Seriously why?

What has he ever done to deserve a sunflower like you?

I know that he used to be a wonderful guy and he even bought you chocolate once or twice.

But that was at the beginning of your relationship.

Now he’s just an ass.


For instance, he asks you to buy his lunch daily because he refuses to get an actual job.

Remember when you had that panic attack because you thought you were about to fail out of school?

And instead of calling me

Your best friend

You called him.

>:(

And he told you that you were being overly dramatic and then hung up.

Do you remember that?

Yeah, I remember that, too.

Or that time you guys had that big fight because he constantly talks to his ex-girlfriends about your relationship’s problems…

Oh but then he manipulated the situation and made it your fault because you didn’t trust him.

ugh.


I’ve kept my mouth shut for so long.

I’ve listened to you tell anticlimactic stories about how his good intentions almost saved the day that one time and it was almost really remarkable.

I’ve heard every “almost” story.

I’ve watched the entire relationship unfold miserably.

And I give you props for being such a forgiving and optimistic person.

But seriously dude

It has to stop.


You are such a stunning human being and it makes me physically ill to watch him treat you the way he does.

Every time he says, “You wear too much makeup.”

or, “You should lose weight.”

or, “Babe, don’t worry it’s just flirting. I’m not cheating on you.”

It hurts me to watch you hurt.

Because you absolutely do not wear too much makeup.

And you are absolutely perfect looking.

And flirting with someone else is absolutely cheating.

I don’t give an eff what he thinks.

Zero effs.

Not one.


At some point you have to realize that you’re worth more, right?

That there has to be a line

One that he cannot blur

One that he cannot cross

Right?

And when the day comes that he attempts to walk across that line you’ll set his ass straight.

Right?


God…

I am so worried for you

And for your heart.

Because every time he does another horrifying thing I witness a small part of who you are disappear into nothing.

I watch pieces of your identity fade away.

You don’t take mesmerizing photos anymore.

You don’t write colorful poetry anymore.

You never talk about God or your solid foundation of faith anymore.

No instead you talk about him and every little thing that he doesn’t like about you.

And every little thing that you need to change about yourself in order to keep him happy.

That terrifies me. 


But still, I have hope.

I hope you rediscover what a lovely soul you are and that your heart is one of the most precious things to exist on this earth.

I hope you find your sense of security in yourself and God rather than in a guy who doesn’t know the difference between love and lust.

I hope you walk outside one day and take some captivating photos.

And I hope you sit down and write a poem that could make a brick wall cry.

And when that beautiful day comes when you decide that you’re done with him,

The day you realize that he is completely full of it.

I will still be here

Ready to key his car

Ready to help you burn all his crap

Ready to do whatever illegal act is necessary to help you feel better

Because we’re best friends and that’s what we do.

But until then,

Whenever you talk about him or even just mention his stupid name,

I will continue to ask..

Every time

“Why the EFF are you dating him?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hate that word.

“Sociopath.”

It makes you sound like a complete monster.

Like some serial killer that we hear about on the news.

I don’t think you’re a monster.

Well, I didn’t used to think that you were a monster.

Because when I think of monsters I think of horrifying creatures that reside in my closet and only come out when I’m having a nightmare.

I don’t think of a handsome guy with nice hair sleeping in my bed and whispering “I love you so much” over and over and over again.

No, when I used to think of a monster, you never came to mind.

That changed.

I now see you for what you really are.

A sociopath.


 

You’re someone who feels absolutely no remorse.

Someone who could hurt me repeatedly over the course of a three year relationship.

Someone who feels some sick type of happiness whenever you meet your next victim.

Someone who hurts people

Badly.

Someone who hurt me

Badly.

Someone whom I loved

Badly.

I sure know how to pick ’em, right?


In my defense when I met you, I was 12 years old.

I didn’t even know what a boy was.

Let alone what love was.

I saw you and I was instantly enchanted with the firm way you held my hand during our first hand-shake.

The way your blue green eyes looked straight into mine as if you had known me for my entire life. Just as if we both knew right then that we were made to be together.

That thought stayed with me until I was 19 years old (much longer than I’d like to admit).


 

 

Only after I moved off to college and faded away from you did I realize that something about our relationship was just…

off.

I started having flashbacks that involved you and certain parts of our relationship that haunt me to this day.

And as much as I hate to say it,

I remember it all. 

I remember our very first “date” when I  was 15 and you shoved your hand down my pants in a public restaurant and I started crying.

You hadn’t even kissed me yet.

I remember when you screamed at me and told me you were going to hit me with your car because I couldn’t buy you dinner that day.

I remember you never taking “no” for an answer.

Not once.

