by on

You’re engaged?

I thought to myself. My mouth hung open covered by my hand in utter disbelief.

You’re engaged… and I found out through an instagram post.

Your joy radiated through my cracked phone screen as I sat crosslegged on the floor of my cruise ship musician cabin.

The photos were stunning really. The effort he put in made me half smile as my heart continued to sink deeper and deeper in the waves beneath my ship.

I wouldn’t even say I found out through an instagram post.

I had you muted for months in order to protect my own peace, or rather my sanity.

A different friend had texted me minutes earlier,

“Did you see she got engaged?”

I’m pretty sure I blacked out as my trembling fingers typed your name into my instagram search bar.

And there you were

Engaged.

I had caved days earlier, texting you on your birthday.

The first one I had spent without celebrating your existence over cake or dinner or a last minute put together party at our home.

“Happy Birthday!”

I had spent hours deleting and re-typing my message.

If you had opened our text thread up for any reason, the typing bubbles that would’ve popped up every few seconds would’ve driven anyone mad.

I was debating whether to pour out my heart and tell you how much your life and your love and your friendship means to me.

..meant to me

before it all went to shit.

But I couldn’t dig up a freshly buried grave on your birthday before the grass had even started growing on top of it.

But I also couldn’t not text you on your birthday.

“Thank you!”

Your reply

Short. Sweet. Kind.

It gave me hope that we could figure this all out one day.

But then I stared at my phone days later with all hope lost.

You got engaged.

And I couldn’t tell if the tears streaming down my face were due to complete and utter happiness for you,

or complete devastation that I would not be attending that wedding

or bubbling anger that I couldn’t celebrate this miraculous day with you because you had pushed me out of your circle.

Maybe all three?

Isn’t that funny?

And then I knew this would be the hardest “breakup” I’d ever have to go through,

Because I would get over the fights, and the cruel words said behind my back, and every petty little grudge I had,

But I would never stop loving you.

And I would never stop daydreaming of ways to earn your love back.

Usually with breakups, you let go of the love and that’s how you move forward.

But the love I had for you had no where to go.

So it sat with me.

On the floor of that cruise ship cabin.

I pulled out my guitar and quietly began strumming a few chords.

Hoping no one would hear me and report me for being a nuisance,

I began telling our story.

“Kindred in heart, spirit and mind. We joked that we kind of lived the same life.”

We always had a thousand things in common.

Homeschooled, snow obsessed, our mother’s shared an exact birthday, we had the same childhood dog, and our sisters have the same name.

Amongst countless other beautiful coincidences.

We were soulmates.

Practically sisters.

You just happened to be much kinder, more loving, forgiving and cursed less (if at all) than me.

You were quite literally my better half.

The better version of me.

Like if I had made the right decision in every situation I’ve ever had,

I would’ve been indistinguishable from you.

That’s why I always loved having you around.

Because,

  1. You’re amazing, but also
  2. You were everything I could be. You were proof that I could be better and maybe if I hung around you forever, I would be.

So when our problems arose, I was dumbfounded.

I didn’t do the things I was accused of,

but if the loveliest, sweetest, best person on the planet thought I did,

well then maybe I did?

My head was clouded for years. Unable to trust myself or anyone close to me.

And yet, no matter how angry or depressed or anxious I became,

the same thought kept reappearing,

I just want to be your friend again.

My mood swings ran wild and I spent hours, days, weeks pouring over receipts.

Always coming to the same conclusion,

You had judged me wrong.

I hadn’t communicated well.

And it completely pummeled us.

But after nearly a year, it almost felt too far gone.

You were wedding planning and I watched from afar,

wondering if you still hated me

wondering if you still told people how terrible I was

wondering if you even missed me a little bit

wondering if I’d ever hear about how he proposed.

I saw your bridesmaids post photos gushing over your dress, your shower planning, the way you asked them to stand with you at the alter.

It ate at me.

It was all I thought about.

All I talked about.

Especially when I was drunk.

I was swimming through crystal clear waters and singing my life away on the ocean,

but it would always come back to me drunk and crying in the cruise ship bar.

The crew members nicknamed me “the crying girl”

Not the worst nickname I’ve had.

But the other people in my life grew tired of my erratic emotions.

I felt like a wounded, cornered wild animal,

lashing out and screaming in pain.

Begging for anything to take away the hurt.

And I replayed one particular conversation of ours in my head over and over again like forcing myself to re-watch the notebook everyday like some sort of masochist.

We were getting ready in our separate bathrooms

Gushing over how close we’ve become and how you were just starting to date this guy,

And how maybe one day you would marry him.

Then you said across the hallway, “and you’ll be my bridesmaid!”

I paused, awestruck and stared into the mirror, then I stuck my head out of my bathroom as I spoke sheepishly like a little kid,

“…. you think we’re at bridesmaid level?”

a few seconds passed and your head popped out from your bathroom,

“I mean, I think we are. Do you?”

It was like two kindergarteners on the first day of school deciding they would be best friends till death do we part.

“oh my god of COURSE i do, I just didn’t know if YOU felt that way!”

We ran down the hallway and embraced.

That stupid house.

I can see it now.

The layout made no sense at all.

Why did we have two kitchens?

