, there would be no poetry. This essay is a deeply interpersonal analysis of grieving a friend group that sought to hurt me.

I remember telling my friend and college essay tutor, Stacey Lichter, about this event, and her empathy and kindness helped console the confusion I was drowning in. She heard the pain in my voice, which led to her encouragement to put a pen in my hand to write an informative essay on the severity of being bullied as an adult. I dedicate so much of this to you, Stacey, for if it wasn’t for our Zoom calls, editing sessions, and emotional support, I wouldn’t have been able to find my new, powerful, and empathic voice.

PLEASE inquire with Stacey Lichter for your future college essay applications!

Stacey Lichter: https://stepbystepessay.com/

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The Graduation Dinner

Written By Julia Katherine Moyer Posz (Julia Poet)

I was raised with the moral that by separating myself from bullies, I would not be bullied.
My parents taught me that removing myself from a group of false friends that purposely slander my name for fun would lead to peace. What my parents couldn’t foresee or warn me about were the bullies that appear in your late twenties- who are bored, seething with envy, desperate for attention – vile, vindictive, manipulative, hypocritical, and pathetic. The type who are more than willing to prove the lengths they will go to cause harm. The type who know precisely what they’re doing to their “friend” because jealousy and shit talking have rotted every membrane and synapse in their heads. Those who chose to develop a mean girl mentality are the same forsaken fools who joked and then obsessed over how to “ruin” a milestone celebration that had nothing to do with them. Some nearly 30-year-old women take pleasure in belittling and emotionally tormenting others. It’s the only way to flush dopamine into their convoluted craniums.

A toxic friend group I had long since separated myself from showed up uninvited to a significant (private) milestone event. I survived a premeditated ambush so outrageous that it’s comparable to a clinically severe cry for attention and help. And those who were witnesses and whom I’ve told (mental health professionals included) couldn’t agree more.
Let my personal experience be a lesson to all parents. Misery and jealousy are like cockroaches – it takes a few tries to completely exterminate the pest, even when you’ve done the right thing, they still might come back. Let this be a lesson to the suffering souls that inspired me to take this action, triggered by a failed mission to elicit the reaction they craved. I hope they know that help is always available and that they find it. And how thankful I am that their actions are the cause of this masterpiece.
Would you ever purposely sabotage your best friend?

My best friend’s name was May.

She and I went to high school together and had connections through mutual friends that made us acquaintances, DURING HIGH SCHOOL. Yes, I did attend her high school graduation party, only because of a mutual friend. Yes, I met her late father at that party and exchanged pleasantries, which made me a living memory of her father for a while. I was always happy to retell that story to May for comfort, happiness, and support. No, I didn’t attend any services for her father because we weren’t close enough for me to provide the support she needed. How could an acquaintance become an intimate friend immediately after a loss?

So, when May happened to walk into the coffee shop where I was working one cold November day in 2020, I was elated to have the opportunity to start a social life once again.
It all happened so fast. Five other girls and I were individually selected to be her newest collection of “friends”. She wanted desirable women of pedigree and status around her to boost her ever-grieving ego. Over the next four years of my life, my world would revolve around all of them – unaware that I would lose myself along the way. Unaware that everything I did, everything I am, would be a comedic, hypocritical joke to May and the rest of the group. I hate admitting that. I HATE ADMITTING THAT. Why? Because it means that they all played a role in who I’m becoming, and I don’t want to give them that credit – and yet – after I take a deep breath, I write these words to serve as my justice and her consequence. And, the group’s consequences. I’m sick, so SICK and tired beyond means to let anyone have their way with me and get away with it. One thing May taught me is that misery loves company, and bullies can take the form of a best friend who backstabs you.

From 2020 to 2024, I was part of a girl group that made me feel exceptional, accepted, and understood. The inclusivity of a female friend group was a force I had never experienced before. We were the glamorous group that gained attention due to the never-ending parties, concerts, and extravagant dinners we attended. My friends outside of the group expressed concern early on, and some even distanced themselves from me because of this group. They didn’t like the person I was becoming, and I don’t blame them.

May had orchestrated us all together. The group met for the first time for a girls’ day in May of 2021. Wine tasting in a limo followed by a way too expensive lunch – I’ll never forget that day – the warmth and kindness that stimulated happy synapses in my brain reminded me of the singular euphoria one gets from the first hit of any substance. How could any young woman not be enchanted, enticed, and attracted by the electricity of female connection and friendship? It’s a source of power and comfort. For me, it was the first time I ever felt accepted in a group. There was a temporary electric current that we all powered. The rush that accompanied falling into the fallacy, lovely alliteration that I would be next to these girls forever, in our milestones and most imperative life moments. It reminds me of being on drugs. These women were a drug, as I was to them. The outcome is the same: users continue to use, and the inevitable crashing detox that comes desperately searching for that first-time wine-tasting connection high. And yet, the following years, I would spend in denial that we weren’t toxic for each other.

As the years passed, so did my sense of self, self-control, and confidence. We fell apart like the cocaine rocks that we crushed into a powder – like an avalanche. Within a tectonic shift, the fall of snowflakes (cocaine residue), we all turned out to be fakes, myself included at one point.