I remember you saying horrible things about my family and alienating me from everyone I loved.

I remember things that I will probably never repeat for the remainder of my life.

I remember it all.

And I’d give anything to forget every last one of those memories.


 

What I still don’t understand is,

why?

Why me?

I loved every single piece of you

Even the dark ones.

The world has treated you horribly and I know that.

I was sitting there right beside you, holding your hand as it all took place.

And I was there as you intentionally hurt me over and over again so that I’d feel as horrible as you did all the time. 

You’ve had a hard life.

 

And I thought that if I could take even a shred of discomfort away from you,

If I could’ve taken any of the hard hits and spared you any second of pain,

I would’ve.

I allowed you to take advantage of me for years because I was 15 and I thought that I was doing the right thing because I loved you.

I was wrong. 

Love is not allowing someone to abuse you so that they can feel empowered and in control. 

 

And I’ve been terrified of you ever since the day I realized that you are a complete sociopath.

Because if I could recall every single one of my worst nightmares,

They’d always involve you.


 

I’m not sure when I’ll let go of the fear and move on.

I’ve been working on it for a while.

You’ve made me completely incapable of having anything close to a healthy relationship.

I hate that.

I just want to be happy.

I just want to move on.

I just want to let go and completely forget everything that has happened.

But we both know that’s impossible.

So instead I’m trying a different and sometimes unpopular tactic,

Forgiveness.


 

I forgive you for taking advantage of my innocent heart and attempting to destroy any piece of happiness that has ever come my way.

I forgive you for completely skewing my view of love to the point where manipulation should just be expected in any of my relationships.

I forgive you for saying horrible things about my family and for damaging my relationship with my mother.

I forgive you for making my high school experience an absolute living hell.

And I forgive you for taking out all of your pent up anger on me.

Me. 

The person who loved you more than anyone else ever had.

I forgive you.

But it’s not for your sake,

No.

It’s for me. 

Because I refuse to be your victim any longer.

I refuse to allow you to be my worst fear.

I refuse to believe that everything you did to me for those three years was out of “love”

I refuse to believe that’s love.

I refuse to believe that is anything close to love.

And I refuse to let this experience define me.

Because no matter how much hate and hurt your existence puts into this world,

I will stay a loving, merciful person.

I refuse to change.

I refuse to become as hateful as you.

So instead,

I forgive you.

 

 

 

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @BeccaTremmel

 

 

 

Well, consensual sex that is.

In fact, let’s just start by defining the term “consensual sex.”

Consensual sex is two adults willingly and verbally agreeing to engage in sexual activity with each other.

Not too difficult to understand, right?

But there are many misunderstandings associated with the term “consensual sex”

Because in our culture, the line that separates consensual sex from nonconsensual sex has been blurred.

If you are intoxicated can you give sexual consent?

If you are dating or married to someone, is there still a need for sexual consent?

If you flirt with a guy and wear sexy, revealing clothing are you basically asking for sex?

If you’ve had consensual sex with this person before, should it already be assumed that your next sexual encounter is consensual?

And if you’re already having sex with someone but change your mind in the middle of it, is it consensual sex?

The answer to all of these questions is no.

And I’ll explain why.


 

  1. Intoxication 

If someone is intoxicated or high, they cannot give sexual consent.

The reason for this is because when you’re drunk or high, your thinking is altered and you could be making drunk decisions that you wouldn’t have made if you were sober.

If sexual activity does occur between someone who is drunk and someone who is sober, the responsibility for the misinterpretation belongs to the sober person and it is considered rape.

If both parties are intoxicated, the responsibility falls on the person who initiated the sexual activity.

Just think of it like this: if you’re too drunk to drive, you’re too drunk to have sex.


 

   2.   Married/Dating

Just because you’re married or dating someone, does not mean that you have to have sex with them.

You’re not obligated to sleep with someone just because you’ve entered a relationship with them.

Consent should be absolutely clear every single time you have sex, and the only way to have clear consent is to verbally say “Yes.”

Even married people should only have sex when they actually want to.


 

3. Clothing/Teasing

I’m going to try and make this as clear as possible.

If I am wearing clothing that is considered “revealing,” that does not mean in any way at all that I am inviting you to have sex with me.

Let’s look at it like this,

If I buy a beautiful brand new Mercedes-Benz and drive it around the town, I am not inviting you to take my car and give it a spin.

Just like if I’m wearing a pretty dress, I’m not hinting that you should take it off.

The only way someone could possibly be “asking for sex” is if someone literally says, “I want to have sex with you.”

Let’s not blame the victim or what they were wearing, let’s blame the rapist.