Why did we have two electric bills for one home?

Why was that one room always covered in cockroaches?

It wasn’t much,

but we loved it.

It was torn down a few years later,

but I still drive by sometimes and pay my respects to that formative, chaotic plot of land.

“You’re the best part in all my stories.”

You were, and still are.

We hadn’t spoken in 6 months.

We hadn’t been friends for 9 months.

I was chatting with another friend on the phone one sunny day in May

Re-analyzing where it all went wrong.

Trying to figure out where my priorities were,

  • Get back what was taken from me
  • Get revenge on those who had completely destroyed me for no reason
  • You

I chose you.

My friend then uttered the greatest advice I’ve ever heard,

A total game changer,

Completely novel and groundbreaking,

and re-routed the courses of both our lives forever.

“Why don’t you just call her?”

Everything clicked into place.

It was the first thing that had felt truly right.

So I chose to be just like you always were,

And I made the right decision.

I called you.

Convinced you wouldn’t answer.

Convinced you still might hate me.

Praying to God that you didn’t.

I was preparing to leave an awkward voicemail when,

“…hello?”

That same childlike, small voice that was so innocent and pure, just like the day we decided we would stand by each other at the alter.

“hi…”

Silence.

“I am so sorry.”

I finally choked out.

I broke down into the smallest pieces I’ve ever been in and let out a year’s worth of pent up, guttural devastation.

“Oh bec, I’m so sorry too.” you said, crying just as hard as I was

And we just sat there, horrendously sobbing and saying nothing for a few minutes.

I finally felt resurrected knowing you felt the same way I did.

Embarrassed and missing me.

Embarrassed and missing you.

We spoke for about an hour, not getting into the muck but as least acknowledging it.

But more just acknowledging that we were both willing to wade into that filth in order to clean it up and save our relationship.

You told me about how he proposed.

I told you about the cruise ship.

We laughed through the choked sobs and finally ended the conversation on,

“I can’t wait to go on our walk.”

And a couple weeks later, I pulled up to our walking spot.

We had walked around that lake dozens of times before,

but this time I was terrified.

And annoyed that the coffee shop we always went to for our iced chais beforehand had closed just minutes before I pulled up.

I was hoping to use chai as a peace offering.

I sat in my car, legs shaking, and praying that we could have these difficult conversations and navigate them with all the love we had pent up over the last year.

Your car pulled into the parking lot.

I got out and waited anxiously to finally see my best friend again.

You swung open the car door and beamed at me.

Holding two iced chais.

And I knew we were going to be okay.

So much happened afterwards,

a lot of things didn’t work out,

but most things did.

And we’ve been able to wade through all the craziness,

stronger than we ever were before.

In each other’s lives forever.

we are sisters, after all.

– becca tremmel

by on

“She’s growing up too fast.”

A sentiment that is typically said by a loving mother who walks her toddler into the first day of pre-school or waves goodbye as her teenager leaves the house in a glittery prom dress.

But how unfortunate it is for the girls who truly did grow up too fast.

The girl whose doe eyes flinch when someone else snatches their rose colored glasses.

the pre-mature bloomers.

Nothing is quite as tragic as a child who is forced to bear adult problems.

I often grieve for my childhood self.

I ache for the girl who was told in her first year of public school that she was “ugly” and deprived of any connections in those gloriously awkward years.

I ache for the girl who went on her first date at 15 and the older boy put his hands places she’s never been touched before.

She froze under his gaze but the lasting thought was,

I’m uncomfortable, but he must really like me?

But ultimately, she learned a very terrible lesson that day.

No does not mean no, really.

And it took many, many years for her to unlearn it.

I ache for the girl who was so desperate to receive love, that she gave it away freely to the worst people.

I ache for the girl who didn’t know any better.

She had no reason to distrust anyone,

no reason to lock her window at night.

Oh how terribly wrong she was.

Reader, I want you to try something with me really quick.

I want you to take 30 seconds and imagine a world where there is no danger, no person who would ever harm you, adults have all the answers, and there’s no need to even ponder “trust” because you would never have a chance to lose it. Everyone has the best intentions. Everyone loves each other. No life is above another.

This was our reality at some point. I will say, maybe not everybody.

But we’re not born with distrust in our hearts.

There was a point in time when we had faith in those older than us.

Faith that no harm would come to us intentionally

But I believe many of us can pinpoint when that belief switched on a dime.

Maybe this person does not have my best intentions at heart.

Maybe this person wants to harm me.

No matter how much our parents can prepare us for this terrible moment,

I don’t know if it’s every easily handled by the child.

I know for a fact that I did not handle it with ease.

And now I lie awake at night, petrified for any future children I may have.

How am I supposed to protect them?

How do I shield them for the ugliness of this world?

I guess you can’t.

What a terrifying thought.

This is why people over-shelter their kids, I think.

I grew up on a Utah mountain (in a cave essentially… A very nice cave, though)

And I was surrounded by very sheltered kids in high school.

We were no better off than the under sheltered kids, I believe.

My rose-colored glasses still shattered

Just the same as any other girl’s.

My story is not unique.

I used to think it was.

I used to think that I was one of the very few who had been terminally scarred at a young age.