When the drugs became another member of the group, we disintegrated, alongside our substance-abused bodies, always chasing it down with the leftover wine to numb the fact that our friendship was saturated with shit talking and hypocritical back-stabbing:
“She said that?”
“She’s still doing that?”
She said
She said
She said
She said
Julia has a problem
Julia is the problem
Julia has a problem
Julia is the problem

I’m sure the parents reading this are worried about how they could prevent this from happening to their child when they get older. How do you know if your child’s inner circle – the perfectly photographed group on Instagram – isn’t really in the bathroom lining up cocaine on the back of their iPhones? Or if that’s really just water in a coffee mug? Or, perhaps worst of all, witnessing dangerous behaviors such as drinking while driving?

I spoke to my dad recently, and he mentioned not knowing how bad things were in the group because I would sing praises to him about the girls who had accepted me. Even when the denial was wearing off and the truth started seeping in.. The truth is, parents can’t prevent bullies in the play yard just like they can’t prevent them in adulthood. You can be raised in a stable household with a family that provides everything for you, including lessons on avoiding bullies and drugs. However, in the face of peer pressure and temptation, people make mistakes. This is the human condition.

I couldn’t have predicted an ambush that was premeditated to hurt me. I was unaware of the fact that leaving a friend group that was diluted by cocaine, weed, alcohol, shrooms, acid, sex, cheating, lies, and more would put me at risk for being a target of May’s, forevermore. We destroyed each other with jealousy, rumors, avoidance, immaturity, hypocrisy, and ignorance. And, the never-ending Nile river of shit talking. One thing to be proven impossible in this world: that you can’t build a genuine, healthy friendship out of affections that are fragile enough to disintegrate under the heat of toxicity. I had left the group. I was out of their sight, her sight – so why couldn’t they just put me out of their minds like I did?

I had already left. I’d had to, in November of 2024. May and I came to a dramatic ending on the last morning of a trip we had taken together, and I chose to sever ties with the other group members due to association. By this time, all of my anxieties had come true in every way I had imagined – ending these friendships was as easy as sending a text and never looking back.

My empathy goes out to May, for she is the clinical definition of unprocessed grief. I remember when my mother died, one of my first thoughts was, “I will NOT develop into what she has become.” Lovely observation. I’m not the only one who has noticed this, however. Whenever I, or any of the other girls, tried to gently talk to May about feelings, seeking help, or acknowledging that it’s okay not to be OK, the smile of denial, love, the assonance here had been long tattooed on her lips. Spreading in directions that lead to anywhere but happiness or acceptance. When you lose a parent as a young person, the dichotomy of grief shatters your heart, soul, mind, and body. The pain is almost unbearable as your entire existence is forced to detox your old self, your life with two parental units – for me, a mother who made home anywhere I had her arms around me and gaze looking after me. When May’s father died, she didn’t have the same family unit to fall into as I did. Or, so she has convinced herself. However, I know May’s family and current friends want what’s best for her. The support is there if she would only accept and admit to a few mistakes. Some fear that the window for willing change and growth has been demolished into nothing. And yet, there’s still a space in my heart that beats optimistically in hushed whispers that she will release herself from a self-fulfilling prophecy of unhealed grief.

April 23, 2025: The Graduation Dinner

It was an evening I had been dreaming of, planning for, and imagining as I grew closer and closer to earning my degree. April 23 was my college graduation dinner. My graduation was a sensitive and emotionally complex milestone because my mother had passed and my father couldn’t attend my ceremony in Arizona due to recovering from a deadly blood infection that I had saved him from months earlier -he was fresh out of a 3-month hospital and recovery stay and couldn’t handle the travel.

I was starting to stand on my own two feet. Recovering from losing my mother and then an entire “friend group” wasn’t an easy recovery. My whole world changed in what felt like an instant. An uncontrollable tornado that took away so many people, good and bad. I doubled down on taking care of my mental and physical health. I had started intensive therapy twice a week, committing to sobriety, and overall getting my life put back together after suffering so much impactful and significant loss.

This was my night; therefore, I wasn’t letting grief or anxiety get in the way of celebrating a monumental milestone in my life.

As I approached the back patio of the restaurant, I could see my invited loved ones cheering, waving, and jumping in excitement, which warmed and invigorated my grieving heart. I went around and hugged each one of them, and then I looked up and met the eyes of one of the girls from the group, and then another. Every single hair on the back of my neck began to stand up as my vision absorbed the horror that was in front of me.

At first, I gave the benefit of the doubt that it was just a coincidence. She may have been there by chance, getting dinner just the two of them at the same time and place as my event. Then I took a step back, and there they were. ALL OF THEM were seated inside. May and all of the girls, plus all of their damn boyfriends, and the few “henchmen” that May takes pleasure in using for her benefit, were at my graduation dinner, uninvited. This was a nightmare. This couldn’t be really happening. I had never imagined that would take place in my reality. All of the people I had removed myself from. All of the people who teased, taunted, and ridiculed me for taking 10 years to complete my degree. The group encouraged me to abandon my academic goals because “no one really cared about it anymore.” My mind flashed to a late night of cocaine and champagne: May rips a line of blow and comes up for air, hissing: “Why would you even want to go to your ceremony?”