 

4.  Previous Sexual Consent

Again, consent must be given every single time someone has sex.

Let’s look at it like this, if you went out to dinner with someone last night then they shouldn’t be showing up at your door tonight assuming that you’re free to have dinner with them again. But when you tell them no, they get angry and start screaming, “But we had dinner last night and you were enjoying it! Why can’t we go out again tonight?!”

That’d be strange and you’d probably shut the door in their face.

So it doesn’t matter if you’ve had sex with someone before.

It doesn’t matter they’re asking for it again and calling you a “tease” or a “slut” because they know you’re “dtf.”

Just because you’ve engaged in sexual activity with someone before does not take away your power to say “No.”

You’re not a tease. They’re just disgusting.


 

5. Current Consensual Sexual Activity Turned Nonconsensual

People can change their mind once they’re already engaged in sexual activity.

If you begin having sex, that does not mean that you have to continue having sex.

Just verbally say that you no longer want to be engaged in that activity and if they stop, it’s not considered rape because you already consented.

However, if the activity continues, it’s considered sexual assault/rape.


 

I know that this topic is difficult to discuss and that many people misunderstand the line that defines consensual sex from nonconsensual sex, but that is exactly why I wrote this: to clarify.

Because when I was in high school, I had no idea what determined nonconsensual sex from consensual sex.

I thought it was simple.

I thought “sexual assault” could only occur when a poor girl was walking down the street and a random maniac popped out of the bushes and attacked her.

But according to RAINN (The nation’s largest anti-sexual assault organization),

“82% of sexual assaults are perpetrated by a non-stranger.”

Most victims feel that it’s their own fault because they were drunk, or dating the attacker, or flirting with them, or have had sexual relations with the attacker before.

But it is never the victims fault.

So let’s promote the understanding of this difficult topic and make it clear just what is “sexual consent” and what it is not.

If you’re a victim of sexual assault or know someone who is and is struggling,

Here are a couple help lines:

  • RAINN – 1-800-656-HOPE
  • Safe Horizon – 212-227-3000

 

And if you have any more questions concerning consensual sex, watch this amazing video:

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @BeccaTremmel

I’m not really sure when the rumors began spreading.

It was long before I knew who you were.

I’ve heard things.

A lot of things.

I heard that you went out on a few dates with some poor guy and then led him on for months while you happily watched him suffer.

I heard that you spilled all of your secrets on the internet just to get back at people due to your desperation for others’ attention.

I heard that you slept in a different bed every single night for a month.

And believe me when I say that, sadly, those aren’t the worst of them.


 

I listened to everything that was said about you.

I began to convince myself that I knew you and that I was well-versed in your life story.

If someone happened to bring you up, I had my opinion of you and your reputation ready to go just so I could add to the conversation.

I’d always ask if they knew you personally,

They’d say no.

They’d go on spewing rumors.

And I’d listen.

But then I heard conflicting stories that would disprove some of those rumors until nothing about you seemed to make any sense.

Then the realization hit.

I actually have no idea who you are. 

And I actually have no idea if anything that’s being said about you is true.

Because we’ve never sat down together over coffee and confessed our life stories.

I don’t know your middle name or what your passions are.

I don’t know why you and your ex-boyfriend broke up.

And I don’t know if all these horrible rumors about you are causing you to cry uncontrollably into your teddy bear every night while you ask, “Why is this happening to me?”

I don’t know. 

So why would I pretend like I do?


 

I’ve learned over the past few years that you cannot control what other people think.

You can send a love letter out into the world with the best intentions only to receive a note back saying, “Stop trying to get attention.”

You can walk around with your head held high with confidence radiating from your body only to hear a person mumble under their breath, “She is disgustingly full of herself.”

You can introduce yourself to somebody new with the kindest smile you can bear but they could be thinking, “Oh… I’ve heard things about her.”

You will never be able to control what anybody has to say or think about you.

And that can be maddening.


 

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve thought horrible things about other people.

People I didn’t know very well.

People I knew like the back of my hand.

We’ve all done it. We’re all guilty. And we’re all victims. 

Unless I’m the only one.

If so… well then crap.

But I’m pretty confident that it’s not just me.


 

With that said, I’d like to tell you that I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for any rumor I’ve helped spread that was about you.

I’m sorry for judging you for the amount of guys you’ve kissed.

I’m sorry for any mean thought that has popped into my head while walking past you.

I am so sorry.

Because whether the rumors are true or not, nobody deserves to walk around a college campus while having to drag their horrible reputation behind them.

It doesn’t matter if the rumors are true.

It doesn’t matter if the rumors are false.

You can sleep in your own bed tonight or someone else’s.