No one could ever understand my issues or what I’ve been through.

I genuinely believed that tale,

Until I told someone my story.

“That happened to me, too last year.”

And I told more people.

“I was a little kid when it happened to me.”

“My parents didn’t believe me.”

“My church blamed me.”

and more people.

“All of my friends took his side after it happened.”

“I was told never to tell anyone.”

And I slowly collected these horrible stories, all told by people I loved very deeply.

It was shocking to me how many people have experienced an unwilling pre-mature loss of innocence.

I thought my case was “special” (a terrible kind of special, obviously)

But I was horrified when it was just another sad story from another scarred kid

I hate how much this happens.

I grieve for all of us kids who didn’t get to spend another day running through the woods,

battling magical beings with wooden swords

and playing house or capture the flag with all the neighbor kids.

I despise the resilience we all had to build up over time,

I’m thankful we have it

But I despise its origin.

I wrote this song as an ode to the part of me that I had to lay to rest way too early.

She was covered by a landslide that flattened a mountain.

She had absolutely no chance.

But now she’s “one with the earth.”

And that’s probably the best place for her to rest.

We’re all just trying to grow, creating cracks in pavement

I’m desperate to find colors that I haven’t seen since I was a homeschooled, wide-eyed kid.

But in her honor,

I’ll keep searching

I’ll keep growing.

by on

well goddamn it has been a minute since I’ve typed out a blog.

I mean truly, what year is it?

Remember when I used to blog all of the time??

It used to be the absolute best way for me to cope and process all of the swirling chaos that was my life for so long.

But then blogging became *lame* and people started filming videos for the clock app instead.

No one really wants to read a blog anymore, right?

No one has any remnants of an attention span anymore… right???

No one cares about the torment that is my past love life anymore….. right!???!!?

I’m really hoping that you’ll prove me wrong.

Even though I just spent approximately 2.5 hours scrolling through the clock app.

No one is perfect OKAY.

Anyways,

On Friday, 7.29.22 I released a single called “Relapse.”

If you haven’t listened to it yet,

  1. are we even friends?
  2. it’s definitely got swirling chaos energy so
  3. if you ever enjoyed any of the blogs I wrote, you may potentially enjoy that song maybe

I wanted to write just a little something about the inspiration behind the song and all of the processing that continues to occur years after it was written,

in a swirling chaos kind of way.

I was in an on and off “relationship” for about 7 years.

That’s right, 7.

That’s right, “relationship”

It was more of a best friendship turned trauma bond,

a let’s-hang-out-for-15 hours-and-cancel-every-other-plan-we-had-for-the-week, type deal,

a life lesson disguised as a twin flame imprint, if you will.

(I’m assuming if you’ve read my blog then you’ve read twilight. the research is there I just haven’t gathered it)

I don’t think I could put it more plainly than that.

Over the course of those 7 years, I wrote songs.

Dozens of songs.

Hundreds of poems.

Thousands of drunken rants in my notes app.

I was a woman possessed.

And through all of those scraps of sentences and metaphors and letters to myself that began with the phrase, “BECCA, CALM THE HELL DOWN.”

(I’m not even joking)

I began to process bits and pieces of the swirling chaos that was this “situationship.”

I decided to downgrade it.

It was a very large pill to swallow once I realized I had dedicated some of the most enthusiastic, romantic, and optimistic years of my life to someone who didn’t care if I got hit by a bus.

Unless he could profit off of the pity somehow.

I gave this man my youth.

I know I’m still hot and young but damn.

My most well-crafted lyrics were dedicated to someone who once referred to me as a “quick fix” in his own writings.

So why was I so hellbent on the idea of us being together and fulfilling the prophecy of us being Johnny and June reincarnated?

I may have lost my marbles…slightly.

So how did I go from being hopelessly dedicated to a human potato,

to an independent lady who is finally capable of having a healthy, wonderful relationship?

I will share all of my secrets.

  1. I made a quick little timeline of my life, emphasizing the years that I became pathetic

I wrote down all of the times this man had upset me. Or really any time anybody had upset me in the past 7 years. I made notes about when we came back together, when forgiveness was gifted and boundaries immediately blurred. I pieced it all together until I had a general timeline of my life.

Then I saw an immediate cycle. It had always been there and I had always known we were in a rut, but actually seeing the cycle of how we’d be buds and then spending every second together and then he’d do something so incredibly horrible that I cut him out immediately and then months or weeks of space and writing, and then BAM I miss him. One of us reaches out and back down the rabbit hole we go.

I was doing the SAME thing over and over and over again. Hundreds of times from what I gathered, and not only with him. I had been living in this cycle with multiple people for YEARS. He was just the prominent one that uncovered the rest of my insanity. I immediately thought “I’ve been having the same conflict with the same characters over and over again for almost a decade.”

It’s almost like when you watch a comfort show or movie over and over again because you know exactly what’s going to happen and who’s going to betray who and how the ending always is. I had made these relationships my comfort show. I knew exactly what they would do to me each time we tried again, yet I allowed it because I felt comfortable in the outcome. I knew it wouldn’t kill me and I knew I’d forgive them again anyways. Why was I doing this? So my working theory is I had a massive fear of commitment and allowing myself to be loved the way I was truly worthy of it because of lack of self esteem or some shit like that? Idk I’m still in therapy.