My graduation party was an invite-only event. I chose a restaurant that my family and I enjoyed and had never been to with this group. My graduation party was a private invite event. I chose a time that my friends and family could all make. My graduation party was a private event.

In this very moment, I had two options. Option one: Give May and the group exactly what they came for: a dramatic confrontation or reaction from me. Option two: Act as if they were strangers to me. The problem with option one is, what the fuck would I have said? What the fuck would she have wanted me to say? They probably don’t realize that their stalkerish behavior was deeply upsetting; they probably still think of the whole thing as a joke.

I acted as if they were ghosts, as if I never knew them. As if I hadn’t attended funerals, as if they never consoled me when I needed comfort. As if the last three years were just a goddamn feverdream. I’ve tortured myself with the “what ifs”. What if I had approached the table of people who sought to harm me on this momentous occasion? There were simply no words, monologues, or passive comments, no redeeming value in ever speaking or looking in their direction ever again.

I wanted to snap my fingers and make them evaporate. I wished I had never known them. In the moment, however, I completely ignored them. If I had confronted them, I would not only have given May and the rest of the girls exactly what they wanted, but I would also have made an absolute fool of myself in front of the most important people in my life. The worst part would be proving that I was no better than them if I had confronted them.

My heart deteriorated as if it were boiled in hydrofluoric acid. My veins were ignited with the burn of betrayal. My head was pounding for the last four years of my life; the confusion was settling in like clouds before the thunder, each strike of lightning that I screamed from my lungs that night when I got home was carved out of pain, fury, and absolute hurt. I had to process each of them. I couldn’t believe that the same people who had told me to quit school and had mocked me for taking so long to complete my degree were at this place on my special night. What if I had made a scene? No chance – I would never have given them the satisfaction. Still, the nerve she had! Who does this – a sociopath? No. A damaged soul.

I had to grieve for what we were, who I thought they were, who they led me to believe they were, and the idea I had of us. Put out the fires set by the gas spread by their premeditated cruelty. It took me months. It took me tears. It took me an entire summer to gather the words to describe how badly memories with golden edges are now rotting in the back of my head as I try my hardest not to cringe when something that reminds me of them triggers a flashback to a time when I thought I had good friends. That has been and will be the most challenging part for me: having my once-best friends sabotage my college graduation dinner, because to them, being cruel is considered funny. The scars from betrayal have healed, but left a permanent reminder: they weren’t my friends long before this night, for why would a friend of any kind bully you out of your academic goals?

And so, the dinner of my dreams did go on as such. I gave a memorable speech to a patio full of people who love and care about me, who have seen me in many, if not all, stages of my life, and who are the epitome of unconditional love. My guests, my “people” that were showering me with congratulatory hugs and witty undergraduate Julia stories, were a physical representation of the good and bad in this world. Even when “bad” puts itself right in front of you, the good that stood in the same room as me illuminated the optimism, strength, and joy inside my heart, enabling me to make it through my celebration. For those who were (invited) in attendance and are reading this now, I love you, thank you for showing up for me.
To my readers, please take away a piece of strength and wisdom from this piece. To remember that in the face of pain, there is always a pathway to patience. In which you will find a more mindful, fulfilling, and empathic perspective on the unfortunate grieving souls who seek to process their pain through bullying – it helped me better understand how to be kinder to myself.

Love,
Julia Poet

Ending Poem:

I had no time to Hate: Emily Dickinson

I had no time to Hate –
Because
The Grave would hinder me –
And Life was not so
Ample I
Could finish–Enmity –
Nor had I time to Love –
But since
Some Industry must be –
The little Toil of Love –
I thought
Was large enough for Me .

 

Ana: A Sketch Essay

 

 

*Trigger Warning* 

*THIS ESSAY CONTAINS SENSITIVE CONTENT AND EXPLICIT DETAILS OF EATING DISORDERS, SEXUAL ABUSE REFERENCES – READ WITH CAUTION* 

 

 

 

 

Ana: A Sketch Essay 

 

 

She is present and she is absent. She is cold and unforgiving. She is bold, and unwanted. She is thoughtless, careless and the saddest creature you will ever encounter. She is the mistress of manipulation. She is inside my head.

 Think of a tangled mess of bare branches that are attached to an aging, creaking, once flourishing- now spiky Red Wood tree carcass. Nails on a chalkboard, her bones creak and break with every step she takes. Skin as white as snow, eyes black as holes with tear ducts streaming a nile of endless sorrow. Her hair is long, black and stringing with grease. A grotesque little thing she is. Her smile sends shivers down spines – reaching earlobe to earlobe and curling at her gums, exposing yellow pointed teeth and a slight empty laugh -Ana’s smile is frightening enough to make anyone run. Her official name is Anorexia, though I personally know her as Ana. She does not appear this way physically to the world, and is constantly attempting to dismantle my confidence into fragmented pieces.  