You can go on dates with a guy and then stop for whatever reason.

You can do whatever the eff you want.

Because it is nobody else’s goddamn business.


 

We’re all allowed to make mistakes.

We’re all allowed to forgive ourselves and each other.

And wouldn’t it be nice if we didn’t have to hear about those same mistakes over and over again from other people for the next four years of our lives?

I’m begging people to stop. 

I’m begging people to just be kind.

Because I know how impossible life can be when the world is screaming, “Nobody likes you” back in your face.

Why would anyone want someone to think that about themselves?

I really hope you don’t think that about yourself.

Because you are so loved.

You are so important.

And I am so sorry for any harm I’ve caused you.

Don’t let anything that anybody ever says stop you from being exactly who you are.

Because odds are they don’t even know who you are.

So, please keep being kind.

Please keep being you. 

 

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @BeccaTremmel

 

 

Stop it.

Don’t you dare message her on Facebook.

I know, you already “liked” her most recent profile picture.

And you “favorited” her tweet last night that was some quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Maybe you even got a little freaky and retweeted it.

Wait, did you swipe right on her tinder pic?

Well then she has to know you’re interested by now, right?


This is considered flirting nowadays.

But what if, hear me out, what if..

You just went up and asked her out on a date.

To dinner.

In person.

*earth shatters*

We live in a world where confrontation is our absolute last resort and instead of a guy walking up to a young lady and asking,

“Hi there, I noticed you from across the room and I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee with me some time?”

They send messages saying,

“U got kik?”

Stop it.


Now, don’t get me wrong. I know why confrontation is mortifying.

What if she says no?

What if she thinks you’re a creep?

It’s absolutely terrifying putting yourself out there and making the first move. Especially when you’re not behind a computer screen.

But I’m going to let you in on a little secret….

Girls want you to ask them out.

We want to be sitting alone in a coffee shop when you walk up to our table and tell us we look nice that day.

Because if we’re being honest we spent 30 minutes deciding if our hair looked okay up in a ponytail.

We want to be walking to math class when you stop us and ask, “Hey, would you like to get dinner with me next week?”

We actually fantasize about it all the time.

We don’t fantasize about getting random Facebook messages saying, “U hav a gr8 body wud u wanna hang sum time?”

No.

No I would not.


I get it, guys.

Being vulnerable was never a walk in the park.

But if we really think about it… what’s the worst that could happen?

She could say no.

….and that’s about it.

She’s not going to laugh hysterically in your face and tell everyone at your school that you’re a pathetic sicko until your life becomes a black hole filled with despair and tragedy.

Unless she’s a character from the movie “Mean Girls.”

Then run.


People used to go on dates

Or that’s what someone told me once.

I don’t know if I believe them.

Because dating today is nonexistent. We don’t dress up in nice clothes and take each other to fancy dinners. We don’t take walks around the park or buy each other ice cream cones before going to see that awesome new movie that just came out. We don’t make commitments. And we only make promises just to see how burned the other person will be once they break.

We don’t date.

Instead we go to each others’ houses and watch Netflix until someone makes the first move. We have dozens of almost relationships that we label as “things.”

People don’t commit anymore.

And then they randomly stop talking to you one day and you’re sitting there like an idiot thinking “What on earth did I do wrong?”

But they never promised they would stay.

And you didn’t either.

We walk away from each other because we never care enough to actually stay.

And then we bump into someone else who just got out of an “almost relationship”

And we do it all over again.

Just because we can.

Messed up, isn’t it?


Well we can change it.

By being brave and putting ourselves out there.

So how do you get the girl properly?

You ask her on a real date.

You tell her she looks really pretty in that blue dress.

You take her to a fancy dinner.

You respect her boundaries and don’t try to kiss her on the first date.

You ask her out again.

You buy her lavender ice cream.

You hold her hand down sidewalks.

And you only kiss her when you’re both comfortable with it.

That’s all there is to it.

And that, my friend is how you get the girl.

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @beccatremmel

 

P.S. a girl can absolutely ask a guy out on a date properly, too. And guys can ask guys. And girls can ask girls. So go out and catch yourself a bae.

 

 

 

I think you’re really pretty.

I used to hate thinking you were really pretty.

I used to wish you were plain; I used to wish you were boring.

I used to wish you had dead bodies in your closet or that your Instagram photos weren’t so freakin’ cute.

Because maybe then he wouldn’t have chosen you.

But a few months ago, I had a life altering realization.

And that is why I’m writing this letter.


I’ve been wanting to have this conversation with you for a while because I feel that I owe you an explanation as to why I was in love with your love for so long.

I know he’s yours now.

But he was once mine.