2. When the moment came, I made a different choice.

So what happens in a cycle? The same shit over and over again. Exactly right. So how do you break out of something like that? One of you needs to make a different choice. So when you haven’t been speaking for three months and you REALLy miss them and you just watched a REALLY sad movie about lost lovers who were supposed to end up together but didn’t and you REALLY hate yourself because you’re stalking their instagram and who liked their recent post and so you send a quick text or like one of their photos to be coy, just don’t. I know that sounds impossible, but hear me out.

Love addiction is incredibly difficult, but also kind of predictable. I know that I won’t miss them forever. I know that withdrawals only last so long and then I’m on the up and up again. I know that as soon as I give in to a relapse (hehe) I will hate myself and it honestly doesn’t feel as good or satisfy my heart like I thought it would. Going back to the wrong person over and over again is disappointing. You’ve spent days, weeks, or months romanticizing their greatest hits. It’s almost as if anger and betrayal and broken hearts fade but love doesn’t. The good things don’t fade like the bad things do. So when you miss them and look back on this “shituationship” (I downgraded again) all you feel are warm, fuzzy and passionate feelings. All of that icky stuff has faded or simmered down. It only bubbles back up when you’re with them and it STILL sucks. It never feels quite as good as you think it’s going to when you’re back with them.

I still remember the moment that I made a different choice. I was home in bed. I hadn’t seen him in 6 months and I was in a different relationship. I missed being friends with him but I knew it would be impossible. The withdrawals started, but I didn’t give in. I held strong.

But then one night at 11pm.

BAM.

He calls me.

I stared at my phone as it just buzzed in my hand.

I started thinking “Oh god he’s drunk in a ditch somewhere. He needs me. If I don’t go then he’ll die. He’s in a depressive state. If something bad happens then that’s on me. I should answer. I have to answer.”

But I continued to just stare at my phone.

And then,

silence.

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t text him the next day.

I just went on like nothing ever happened.

He later told me when we ran into each other that he basically WAS drunk in a ditch somewhere and needed me but I didn’t answer.

Did I almost throw up?

Absolutely.

Was he my responsibility?

Absolutely not.

It is 100% possible to make a different choice when the cycle starts to pull you back in. It’s uncomfortable. It goes against every screaming fiber in your body, but that’s addiction baby. You have to re-wire your brain by breaking out of that cycle.

3. Love yourself just as you loved them

I wasn’t the biggest fan of myself for a long time. I didn’t care about what I put on my body or what I ate or my living space or how I spent my time. My entire existence was to please another person. Not cute !!!

After I broke the cycle, he came back up one or two more times. I will say, the cycle damn near pulled me in again but I stayed strong. Now it’s just second nature.

I spent a year and a half by myself. No dating, really.

I moved into a place by myself and furnished it with things that make me so happy.

I went for walks in my new neighborhood that happens to be my favorite part of town.

I started buying myself flowers for my dining room table

I took pottery classes and poetry classes and acting classes

I fell in love with painting

I worked on my music like a crazy person

My creative energy exploded into like 8 different channels

I made new friends

I went out by myself didn’t want to hide in a corner due to lack of self esteem.

I developed a skincare routine !!

I read the entire bible

I learned how to cook and bake

I learned how to take care of curly hair

I continued to write songs and poems and drunken notes in my phone to further process what had happened

I started releasing art inspired by him.

I started inspiring myself.

I figured out all the things that made me happy and all of the people who don’t deplete me of energy and love and I held onto them

The rest were given boundaries or nothing at all.

When you’re forced to spend time alone, you really figure out who you are.

It’s been a total game changer for me.

I know that those 7 years were not a waste of time, ultimately.

Do I wish I had made different decisions?

Absolutely.

But I learned so much about myself and about love and it led me to where I am now,

A somewhat stable bitch with a terrifying work ethic and all the love I could possibly ask for.

Every person I’ve spoken to about this situation always responds with something like,

“Oh yeah I have one of those, an on off again will they won’t they from hell.”

So I thought I’d compile some of those tips that helped me (even though I have truly no idea what I’m talking about, I just have vast experience in this department) and also maybe promote my song and also write a blog because I miss it.

Thanks for reading this far and for listening to the song! Here it is,

Relapse Links

I’m going to continue drinking my 3rd cup of coffee today and not texting anybody toxic,

Because unironically,

I can indeed quit whenever I want.

by on

You want to remain invisible.

Don’t you?

I know the demons you’ve walked with for so long have become so normal.

Like they’ve always truly been there.

That’s something I understand completely.

I can’t remember a day on this earth before I had demons.

They sit with me.

They go to work with me.

They sleep in my bed.

They watch me sing.

And write songs.

They come to me in dark dreams.

And worst of all, when I’m having an intimate moment with someone I love.

They never leave.

I’m not sure if they ever will.

But the danger of walking around with your demons so often is they can be normalized.

Demons are not normal, sweet one.

They shouldn’t be dragging you down at every moment of the day.

They shouldn’t be giving you panic attacks after a passionate kiss with someone you love and trust.