Ana reminds me of the pretty girl who I used to walk by in the hallways of my highschool. That outwardly looks like she had absolutely everything at her perfectly polished fingertips. This girl had eyes that were as bright blue as a California spring day, that were always overcast due to the pain I saw herself putting through. That same girl walked through the doors of one of my group therapy treatments when I was a sophomore in high school, hand in hand with her laxative addiction. She was a perfect abstraction of outwardly false confidence, but still one of the most striking girls I have ever seen. It does take one to know one. Some people kill for beauty, even if it means themselves.

Ana and I have known each other for quite some time, for ongoing ten years. I first met Ana, diagnostically, when I was fifteen, in my personally infamous year of 2012, though I now have presumptions that she and I had been acquainted for some years before that. I met her on a first name basis in a tiny doctors office – a day that is forever in my mind as a core memory. Of course, Ana did not reveal the horror of her true identity to me all at once. It was only after she was identified, named and defined as a negative narrative that I now live with for the rest of my life, that she revealed how ugly she can get. 

 I wondered as I got older where Ana came from. Did she come from  the inhumanly disproportionate, plastic Barbies my mother used to get for me? I had always secretly wished as a little girl to grow up to be as beautiful as those late 90’s Mattel manufactured Barbie dolls. Was it the Victoria Secret catalogs that would come in my family’s mail? Could it have been watching my mother, going through the blood, sweat and pain of the 2000’s toxic diet culture trends? Thinking to myself whenever she broke out in a hungry induced fit of anger, that I would never want to end up in her condition and having to go through the same thing.  

I had grown up with pretty things all around me. Princess this and pink that during childhood. Now almost grown up, I have developed a love for fashion, dresses and fragrances. I am considered to be a girly girl, and do take care of myself routinely. One of my greatest fears is that I am as ugly as Ana. How can I not be? I heard the saying “what is psychological is also physiological” from an old psych teacher once and for a longtime, I had applied it to be the logic behind my insecurities. Anorexia (Ana) is a life-long diagnosis with no cure and no medications to cleanse her from the person she inhabits. Only treatments, programs, the threat of being fed through a tube, and constant care repetitions. Having Ana in my mind feels like a minefield inside of my own head – being triggered to the front of my consciousness at the drop of the right pin.

My entire life I have had my parents and loved ones comment on what a pretty and petite thing I am – though it doesn’t penetrate Ana’s smoke screen around my self-confidence. I was even a child model and actor for quite some time, shouldn’t that tell me something? For a disorder that is rumored to be motivated by fat-phobia and vanity, Ana is quite in fact a gruesome thing to the host she resides in. She is a personalized deadly energy for said individual, if fed enough attention. She has no remorse and will relentlessly attempt to anchor me, or anyone she inhabits in her many demonistic forms down, if given even the slightest amount of time. I constantly find myself worrying: Do I look like this Ana on the outside? 

Having Anorexia does not mean that I am fearful of becoming overweight (all the time) but it does mean that there are more days than I would like to admit where I avoid my own reflection in the funhouse mirrors that seem to follow me everywhere I go. Body Dysmorphic Disorder comes as a buy one get one free with having an ED. Just the other day while exercising we were asked to place our feet hip distance apart. My instructor came by and corrected me – pulling my feet from 7 inches to about an inch and a half apart and said “Julia, your hips are not that big”. I felt embarrassed knowing that was a body dysmorphic disorder move, at its finest. 

 

The amount of times I have put makeup on and heard Ana’s taunting voice in the back of my head is tragically sad: 

“You think that concealer can cover those fine lines?”

“Is that a double chin I see forming?”

“You’re the ugliest thing I have ever seen”

“Give up Julia, you’re just not good at this pretty girl shit” 

I then cap my Chanel lipstick and take a deep breath as I take a step away from the mirror and feel warmth flush over my face as tears swell into my eyes. I just want to feel pretty. I wish I could just like myself at this moment, but even though I don’t – I go back to applying my makeup to the taunting tune of Ana’s nasty and untrue comments. 

I hate to admit that Ana knows me very well, but not all of me. She knows nothing of my true self. A happy, ambitious and loving individual who is confidently excited for everyday I get to live. I am the friend who always has a smile on her face, rings any environment I am in with laughter and will always go out of my way to help those who I love and need it.  Ana only knows my vulnerabilities, my triggers, destructive coping mechanisms and what presses my anger. I hate to say that on the days where I see her lurking in my shadow – there is a battle of self conflict between myself and Ana. 

She tries to remind me that she was trying to save me when we first met – I was diagnosed with Anorexia when I was also unknowingly being molested, in that infamous year of 2012, at just fifteen years of age. Ana came to my as demon disguised angel who planted the toxic and permanent seed in my head:

 “Starve yourself till you are so small,  no one will be able to touch you, see you, he won’t be able to touch you anymore – you’ll be invisible” 

Today I am twenty-five and Ana is still a chip on my shoulder, a pain in my ass and an unfortunate part of me. As I have grown older, I have learned to treat myself better. Exercise, eat well, practice mindfulness. Ana’s kryptonite is positivity and self love – light. It is me versus Ana on the days where she comes crashing into my psyche, attempting to poison and pick apart everything I have done to build myself into an independent person away from the engraved attachment she and I have. 

