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

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

“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.

 

 

“So… how have you been?”

Please say anything but “good.”

Please for the love of God.

“Good.” you said, hesitantly

dammit.

“Oh great! That’s… wonderful.” I said with a sigh.

The tension started bubbling up as we said nothing for a minute or two.

Should I just give him the letters? Maybe I should wait… He may not want me anymore.

“Well… we should probably talk.” You said, defeated.

And that was when I knew that no amount of pleading or convincing would keep us together.

You had already given up.

And at that point.

I did too.


 

Five Minutes Sober

 

“We’ll still be friends, don’t worry.”

I nodded.

You handed me my favorite pair of shoes and I placed them on top of my car so I could hug you goodbye.

This was it.

You pulled me in one last time in that bear hug and it took everything in me not to collapse on the ground in a pathetic heap of mangled emotions.

“Take care.” You said as you let go and began walking towards your jeep.

I carried myself to my front steps and watched  as you drove away.


 

Three Days Sober

 

“I don’t want ANY of it anymore! I need it out of my goddamn house! I need to burn everything he ever touched!”

I screamed while pacing around my room and restlessly throwing items into a box

My roommate sat on my bed and her eyes followed my pacing.

“Oh honey, you’d have to burn the whole house down.” She said quietly with a hint of humor

“FINE. WHERE ARE THE MATCHES?” I threw up my hands in complete defeat.

“Okay look, calm down. Maybe just bring the box to his house?” She suggested with raised eyebrows.

“I am in no state to drive.” Tears stained my face and I couldn’t stand still without falling to my knees.

“Maybe Michael can drive you?” She said, nodding.


 

It was pouring as I walked out of my house.

I stared down at our entire relationship that I carried now in a single box.

My face was flushed with tears as I looked up at my friend, Michael running from his car to me

Grabbing the box from my shaking hands

And placing it in his car.

We were both soaking wet when we got in the car

Michael turned to me playfully and said,

“Alright, so we’ll drop off this box on his porch. But we could also leave a bag of dog shit with it as well.”

I laughed half-heartedly and turned the face the window.

Preparing myself to walk up your front porch steps for the very last time.

 

Three Weeks Sober

 

“Thanks for coming over.”

I was shaking.

“I just really needed someone here with me, I think. Just was not in a good mindset.”

An old friend whispered in my ear as I lay in his bed.

What was I doing here?

A constant stream of thoughts flowed through my head at an anxious pace.

You’re no longer the last person I’ve kissed. You would be so upset if you knew where I was. How can I possibly give myself to this person when all I want is to be with you?

I just want to be with you.

“Are you alright?” He asked curiously.

His arms wrapped around my waist and squeezed tight.

“I’m fine.”

All feeling had left my body.

My eyes stared blankly at his wall in the moonlit room.

The numbness had finally overcome me.

I wondered if you were in another girl’s bed right now.

I wondered if you felt the same numbness I was feeling.

Or if you were happier without me.

Please don’t be happier without me.

 

Facebook – Becca Tremmel

Instagram – @littlelionbecca

Twitter – @littlelionbecca