They shouldn’t sit with you as you stare in the mirror and cut your hair with scissors out of pure mania.

They shouldn’t exist so effortlessly in your life.

They’re not supposed to be there.

Some may even joke about how normal these demons are and the mental problems that affect so many hurting people.

Our culture has become quite disturbing in that sense, when you truly think about it.

We’ve normalized depression, anxiety and other mental disorders so much to the point that we joke about them constantly.

You can’t get on twitter without seeing a joke about depression or suicide.

I’ve always been an advocate for ending the stigma that comes with mental health issues.

That’s a beautiful thing.

But normalizing these issues is not okay.

It’s gotten to the point that it’s weird NOT to have to depression or anxiety.

So our culture has convinced itself that everyone on the planet has mental issues or we joke about their existence on Twitter just to fit in.

That is so gross to me.

And it’s particularly horrible for people who truly suffer with these issues.

Depression and Anxiety and many other disorders are treatable.

Most of them aren’t supposed to last forever.

And with therapy, medication, and a healthy lifestyle switch, most of these disorders are treatable.

But this whole “you’re not normal unless you’re suicidal” culture is not okay.

Because it normalizes suicide.

And suicide isn’t normal.

Now on a personal note,

I think we allow ourselves to be accustomed to the demons and depression and the disturbing thoughts that invade our psyche.

When I was 20, I was committed to a psychiatric hospital.

It was actually the reason I wrote my first blog.

I don’t remember everything from that week of my life, all I remember is wanting to end my life.

I had a date picked out.

I had a plan.

And my friends, family and even my acquaintances completely freaked out.

Back then, I kept thinking that everyone was being dramatic.

That I didn’t want to make a “big deal” out of the situation.

I only told one or two people how bad my PTSD was because I was afraid that people would exaggerate and freak out.

Looking back on it now,

Of course they did.

Of course they committed me to that hospital.

Of course.

I was a threat to my own life.

However, I was desensitized to the demons and the thoughts in my brain that I had convinced myself that MY thoughts were rational.

And everyone else was being insane.

It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that you might just be irrational,

But it’s taking a step back,

Really listening to yourself and speaking to others to figure out that your thoughts may not be all that normal.

Now, after years of therapy and one hospitalization, I’ve learned that for me, I just pretend that a close friend is talking to me.

As if I were listening to someone I loved dearly sharing their thoughts with me instead of the thoughts being my own.

If those thoughts were coming from a dear loved one, would I be concerned?

If yes, then I know that those thoughts aren’t rational. Its just the demons normalizing their existence again.

I know how hard it is to ask for help.

I know how hard it is to put yourself in the spotlight and say “hi I’m not okay” because that’s too much attention.

I really get it.

But it all starts with telling someone.

As soon as those thoughts are said out loud, God and the rest of the world will do whatever it takes to bring you back to a healthy place.

It may all sound really dramatic, honestly it did to me too.

However, it all comes from a place of love.

People in your life love you and they want you to be okay,

So swallow your pride, dear one, and your beliefs that this is all “normal” and the demons following your every move are just a part of the ride.

Tell someone.

That’s all it takes to start the process to get back to REAL normal.

So if you’re having thoughts that seem a bit “off” just please talk to someone.

Look into a therapist or a school counselor.

Share your thoughts.

If they seem a bit irrational, they probably are.

I love you.

You are so strong

And this too shall pass.

Because demons aren’t normal,

Don’t listen to the backwards culture we’ve created

And getting rid of them isn’t impossible.

Trust me.

 

 

facebook – Becca Tremmel

instagram – @littlelionbecca

twitter – @littlelionbecca

by on

I’ve felt very misunderstood for most of my life.

It might have sparked from the belief that I am innately different.

Emotions overcome me and I feel as though I’m drowning in whatever feeling I happen to be immersed in that day.

People have often told me that we can “control” our emotions and how we react to certain situations, but I have never found that to be true.

For example,

I was once in a relationship and the person cheated on me.

The second I found out, my heart became an anchor that dropped through the floor.

My mind raced with anxious and terrible reasoning as to why this was happening to me.

My limbs became so heavy that I couldn’t move and began shaking.

I was drowning in sadness.

It consumes me entirely when it washes over my life.

There’s very little time to process during the crashing waves of sadness, but when the ocean stills itself and I’m floating there, broken but alive, I begin to process the storm that just happened.

And all that to say,

I kind of enjoy being sad.

I know that’s kind of messed up, but it’s true.

That’s where I feel most misunderstood.

I think sadness and suffering is truly beautiful.

It makes me a human being.

And it shows me just how durable my body is when it comes to feeling sad.

Or anything really.

Emotions completely fascinates me.

And I’ve always felt that I feel a bit more than others do.

My heart sinks a little bit lower than most.

My emotions pull me a bit farther into the dark trench in that ocean of sadness.

A lot farther than most dare to go.

But I always swim back up to the surface with new findings to write about and describe.

It also makes me capable of understanding other people because,

hey, I’ve been there.

I’ve bought property and lived comfortably there.

I like to understand other people and empathize with someone when they’re in pieces.

Because sometimes you just need someone to be in pieces with you.

I gladly volunteer to be that person.