I tell you, Dear reader, of the horror that is having Anorexia to attempt breaking the stigma that Eating Disorders are a form of fatphobia – and remind society – eating disorders do in fact exist. There are many examples in my life where I have gotten unwanted comments on my body that I know come from these assumptions, somewhere. 

“Her waist is as big as my thigh”

“Aren’t you just the teenisest, tiniest person I have ever seen?”

“You don’t need to workout, you’re so skinny already!”

“Yea, all ten pounds of her couldn’t help me”

My eating disorder was manifested from a series of traumatic events that started from an extremely young age and that was born during one of the hardest times of my life. In no way do I look at other people who are bigger than me and think to skip a meal so I won’t end up looking like them. I don’t keep certain foods out of my diet to look like anybody else – and certainly do not choose to be mentally berated inside my own head, just to keep a slim waistline. 

There are some days where I feel as small as Thumblina. The unprecedented commentary from other women just feeds into Ana’s darkness in ways that I have yet to figure out. And that is what I intended to do, confront Ana time and time again until I can look in mirrors without seeing a false reflection. I want to enjoy a treat and not rip myself apart from eating it later, I don’t want to skip meals because of a bad day or stressful situation. Eventually I want to bring awareness to the Eating Disorder community and society: that instead of treatments and therapy, consisting of increased calories and limited physical activity – that we need to learn how to be confident and love ourselves. We need to know how to ease the clench around our throats in order to speak to ourselves nicer inside our own heads and most importantly, find healthy coping mechanisms when things get tough. 

At the end of the day I am strong enough to know that this is my life, not Ana’s. And though living with her some days feel as though I am as haunting looking as she is, I soak up every moment I get where she is not present inside of the day or thoughts. I take advantage of these moments by writing mantras to myself, finding new things to experiment with in fashion that are both comfortable and to my liking. I shake off the comments from others because I know they have no idea who I truly am, where I have been and what I live with. With everything that I have been through, I know one day I’ll be able to live in health and clarity with myself – and even smile at my own reflection. Later to become an active voice, guiding those who relate to my story to light and love in the ED community.

Ana is a ghastly creature, but that doesn’t mean I am or have to be either. Exuding kindness and graciousness in all areas of my life is what keeps me going. As well as knowing that I too will tell my story and have it be widely known as a learning lesson: We truly do not see ourselves as others think we do. And to always, speak to yourself as kind as you would to someone you love. 

 

Julia Katherine Publications – Copyright 2022

 

 

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

Sprouting: A Reflection By Julia Katherine

 

 

 

Dear reader, 

2021 is now a closed chapter in all of our books. I wanted to share with you some of my reflections and most integral experiences last year. 2021 was  filled with incredible achievements, flourishing with bright and vivacious days. I do not know if the memories of my friend’s smile were shining brighter than the summer sun, or if I just remember it that way.  

Of course, not every day was so great. 2021 introduced me to a new side of my anxiety I had never encountered. I started the beginning of the year by losing my beloved first pet and went through phases of crippling overthinking. I reached peaks of stress from battling the over-achiever that was born in that year. I watched walls that I had spent so much time and pain building up disintegrate, as I transformed them (and myself) into new, healthy boundaries and habits. I opened myself and my mind to small and big things in life – these days, even I look back in awe. 

  The biggest difference I see in myself now is instead of  numbing those bad days away- I confront them and sent them straight to a place in my brain I like to call ‘processing’ – a mental note to self to learn from my mistakes. I also don’t make habits or patterns that are harmful for me anymore – though there have been some days where wine doesn’t taste as bitter. I like this little part of me that takes tabs on behavioral patterns and choices not to repeat again. 

  Take it from me reader, it is not expected of you to change into an entirely new person overnight. I tend to also comfort my anxiety by reminding myself, Rome was not built in a day, though a wise friend told me that it only takes that long to burn it all down. 

At the beginning of the 2021, I was working as a Starbucks barista (again) and had just applied for Arizona State Universities online B.S program. I was contemplating going back to the local community college in my area, but my boss at the time (a wonderful lady) gave me a pep talk to take the chance with applying to the Starbucks ASU program. After the application process, I anxiously awaited the answer of whether or not I got into ASU and put my head into a spin. My GPA plummeted when I was abusing substances and I saw little to almost no light for my educational dreams. Though I didn’t get accepted initially – I was put into ASU’s pathway program. This was a program that included taking courses for credit but I had to maintain at least a C average or better GPA. And I learned fast, grew faster. 

I created a completely healthy, disciplined and dedicated routine for myself when it came to studying and turning in assignments. I would wake up before the sun came up on my days off and pound out work at my desk – some days were as long as 8-10 hours. I want(ed) not to only succeed – but to soar. Avenge myself in a way, that would put as far of a gap in between my old self as I could. And that’s exactly what I did. The scores started to rack in at 100% and I became addicted to my own success. There was something about surprising myself with the level of commitment that drew me in further, made me more curious – and motivated me to always give my best if not more. 