And we were once happy.

For six months, I was the one who lifted him up and made him feel like a little kid. I was the one racing him down sidewalks and watching him scream I love you at the top of his lungs. I was the one wearing his high school t-shirts and sleeping next to him every other night. I was making him happy.

I was his.

Because you weren’t there.

He had never said your name before.

He had no idea that you even existed.

And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy the days when you were nonexistent.


The months before I heard your name for the first time were the most beautifully tragic months I’ve ever lived through.

I remember the way he looked at me after he heard me sing for the first time. He counted how many times we made eye contact that night and it turned out to be about 30 times… We were kind of ridiculous like that.

I remember when I held his hand for the first time. We were watching a movie in my dorm room when he held his hand out and asked me to lie down next to him. I threw a pillow at his face because I was so embarrassed and shy… but after his third attempt, I took his hand anyway.

I remember when he accidentally told me he loved me almost every single day after we’d been dating for two weeks. I’d say something funny and he’d reply, “Ah… and that’s why I love you.” Then he’d run away screaming, “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT PRETEND I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING!

I remember the moment I thought I realized he was not the guy I was going to end up with.

I remember being wrong.

I remember watching our love tailspin to rock bottom when I became insecure with the relationship and demanded unrealistic things from him.

I remember leaving him.

I remember regretting it.

I remember feeling so far away from God because I believed He had taken the only true love I’d ever experienced away from me like He was tearing skin from the bone.

I remember not leaving my bed for three months.

I remember hearing your name for the first time.

I remember crying.

A lot.

I remember the bad months just as much as the good months.

And I honestly can’t tell you which ones hurt more.


I sometimes wish I would forget all the sweet facts that make up who he is as a person.

But I memorized them as I’m sure you have.

We both know he’s an introvert who tries exceptionally hard to be an extrovert. We both know he loves capes for some reason. We both know he suffers from occasional crippling anxiety. We both know how much he loves milk. We both know he loves pulling pranks but is also terrified of getting in trouble because he’s a good boy at heart. We both know that he h8s h8ers. And we both know his darling mother means more to him than either of us ever could.

We both know him fairly well.

You more so than I.

But then again, you held his hand much longer than I did.


I never so strongly believed in a love like I believed in him.

He was the one.

Was.

Not too long ago, I moved on and I now believe in a new love.

A steadier love.

And I truly believe there is more than one person out there in the world that we are meant to be with.

Because if there’s only one, then wow, we’re all screwed.


So if I’m no longer in love with him… why did I decide to write this?

Because I want you to know that I feel no resentment toward you.

And that I just really hope you make him happy.

Because that is all I ever wanted to give him.

Happiness.

His happiness meant more to me than my own. I was unable to give him the happiness he needed.

And it almost killed me.

But I hope in the end everything works out better for you.

And I hope you get to be with the love of our lives because you really do deserve to be happy.

I hope that if you ever decide to leave, he’ll love you enough to stop you at the door and kiss you until you decide to stay.

I hope you turn around and promise that you’ll never leave his side.

I hope you don’t make the same mistake I did.

I hope you stay.

Because one of us has to.

And it’s much too late for me.

I hope your love lasts much longer than ours ever did, and I hope you don’t see me as his ex-love who is resentful because I no longer carry his heart around.

I’m merely the girl who was meant to love him right before you came along.

And even though I didn’t know that for a very very long time (I may not have known it until I finished writing this letter), I know it now. And it’s a role I’m not ashamed to play.

Because at least I got him for six months.

At least I had enough time to memorize him completely.

At least I have his love safe in my heart so I can revisit it whenever I miss him.

I do miss him.

A lot sometimes.

But I’m always reassured with the beautiful fact that he has you.

And you won’t leave him.


And that is why I wrote this for you.

Because I think you’re really pretty, and I think it may in fact be forever between you two.

And if you were meant to be his life long love story,

Then I’m just happy to be the prologue.

Love,

The girl he loved before you

.

.

.

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @beccatremmel

“I’m just tired.”

That’s how depression makes you feel.

Tired.


But it’s not like a well-maybe-if-I-get-myself-a-big-ol’-glass-of-milk-and-send-myself-off-to-bed-for-12-hours-I’ll-feel-much-better type of tired.

It’s a dear-God-please-cancel-everything-I-can’t-get-out-of-bed-today type of tired.

It’s just an all-consuming, completely defeating, motivation swallowing tiredness.

Tired of working a job that makes you feel worthless.

Tired of leaving the house and having to face the world with about an inch of confidence.

Tired of spending time with those who will never understand.

Tired of feeling the same foggy way every. single. damn. day.

Tired of having to leave your bed.