I’m not sure if that makes disturbed or just compassionate.

I guess I’d be fine with either.

At the end of the day, I think sadness is beautiful.

When I’d enter new relationships, my worst fear was never having a broken heart ever again.

What if I never feel that deeply again?

I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who’d help me let go of that fear.

But I did,

And it’s magic.

I’ve felt a fair share of sadness for this life, and I’m sure I’ll feel a lot more before my time is up.

But now I don’t try to break myself and self sabotage relationships just to feel something.

I’m steady and put together.

I no longer enjoy being “broken.”

p.s. check out my band’s new song “Broken” which inspired this blog and my whole life tbh

Click here to listen to “Broken”!!

 

facebook – Becca Tremmel

instagram – @littlelionbecca

twitter – @littlelionbecca

by on

“How did I get here?”

The thought I’ve had while sitting on this porch several times.

Like a recurring nightmare.

Why is he leaving?

Why am I not worthy of love?

And not just any love.

The love.

Why can’t I figure this whole relationship crap out?

I’ve watched someone tear out of my driveway like a getaway driver while I sat on this porch.

I’ve poured my heart out to someone and confessed that my feelings for the past three years were indeed not platonic on this porch.

I’ve shared nonjudgmental cigarettes with someone who just needed a friend to share a horrible story with on this porch.

I’ve told people I’ve loved them on this porch.

I’ve been told I’m not the one for them on this porch.

I’ve cried my eyes out on this porch.

I’ve prayed on this porch.

I’m writing this depressing blog on this porch.

The stories I’ve shared over the years have mostly been of my triumphs and turbulences with love.

Finding it.

Falling in and out of it.

Failing at it.

Deciding to walk away from it.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s a crutch for me.

That I’m just way too terrified of being alone.

Having nothing to come home to besides my cat and a mattress on the floor.

And I do believe that the ability to survive and even thrive without someone to fall back on is a skill we all need to nurture and develop.

But at the same time, my worst fear is walking through this life and leaving it all by myself.

I suppose that’s why I get up off the porch at some point and try again.

But trying again is really exhausting and defeating.

To think about finding another person.

Who you happen to meet somewhere in this broken world.

Then clicking.

And you watch for red flags but ultimately abandon your instincts and fall in love anyway because it’s inevitable at some point.

But the red flags multiply throughout the days, months, years

And you turn your cheek every time.

Until they surround you.

And then that horrible thought creeps into your mind

“Maybe they’re not the one.”

Then denial.

Denial.

Denial.

Denial.

And they hold you while you cry on that floor ridden mattress.

And it’s happening again.

You’ve failed again.

You’re sitting on your front porch while they pull out of your driveway and don’t look back

Again.

But at some point,

We all have to take a deep breath.

Stand up.

Walk inside.

Leave the front porch.

And wait impatiently till that stroke of luck hits you.

And you’re pouring your heart out to someone else on that same front porch.

Because it only has to work once.

You won’t have to sit helplessly and watch them pull out of your driveway.

You won’t have to watch them leave.

Because that person will sit next to you through all of the other triumphs and turbulences in life.

On that very same front porch.

 

 

by on

The biggest turn off in the whole world is when someone talks poorly about their ex or, worse, multiple exes.

There’s NO way that one person can date like 5 certifiably “crazy” people.

You know it’s a red flag when someone’s like “Oh I’ve only dated crazy people.”

K,

But who’s the common denominator in all five of those relationships?

Hm.

So before you go off calling your ex “crazy,” here are 31 questions you should ask yourself beforehand,

1. Did you re-download tinder before the breakup talk even happened?

2. Did you breakup with her out of the blue?

3. Did you use any of the following reasons: “I don’t deserve you“, “I love you too much to be with you right now“, “I need a few months to work on myself“,”The timing is just off“, etc.

4. Did you ask our her roommate?

5. Her neighbor?

6. Her best friend?

7. Her mom?

8. Did you ever call her “clingy” for just trying to get in touch with you?

9. Do you still call her?

10. Do you still call her to talk about your relationship?

11. Do you still call her to talk about your relationship and about getting back together?

12. Do all of these conversations happen after 1am when you’ve just left another girl’s house?

13. Did you ever cheat on her?

14. Did you ever cheat on her and then write a blog about how she was de-humanizing you but failed to mention that you cheated on her?

15. Have you ever considered the fact that maybe, possibly, in a strange twist of events, you might just be a d-bag?

16. Do you ignore her existence when you see her just to make her feel like she means nothing to you?

17. Do you spread rumors about her being crazy and that she probably shouldn’t date anyone ever?

18. Do you look over her social media profiles with your friends and make fun of the way she looks, dresses, and portrays herself?

19. Did you post a bunch of pictures of you with other girls .5 seconds after breaking up with her?

20. Did she actually end the relationship and your pride is just bruised so you claim she’s crazy?

21. Whenever you were around her family/friends, did you spend the whole time on your phone?

22. Did you ever steal her phone and look through her texts?

23. Did you ever insult her religion because you don’t necessarily share similar beliefs?

24. Did you ever make her feel bad for not wanting to have sex?

25. Do you see her at parties and claim that she’s stalking you instead of considering the fact that you share the same friend group?