This is where I believe my anxiety and the long road of learning not to be so hard on myself was born. Immediately I was overcome with self-induced pressure, I felt as though every assignment I turned in was an art piece made of glass. One wrong move and all my hard work could shatter away. My anxiety would conjure fears, like my professor dropping me from a class just for missing a piece of information. I know that’s pretty dramatic to say, but when has anxiety ever been known to be rational? After turning in big projects my mind would race as I would try to fall asleep some nights: 

“Shit…did I use the right headers? Should I have triple checked that assignment? What if I fail all over again…”  

 

Between this, interning and working I had my hands full. Deadlines, Zoom meetings, intern interview assignments, getting up at 3 AM to get up for an eight hour shift – I put in work during 2021 to say the least. Which naturally led to the days where the pressures of it all simmer over and come out emotionally. There were 7AM crying fits, crippled by the fear of failure, because I had seen it once before. If you dear reader have also expressed stress attacks due to high expectations for yourself, even as early as when you first open your eyes to the pounding repeated sound of your alarm – you are not alone.

 Stress comes in nasty forms for each individual. Whether it be under or over eating, using any sort of substances, nail biting, skin picking, trouble sleeping or being mentally paralyzed by the rapid thoughts reminding you of all you have to do or improve on. Stress can do things like poison the mind in thinking that the people you love do not love you back and that all your hard work is for nothing.

 What I have learned is: Stress attacks happen and there’s nothing we can do to prevent them. What we can do is aid ourselves, learn from it and repeat. How we pick ourselves up and continue on afterwards is what matters.  I found in 2021 that truly taking one thing at a time is a helpful tool. Don’t let the amount of times you have fallen or life has held you down be the reason why you do not ever get back up. 

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results – then laying in bed and letting anxiety consume you while expecting it all to go away tomorrow- is a contestant of insanity. There is a difference between visiting our comfort zones versus being consumed by them. This is a topic I visited in my writing last year as well. I knew that I had to get up every I felt the weight of all my tasks was pushing down on me. There was no other option but for me to keep going. This mentality worked swiftly and rewardingly for myself. 

The happy ending to my ASU story is I received my acceptance letter from my first choice program, on my twenty-fifth birthday. I raised my GPA to a semester 4.0 and calculated 3.71 and still have that today as we enter Spring 2022. 

During 2021 I tested boundaries and limits I had once falsely assigned. I gathered myself together by creating a foundation for myself of hard work and consistency. Slowly but surely new patterns and parts of myself emerged that have taken many, including myself, by a positive surprise. I started becoming aware of not only what I was thinking but also saying. I finally wasn’t scared to get to know myself.

For me, that goes very deep. Due to the work in progress with my traumatic past – I didn’t want to know myself or let anyone else get the chance too, for a long time. One of the many discouraging feelings that carries into one’s adulthood when they have been sexually exploited as a child, is that you’re a fifthly person. That since I was used in such a malicious and disgusting manner, for the pleasure of a monster, that must mean I am one too, right?

 

WRONG.

Once I started detaching from that decade old mentality this…beautiful person started to make an appearance in around spring of 2021. I blossomed, with the trees and roses all around me. My smile grew more genuine as the sun rays came out on warm California days. My self confidence started to immerge once again. I now have the dream support team that includes a group of young women who are superheroes, a loving family and my incredible Ian. All of these people, individually, are why I believe Earth side angels exist. 

Dear reader, I am going to end on a happy note because I am not a writer who accepts sad endings. If any of my words strike your heart and churn in your thoughts then let that transpire into action. The strength of human resilience is innately inside us all. It is most commonly said not to let other people dictate your life for you, or hold you back. What I think needs to be said more, don’t let YOURSELF hold you back. 

 

I’m off to work on a few other projects. And I cannot wait for my first novel debut. 2022 is my year, and yours too. 

 

Love and kindness, 

Julia

 

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

Addictive Behavior Observations and Admissions: An Article of Empathy by Julia Katherine

 

 

 

As the seasons have been changing, I have officially decided that I will be one of those people who is in an almost constant state of metamorphosis. This mindset has made the swift changing social conditions of the world easier to accept and adapt; and easier for me to accept myself, without addiction. I broke walls, false morals and repeated cycles that I had made during those freezing years of my life. After some time in my head, I have finally been able to put together a few of my thoughts about addiction and how I see it in different forms in my life. 

A LOT about me has changed. My room, my clothing, my routines, my work and school ethic, my friends, my relationship with my family and the people who care about me. I’m also able to keep a stable and healthy relationship that has recently just reached its one year mark. Ian, if you’re reading this now and any time in the future, I love you. You’ve been more than my rock since I met you a couple years ago. How far we’ve come individually as well as together, is the most beautiful thing I have had the blessing (though I am in no way religious- you are the closest thing to an angel I have ever seen) to call mine, in a long, long time. I can’t wait for our tomorrows. 

I recently told Ian about my boundary with relationships and my writing. That since we have now been dating for a year, and if he was okay with it (he was absolutely thrilled and spun me around in excitement) to be featured on my website and written into my pieces. 