Tired of feeling nothing towards anybody or anything.

Tired of being tired.

There’s no energy left to laugh or play. Every drop of motivation is sucked out of your body and you’re left exhausted.


Don’t get me wrong, there are good days or weeks and sometimes even months.

Days where you want to run around and experience life and cherish every second of it because lord knows that the desire to leave your house will be taken away eventually.

And again, you’re left tired.

Everyday is long.

Everybody else is happy.

Everywhere else on earth is more colorful.

And you want it to be a wonderful day

And you want to be someone who bleeds happiness

And you want to be somewhere beautiful

But you can’t.

….’cause you’re in bed.


So if you know someone who suffers from depression, don’t think it’s your fault or that it’s your heroic responsibility to drag their butt out of the house and slap a smile on that pale face.

We just want to feel understood.

If you know someone who suffers from depression, don’t assume something specific is causing this depression. Chances are they don’t even know why they feel this way.

We just want to feel understood.

And finally if you know someone who suffers from depression, go crawl into their bed with a plate of cookies right now and let them talk to you. No judgement. No advice. No demanding what made them feel this way.

Just let us feel understood and loved


I’m so sorry if you feel tired right now.

You have no idea how much I understand…

Bad days will come and let me tell ya… they’re gonna frickin’ suck

But it’ll get better of course because,

Every single bad day still has a sunset.

Every single bad day still has an end.

And I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be a beautiful, beautiful day

And hey, maybe you won’t feel so tired anymore.

I know how much pain you’re in. I understand why you’ve made the bathroom floor your home and why you haven’t eaten anything besides cheez-its in over a week. I get it, Angel.

He hurt you.

Angel, I know you don’t want to pick yourself off the ground and limp back to the unforgiving world like nothing ever happened. I know this feels like the end for you.

Or at least you want it to be.

I know you had a panic attack last night that left you screaming and crying while throwing your pillow around the room while his words echoed mercilessly inside your head,

“I don’t love you anymore.”


And I know you’re still in love with him, Angel. I know you thought you were stronger than him.

I know your argument.

“It was 3am and we were laughing harder than my will could take and his blue eyes had never looked more lovely and his thoughts were for my ears only… And I was screwed.”

I’ve heard the things he’s said. I’ve sat in that bed and watched his perfect lips form promising words.

“It’s different with you.”

“You make me feel so comfortable.”

“I’ve never told anyone that.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

and other things that you know he hasn’t told another soul.

You thought you were different.

And maybe you were.

But maybe that 3am nonsense talk was just that… nonsense.

And maybe he wasn’t showing you broken, scattered pieces of his soul that were for your eyes only.

Maybe they were just words that were mindlessly said after a long, sleepless night.


You thought he’d stay.

I mean he promised, didn’t he?

You let your darkest thought slip out of your mouth and he was still able to find some small light.

He became your light, Angel.

But you need to become your own light.


Because we all say things we don’t mean. We all break promises.

We all get lost in the moment when someone is kissing our neck and we prematurely blurt out,

“I love you.”

We all do stupid things without thinking of the repercussions

We all run around on untouched, fresh snow. We all pick the prettiest flowers and then watch them wilt. We all wear and re-wear our favorite sweater until it tears at the seam.

Sometimes people don’t think, Angel. But that doesn’t mean they’re out to burn you.

Please, Angel, don’t start looking for that darkness in the world.


I know he chased away some really terrifying storms.

I know he said some really wonderful things.

And I know he’s really pretty

…but so are flowers.

Angel you shouldn’t be on the floor. And you shouldn’t grieve over a memory. Because at the end of the day, that’s all he is

…a memory.


I know it hurts right now. Worse than it ever has.

But you have to hold on, Angel

You have to strap your wings back on.

You have to be the stunning light that you are.

Because love will not be the thing that kills you.

That’s unacceptable.

Oh, and one last thing before I go, Angel,

Don’t you dare settle for anything less than heaven.

Love,

Someone Who Knows

I’m a koala.

I love attaching myself to people and never letting them go.

I love people.

And I love loving people.

I’ve learned that there’s a unique genre of people who get unavoidably attached incredibly easily.

I call these people koalas.

Because we’re the people who want to hug you and refuse to let go even when you squirm to get away.

We’ll keep loving the crap outta you.

Sorry ‘bout it.


There are beautiful traits and experiences that come with being koala

But there are also really heart wrenching lessons that we have to learn and those lessons will tear us apart more than any non-koala will ever understand.

Koalas have this amazing gift of opening up to anything with a heartbeat. Vulnerability is our second language because we’re addicted to making connections with people.