26. When she asks if you can talk, do you claim she’s obsessive when actually she might just need closure or give your crap back?

27. When she writes a blog about how she’s moved on and in a better place, do you claim she’s still hung up on you and just trying to air out dirty laundry on the internet?

28. Do you have shirtless pics on tinder? (Not about your relationship, but let’s me know if you’re a tool or not)

29. Is she an actual diagnosed sociopath?

30. Is she REALLy crazy?

31. Or are you just a dipwad?

If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, I don’t assume your ex is “crazy” but that you’re just a dipwad.

We have to stop talking poorly about our past loves.

We have to stop daydreaming of ways to make our exes jealous and cause them pain.

Everyone does it post-breakup.

I’ve done it, and I’m sure my exes would agree. (*cough*)

It’s not healthy.

Unless they actually ruined your life that like crazy new Netflix show. (It’s basically Gossip Girl to the nth power)

So cut it out. Just be civil.

You invested time and love into this person and now you’re going to drag their name through the mud for what?

Prove your innocence?

That you never made any mistakes in the relationship?

A breakup takes two people.

At least most of the time.

So no, she’s not crazy.

You’re just being a dickwad. (ooo she actually said it !!!)

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca

(p.s. can apply to anyone, I just used the pronoun “she” because that’s what I’ve personally experienced)

by on

I’ve heard that toxic relationships are pretty easy to spot.

I’ve even spent time attempting to pull others out of toxic relationships before.

I considered myself somewhat of an ~expert~

Because I’ve had my fair share of gorgeous flowers tempting me, only to reveal themselves as dandelions later on.

I swore that I would never let it happen to me ever again.

But you strolled into my life with confidence and humor.

You changed everything.

I’ve fallen in love before, sure.

But it’s never cut me so deeply and fooled me so brilliantly that it left me feeling like an object.

Like I was nothing except a loser at the end of long, exhausting, impossible game.

I still remember when I realized that we were soulmates.

We spent that summer completely enamored with each other.

Sneaking into private pools.

Exploring every part of this earth we could just for the danger and the stories we’d have by the end of the expedition.

I watched you, wide eyed.

Still holding on to some sort of innocence.

I’m not sure I can even remember what innocence feels like anymore.

My obsession bloomed that summer, years ago.

And you recognized that you had me.

All of me.

As long as I loved you more than I loved myself,

You owned me.

I spent the next few years becoming gradually, painfully numb while you flitted around from one girl to the next, back to the first girl, on to another, etc.

And I sat in your room.

Watched you fall apart repeatedly while hating every inch of your life.

And I gave you pieces of happiness.

My happiness.

Every single day, I gave you another piece of my optimism,

My innocence

My love

My life.

I couldn’t bear to watch you deteriorate because others had drained you of all those things.

I gave you every good piece of me I had.

Until I looked at myself in the mirror one day

And I didn’t recognize myself.

There was nothing good left about me.

Just a shell of a human being who became drained and manipulative.

I saw you.

I began to distance myself from this overwhelming love that I had developed for you.

I attempted to fall in love a time or two.

And even succeeded once.

But as soon as you saw me rebuilding my life,

You came crashing in like a wild animal.

Burning down all the progress I had made.

And no one was willing to stay with someone whose heart was already spoken for.

I get it.

But even then, I couldn’t stay away from you.

My limit had not yet been reached.

Everyone sat me down.

Friends,

Family,

Even strangers.

And begged me to let go and to just finally move on.

I refused.

Because what kind of person would give up on love?

I am not someone who just walks away from a relationship because of some particularly heavy baggage.

You were not a lost cause.

I told myself that repeatedly until one day when it all finally clicked.

Love does not mean that you are that person’s savior.

It doesn’t mean that you need to be that person’s only reason to live.

That kind of pressure is unfathomable.

And it ends of destroying both people.

I realized that this love that I had developed and nurtured was not going to just fade over time.

It was a dangerous, terrifying love that needed to be buried alive.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I left.

Refused to look back.

Refused to give in to every impulse I had to protect you.

I see it all so much clearer now that I’ve walked farther and farther out of the smoke.

You can’t save someone else; they can only save themselves.

They can’t change for you.

It may be romantic and cinematic, but life just doesn’t work like that.

People can only change if they want to.

And you just have to keep moving forward.

Keep walking until you see clearer skies and recognize yourself in the mirror again.

I may have loved you,

But now I have to love myself just a little bit more.

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca

by on

Okay the title may be a little aggressive

But it’s meant to come across as urgent.

Because you need to just freaking say it.

Immediately.

Like right now.

Do you not know what I’m talking about?

That thing you’ve been dying to say for the past month, year, decade, entire life?

Those words that have been slowly rotting inside of you desperately trying to claw their way out of your mouth and into the world?

Still not catching on?

Okay, well let me tell you some stories that will clear things up.

My sophomore year of college,

I went a little…

well…

Crazy.

I was struggling with some pretty violent mental illnesses that devoured my ability to empathize with other human beings.

I had an immense sense of pride.

Several people chose to walk out of my life around that time because they weren’t able to handle my negativity or aggression.

I was impacting them in extremely hurtful ways.

I was toxic.