Ian is one of  the reasons why keeping my priorities in life together has been more rewarding than I could have ever imagined. I used to think that sustainable relationships weren’t obtainable- until I accepted change. He has expressed to me that we wouldn’t be together if I was still using, and I don’t blame him. I don’t blame anyone for leaving while I was using. However, those individuals were not meant for me in my current evolving prime. 

   To those who are reading this, and are in a time in your life where you continuously keep hearing people tell you to get your shit together- I promise you two things. One: when you do start to take the steps to pull yourself together- life is better than any high or low you’re currently chasing. Two: If you’re hearing what’s left of your conscience is trying to tell you that you need to change- it’s time to actually do something about it and stop numbing it. Three: The emotional, spiritual and overall humane experience of regaining one’s self after numbing with substances or destructive comfort zones is astronomical. I can tell you this from personal experience. 

 

  I have been advised in therapy many, many times that in order for one to keep healthy relationships, you must have a healthy relationship with yourself. Your life is as good of quality as you put into it. This includes how you treat yourself, the quality of the people around you and how they take care of themselves and their lives. I am no longer friends or in contact with anyone who I used with. Though I have gained a gallant amount of positive company back into my life. (Thank you to my lovely coworker who is also an artist- who asked me when my next piece was- you are a part of the positivity I’ve gained in this new phase of my life.)

 One of the scary things about drugs is how it silently takes over the user. This also applies to people in our lives that we may want but in no way need. 

 

 I remember when I first started “doing” cocaine, and telling myself as I fell asleep at night that I needn’t succumb to the consequences that cocaine could bring. I also remember meeting young people who have similar traumatic backgrounds to mine, witnessing them fall under the curse of addiction and promising myself that will never be me. However, it took over so quickly, so silently- I didn’t remember ever having boundaries like that until after I got sober. And want became need, when I discovered how easily the deadly white powder numbed the violent flashbacks of my kidnapped youth. 

  Another ‘addiction’ that I have observed is: the influence that we unconsciously absorb into our lives from the people closest around us. There are many ways to interpret this of course. A common example used in my psych classes was: Having trouble letting go of that childhood best friend who isn’t going off to college? But is guilting you for going off to University.  Equallying into either a tough choice made by the friend who has his academic career on the horizon or choosing to stay in his comfort zone. Another more common example; have you ever known that toxic couple who keeps anchoring one another down, yet neither one leaves? Personally, I have experienced this. However, I dumped my unlawful treatment after a little over two years. I have also seen people from my past turn down amazing opportunities due to such menial things like the printer paper weighted strength of a promising forever friend from someone they went to high school with. 

My point of these observed examples over the years is; the addiction of not being alone seems better than to risk the free fall feeling and breaking out of something bad in one’s life. I have seen people turn down even better opportunities because they let their own destructive behaviors get in the way of starting anew. It wasn’t until I started questioning behavioral patterns and not just addiction based ones that I started to grasp a better understanding on how to break and prevent toxic cycles.

Behavioral psychology was one of my favorite sub-branches of psychology to listen to in lecture as well as read about both for school, as well as personal knowledge purposes. Behavioral psychology studies human behavior from infancy to elder years in behaviors, patterns, cycles- that make us, us (in very simple terms). The subject categorizes expected or “normal” behavioral patterns for each stage of life and the milestones or downsides and the reactions that come with them. For almost every life milestone, there is a psychological explanation for the reaction and behavior following said event. Behavioral psychology also allows us to explore the reasons as to why we make choices beyond what is considered the ‘norm’ (in psych- the word ‘normal’ is looked down upon- but still used) 

In life, anything can become an addiction. Usually when one hears the term addiction, the first thought usually is substance addiction. However, this demon comes in many forms. Addiction can be to video games, to lying, to certain people or persons, to projecting a false persona. Addiction can be food, pills, working out, gambling, sex, cars, cocaine, heroin, working- the limits for addiction are unfortunately- almost limitless. 

A common phenomenon that I caught onto in my hometown, besides drugs and toxic relationships, is the addiction to image and social status. Imagery in the bay area is important to many and essential for most. Social status is also as imperative as physical health. In some cases, physical appearance takes precedence over maintaining a healthy well being. Girls and guys will hang on to the most toxic people in their lives romantically just so they won’t be alone. Having a circle of friends to be able to show off on Instagram or strut downtown- is a social up-play move.  God forbid in the bay area you don’t have anyone to keep you distracted from what you actually need to be addressing to progress in life. I make that remark thinking of myself as well. I tend to try not to think about where my life would be now, if I had not wasted so much time on people who ended up never being good for me. You’ll see a pair of Nike air force 1’s on the feet of one in five girls from the ages of 16-26. Adidas graphics and unconsciously rapper inspired clothing for the males. Louis Vuitton logos glistening in the sun’s reflection. Perfected middle parts and the newest mom jeans. Winged linger and graphic logo’d snapbacks. One cannot deny the bay area has style- that’s for sure. With so many people putting in so much effort to what they look like in the East Bay, many have forgotten to work on what is really important- the development of self. I truly wonder how many people I used to associate myself with can honestly say that they are no longer producing the same patterns of destructive behavior- addictive behavior, that they were during the duration of our relations. 