Koalas trust people easily because there is good in every soul, even if it looks pitch black. We’ll find the good.

However, trusting everyone can backfire. Sometimes we open up to the wrong people and put valuable information in their dirty hands. One of the first lessons a koala will learn is not everybody wants to see you flourish and overcome your trials.

Sometimes people steal your wings and then push you off the ledge while yelling, “Why aren’t you flying??”

Koalas don’t understand those people or how they can possibly find entertainment in watching others’ fail. But we still love those people, because we can’t help it.


So how do you know if you’re a koala? How do you spot a koala? Well I’ve noticed some shining traits that koalas have. Here are a few,

  1. Those people who seem to have about 357 “best friends” and who are always surrounded by a crowd

Example – “I have to buy Christmas gifts for my best friends Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Phoebe, Ross, Joey, Gunther, Mike, Taylor, Kesha, Sara, Hunter, etc”

  1. Those people who keep old movie tickets and leave dead flowers in their room because they’re “sentimental” and make them think of someone they adore.

Example – I still have my ticket to a Hannah Montana concert I went to in 7th grade because I went with my best friend and I’m incapable of throwing it out.

  1. Those people who remember dates to the point where it’s abnormal.

Example – “Hey did you know that 5 years ago today you and I went to that one park right by your church and talked for hours about love, religion and our passions? HAPPY FRIENDIVERSARY.”

  1. Those people who open up like it’s their major.

Example – If you and I go on a coffee date I can honestly say that within a half hour, you will know my entire life story including the dark parts. I can’t control how much I share… it’s like word vomit.

  1. And finally those people who cherish the smallest acts of kindness by others.

Example – “Oh my gosh, you’re letting me come over into your lane despite all of this traffic? Can I buy you dinner sometime? How about flowers? How do you feel about love at first sight? I just really think we’d be forever friends….”


Does any of that sound like you? If so, congrats! You’ve got the most wonderful, heartbreaking, beautiful, naïve, loving, destructive, inspiring condition that a person can have!

So go out and throw your open heart at unsuspecting people

Maybe they’ll accept you.

Maybe they won’t.

But you’re a koala and no heart shattering experience will ever stop you from loving everything unconditionally.

And that’s quite an amazing trait to have.


So just keep being the adorable koala that you are

Because the world needs loving people like you to make connections and love like there’s no tomorrow.


I believe in you

and I love you.

-Becca Tremmel

“What’re you in for?”

She asked that as I sat down at the cafeteria table where the rest of the 20 year old girl patients were sitting.

“Dammit, Kate. Could you be more blunt?” asked the girl sitting across from me. She was Kate’s roommate. Kate rolled her eyes and looked back at me.

Waiting.

I sunk into myself a bit.

“Well you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” sighed Kate.

“No it’s okay.” I said, because I figured I’d have to tell my story quite a few times while I was there in the psychiatric hospital.

“I have PTSD and MDD. Also they upped the dosage of my anti-depressants last month and ever since then I’ve been having suicidal thoughts.”

Everyone at the table nodded and continued to eat the questionable cafeteria food. Almost like everything I’d just confessed was completely normal…

Well that’s because it is completely normal to them.

I looked back at Kate and asked, “What about you? Why’re you here?”

Kate’s roommate, Cori dropped her fork and yelled “I hate this game. This why’re-you-here game. I really don’t want to play. Can I not? I’m out. I lose.”

Everybody stared at Cori for a minute, but then Kate turned her attention back towards me and said,

“Well I guess I should tell you since you told me.”

Kate continued on to tell her story of why she was there. I won’t repeat her story though, for it is not my story to tell. I learned a lot of horrible stories about many other patients that week. I never learned Cori’s, though.

And nobody learned more about mine.

For example,

the reason why I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Because we weren’t there to live in our past and dwell there. We were in that psych ward because we had survived the brink of death and now we were ready to look towards the future. We wanted to let the past go, so we avoided talking about it. But here I am, spilling my secrets in hopes that it’ll enlighten someone or give me courage.


News that I was in the psych ward spread quicker than I thought possible but nobody knew exactly why I was in there or what happened.

I am NOT upset or embarrassed that people know.

In fact, I wanted many of my close friends and family to know. I also wanted my darling sorority to know.

I don’t want to treat this experience like it’s this horrible secret that no one should ever hear about, because that’s not how I feel about it at all.

Soooo let me clarify a few things:

  • I’m NOT ashamed that I was admitted into a psychiatric hospital
  • I’m NOT ashamed that I have a disease or two
  • I’m NOT ashamed for seeking help
  • and I’m NOT ashamed for having issues… word on the street is that we all have ’em.