But I couldn’t admit it to myself.

ME?!

TOXIC?!

No way,

I was perfect.

I had never done anything wrong or purposely hurt someone in my entire life.

Everything was about me and my well-being

No one else’s.

Looking back on it now, I realize that I wasn’t trying to hurt these people that I loved so dearly.

I just wasn’t in the state of mind to admit that I was wrong or unhealthy.

I demanded support without giving any back to them in return and it was unbelievably frustrating.

My stubborn little head could not wrap itself around the fact that I could be…

Potentially…

Maybe just a little bit…

Wrong?

In turn, the consequences were absolutely disastrous.

My loved ones were dropping out of my life like flies

And I couldn’t stop it.

Or wouldn’t, I should say.

Because now thinking the entire situation through up, down and sideways,

I could’ve stopped it.

By admitting I was wrong.

And I could’ve actively tried to mend these disintegrating bridges by swallowing my misplaced pride and telling these people just how much I loved them and that their relationships meant way more to me than a stupid, popular blog or my newfound proud reputation.

It’s a lot easier said than done, though.

I’ve been given the very fortunate gift of new relationships and friendships that completely changed my way of thinking.

When the time came and fights occurred with these loved ones,

They always reached out

Called me at 4am,

Wrote me a letter,

Knocked on my door at 3am,

Just to say sorry and tell me that they loved me.

It shattered my beliefs.

Because I appreciated it so much when they showed me how much they cared and that they were willing to bury the hatchet while I was running around with said hatchet and actively destroying my relationships.

It all taught me something very, very important.

Sometimes it’s okay to say “I’m sorry” first.

It’s okay to say “I love you and you mean the absolute world to me” first.

It doesn’t mean you’re weak or admitting defeat.

It means you’re choosing love over pride.

And trust me, love will make you MUCH happier than pride.

I chose pride over love my sophomore year and it ate at me slowly and relentlessly for years.

I thought about it constantly.

I’ve had nightmares about that time in my life that leave me sobbing in my bed in the middle of the night.

And sitting in my bed in a pathetic little heap of miserable-ness didn’t make me feel very proud

Or loved.

I made the wrong choice.

Pride is never greater than or equal to love.

So now I’m here to tell you,

You don’t have to make the same mistake I did.

If you’re in a fight with somebody you care about immensely but neither of you will just lay down your weapons for 2 minutes to apologize and hug it out,

Be the first to just freaking say it.

If you’ve spent the past three years completely in love with someone who doesn’t know how you feel because you’re terrified it could end your friendship and ruin everything,

Just freaking say it.

Because who knows what will happen and even if the feelings aren’t reciprocated, at least they know there’s someone in the world without a selfish bone in their body who loves them unconditionally. It is an absolute honor to be loved by you.

If you’re afraid to speak out for something you believe in because you’re afraid of being torn down by the masses and it’s caused you to sit in uncomfortable and unbearable silence,

Just freaking say it.

A mob with pitchforks and torches will most likely not show up at your house.

(If they do though, pls don’t hold me responsible. I’m just an emotional blogger who doesn’t know anything)

It’s never too late to make amends.

It’s never too late to tell someone you love them.

And it’s never to late to admit that you’re wrong and apologize.

Even if you’re not wrong, apologize.

Because is your pride really worth losing one of your favorite people over?

The answer is no, by the way.

So just freaking do it (as Nike says).

Just freaking say it.

 

 

facebook – Becca Tremmel

instagram – @littlelionbecca

twitter – @littlelionbecca

 

by on

It’s raining harder than it has in years.

The city is asleep as it prepares for another hectic Monday morning.

The pavement glows underneath her as she runs from her car to his doorstep.

She’s breathless

A ball of anxiety

But pounds fearlessly on his door anyway.

Minutes pass as she stares at the ground and bites her lip.

Finally, he pulls open the door.

Shocked.

They haven’t spoken in several months.

But months of silence couldn’t suffocate the four years she’s spent completely in love with him.

Should’ve known better.

She thinks to herself in hindsight.

They stand in complete silence.

Until finally,

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

Silence.

Her eyes slowly lift to meet his.

Those perfect, innocent green eyes that have kept her mesmerized for years.

This is it.

They’ve never kissed, surprisingly.

She thought about kissing him every day for four years.

This is it.

This is it.

This is it.

Her mind trips over itself thinking and re-thinking over every possible reaction he could have.

This is it.

She loses eye contact with him when she closes her eyes and inhales the last breath she will ever breathe not having kissed him.
This is it.

All she needs is ten seconds of blinding courage

This is it.

Her legs carry her to him with wavering confidence

This is it.

And she places her hands on either side of his puzzled face

This is it.

And pulls her lips to his

This is it.

And the past four years of frustration,

Anger,

Depression,

Guilt,

And heartbreak

Slowly melt away

Drop by drop

With this one kiss.

The kiss we’ve all been waiting for.

And everything that has bruised her,

Stung her,

Left her broken on the bathroom floor,

Or helpless on her knees

Suddenly all made sense.

Because all of those moments

Brought her to this moment

With him.

And she decides that she would live through those painful moments a thousand times over

As long as they always ended right here

Right now

Her lips on his.

His heart against hers.