That saying about your comfort zone hurting you, is true. We as humans are not meant to be stagnant creatures, though we can adapt to be one. What I mean by this is; there comes a point in repeated behaviors where we lose ourselves. We lose our inner voice that tells us when we should stop hurting ourselves and that we deserve better. I am aware that what I am stating also comes with many factors, which include those outside inflictions that we cannot control. But what we can control is our sense of moderation. In Philosophy, one of the founding fathers of the subject, Aristotle once said: “Moderation in everything, including moderation”. So, again, for those that are stuck in a rut of any sort or find themselves trapped in repeated behaviors- trying adding a different action or behavioral choice into your mix to debunk what is dragging you down. If this means having to step away from the world, socially, then by all means do what is necessary to get yourself out of your addictive behavioral choices. Just don’t forget to communicate with the people you love, that you’re detaching for a while. 

I have lost friends, many of them in fact, to  past behavioral patterns and addictions of my own. I was trying to make it look like I was completely functional and succeeding. I was the girl who spent hours wasting her life away with sleepless, strung out nights- wrongly rationalizing that what I was doing was productive at the time. When you are under the spell of a drug’s deadly addiction;  the only sense of accomplishment you have is when you score.  The addiction was cocaine, the behavioral cycles and patterns were: lying, manipulating, greed. I don’t blame the people who left for never wanting to come back. I was quite the flash fire flame when I was indulging in the wrong side of life’s vices. Even now, I have left behind my bad habits; the bad habits of others that are not societally as imperative as drug addiction came into beaming light of observation and curiosity to me.

 

To the girl that’s been with that partner for way too long- who is clearly NOT good for you- why do you stay? I see you look away when happy couples walk by. 

If that partner were heroin, would you stay with him until the end?

To the girl who keeps chasing disguised ogres and life-sucking vampires when you could clearly have prince charming- do you want to keep practicing your behavior? Or, will you actually tell yourself that you deserve better than what you are familiar with and know how to temporarily control? To the girl who lets her past control her silently in the present day, why don’t you let those private tears flow? What is so physically painful about accepting the pain of yesterday and embracing the opportunities of healing and life tomorrow? These are all questions I have asked myself for years based on my life and the people who I have known.

 

Why do we choose to suffer subconsciously when all we need is to be able to stand/speak up for ourselves? All it takes is one pebble to be thrown and a cascade of ripples will erupt. I feel as though people need to be reminded just a little bit more: That little thing you did yesterday to change yourself for the better is an amazing first step to all the good you want to see for yourself. And, that you deserve. 

I ask this last question knowing that it is easier said than done. 

The hardest time I have ever had to speak up was when I had to tell my father that I was being wrongly sexually infiltrated and used when I was a young, young minor. 

However, it has been since that day- that I had made a promise with myself, that I would never again let myself suffocate underneath anyone again. No outside source would be able to cause me pain again. Though I never expected that I would be inflicting destruction onto myself when I started using and this is something that weighs on my mind deeply. However, it’s processing and on its way to healing. 

Drugs are different from people. 

For some people, it is people that kill them as softly and silently as any substance would. And for the rest, it is the substance that is the latter. 

This is exactly my point: people become addicted to other people. And the behavior that comes along with the addiction itself, weighs just as much as a destructive addiction than the person itself. 

 

I’ve experienced this first hand. My second serious relationship, I was with someone who suffocated the developing young lady I was on the road to be- with destructive and manipulative treatment and behaviors. That seeped into my subconscious making me think: So, because he treated me like this, I can treat other people like this. Especially, because of how much pain I’m in. 

 

I feel as though so many people carry this mindset. Dishing out pain to the undeserving, residually leftover from the painful past relation. I’ve endured unintended emotional pain from people I used to call my best friends. I have seen the most beautiful and intelligent women break down over the most pitiful example for a boy. Myself included. I think one of the worst addictions of life can be the addiction from a made up expectation or version of a person, besides substances. This makes me think of the times my friends would dream of the sober me I am today. And while I was one of the lucky ones to make it out of the grasp of addiction, I was recently told by a close friend of mine that: “there are some people who are too far gone, Julz. Some people are still there but they haven’t been for a long time.” 

 

I’ll start my conclusion with a confession. I still struggle with addiction. I’m currently working on kicking the vaping habit and want to eventually reduce my caffeine intake. The fact I’ve even conjured those thoughts on my own, reassures myself that I am growing, once again.  Everyday I used to run away and numb so many parts of my past and unknowingly then, so many parts of my beautiful self that I have gotten to know now more and more every day. 

Readers; if you are depressed, if you are stuck, if you are fighting addiction, if you are somewhere lost in this crazy world: please take my words and let them linger. I’ll reassure you that in life- we don’t have to know the answers of our futures right away. Just having a thought of “what if” and “I want this instead of what I’m currently enduring” – is a sign that positive change is on the way.

 

Keep going. 

 

Love, 

 

Julia Katherine