Let’s learn a bit more about my issues then (woo!),

I have PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) and MDD (Major Depressive Disorder).

I only started medication to treat these diseases in September. My chemical levels have been completely out of wack because they’ve been increasing and decreasing dosages as well as switching medications.

It’s been horrible.

Sadly, some of theses medications have a super sucky side effect, suicidal thoughts. Pretty much the definition of super sucky. And before I continue with my story, I want to clarify something else,

I did NOT attempt to commit suicide. However, I was having suicidal thoughts.

That does not mean I’m condemning those who have attempted. In fact,

I find those people to be incredibly strong.

They have the strength to be alive right now even though their diseases were one shred away from taking away their lives.

No, my reason for clarifying my actions, or in-actions, is because I really… REALLY can’t have people coming up to me and asking me why I tried to “off myself” or how I tried to do it. That would probably be the least helpful thing that I could experience right now.

Well now you know why I was in the psych ward, now I’m betting that you’re wondering what it was like…


Well to be honest, I felt like I was in that movie “It’s Kind of a Funny Story.” Psych wards don’t feel like an actual place…

just a dream, or sometimes a nightmare.

I basically roamed the hospital halls for five days while in a state of delirium due to my medications changing.

I was pushed to attend constant therapy sessions where we talked about my feelings and my recovery plan over and over and over again.

I was also ridded of every single possession of mine that one could use to commit suicide… including my crayons (Yeah I never really understood that one either. I mean c’mon, crayons?)

And even though I felt like a two year old who had to be constantly supervised by a team of doctors and a spent 1/3 of my time rolling my eyes at some of the ridiculous questions I was asked,

it was still one of the most beneficial experiences that I’ve ever had.

I’m not going to lie, I was terrified of the people I was going to have to meet and live with in the psych ward. We have this horrible stigma that’s tied to what we’ve seen and heard about psychiatric hospitals. Most of that stigma comes from the media. Movies and television shows make psych wards and mental health patients look completely insane and terrifying.

This needs to stop.

The people in that psychiatric hospital were the most genuine and most loving people I’ve ever met.

They were kind people who have been treated horribly by this world. And do you know what most of these beautiful people thought about constantly in the hospital? No, they didn’t think too much about getting better or learning how to love themselves.

Most of these patients were worried about keeping their jobs once they had been released.

They were concerned with how many friends and family were going to leave their side because they were “uncomfortable” with the mental health disease that these patients suffer from. How horrible is that?

They should be focusing on realizing their self-worth and learning to cope with their diseases rather than trying to figure out how to keep their job because their boss has a stigma for mental disorders. Doesn’t that defeat the entire purpose of staying in a psychiatric hospital?

This makes me so sad

People are ashamed of who they are and embarrassed because they have a disorder. That’s more sickening than the actual disease.

Even now after I’ve left the hospital and confirmed to everyone that I was there, I still see the shame people have due to their mental illnesses. So many of my dear friends and people I’ve only spoken with once have been confessing to me that they’ve been admitted into a psychiatric hospital at one point and that they’ve struggled with mental illnesses,

but they’ve never told anyone.

And this is why I’m telling everyone.

I’m not writing this for attention. I’m not writing this to tell you I’m actually crazy and that every mental health patient is crazy. No, I’m writing this for those people who are ashamed or embarrassed of their mental disorder.


Yes, I’m writing this directly to you.

You are outstanding.

You are one of the strongest people who has ever walked on this earth and you are way too special to worry about the judgements of uneducated people who are uncomfortable with mental illnesses.

You didn’t choose this life.

You didn’t choose this disease.

And you don’t deserve to be ashamed of how much you’ve overcome.

You should be celebrating the fact that you’re still alive today and you’re still kicking depression’s ass, because that thing is an absolute monster.

And every person who you’ve ever loved should be there celebrating with you too.

I idolize your strength.


My little confession blog turned into me ranting, but that’s chill. Hopefully you learned something. So here are the main points of this post:

  • I’m not ashamed of my time in a psychiatric hospital
  • I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder
  • I didn’t attempt to commit suicide
  • Mental Illnesses patients are actual angels who roam the earth fighting a constant battle
  • We need to change how we view mental illnesses and those who suffer from them
  • We need to do that ^ right frickin’ now
  • You should celebrate your accomplishments and strength

Also, I’m so incredibly thankful for such an amazing support system. My room was covered with gifts and cards and letters and food that lovely people brought me. And thank you to all of my visitors. If I had any doubt that people cared about me, that doubt was crushed about an hour into my stay at the hospital. I cannot begin to describe how much you all mean to me.

I love you and thank you for reading this incredibly long confession/rant,

Becca Tremmel