YouTube, Twitter, and One Direction: Life Savers

I was bullied.

          It was 2010, and I was just starting to get the hang of being a high schooler. Having red hair made me stand out more than I already did. What they said, what they thought was funny bounced around in my head. The girls, blonde and brunette, were gathered around by the bathroom located in the main hallway, laughing and having a good ole time. Being vulnerable and self-conscious, I fixed my hair, pushing my newly cut bangs out of my face, straightened my gray “I’m Not Short, I’m Fun Sized” shirt, and put on the best fake smile I could muster up. I pushed my way through the crowd, that’s when I heard the names for the first time.

          “Fire crotch!”

          “Tampon head!”

          “Satan!”

          “Is it natural?”

          “Or did you do stuff for men to get the money to get that color?” The taunts were relentless.

          One day, I walked in the kitchen as my mother was hiding an envelope in the pile of bills, letters, notes, and cards that sat on our kitchen counter. “What is that?” I asked her.

          “Oh, it’s nothing Caroline. Grammy and Grampy just sent me something.” She said.      

          I waited until my mother went upstairs and then opened the envelope. Newspaper clippings came fluttering out and on to the granite countertop. In big, bold letters, the headline read “DIABETES AND YOUTH.” In the margin of the article, my grandfather wrote “Show this to Caroline.”

          I didn’t think I could reach a lower point in my life. The girls at school thought I was a whore and my own grandparents thought I was fat. Not knowing how to react, I did something I never thought I would have done in a million years.

          Walking into my underwater themed bathroom, with the dark blue walls, I felt like I was drowning. My breathing grew heavy as I closed the door quietly. I searched every drawer in the bathroom, looking for the relief I needed. Once I found my brother’s extra razor blade, I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding in. 

          Placing the blade on my wrist, I knew it would bring up too many questions if my parents or siblings found out. Pushing my capris down to my kneecaps, I had the perfect view of someplace no one would see. I placed the cold piece on my left thigh and drug it across the skin.

          There was blood, there was pain, but there was no relief.

          I thought that maybe if I did it one more time, there would be more of an affect. I drug the blade once more across my thigh, but nothing happened. I stopped the bleeding and went back to my room, not knowing what was to come months later.

          It was July of 2010 when One Direction was put as a band on the British version of the television show The X Factor. Being an American, and living in Indiana, I wasn’t able to actually watch the show. That was, until I used Twitter to tweet out my love of Prince William and England. Using the hashtag “#British,” I followed the trend which led me to a Twitter page dedicated to One Direction. My interest was sparked and I clicked on the first link that I saw (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hm4iwnFAt0Q).

          May of 2012, my brother, while at Wabash College, got a girl pregnant. She hated my family. She threw eggs and Chinese food at our cars, would call non-stop at crazy hours of the day, and sent me death threats. It got to the point where my brother didn’t feel safe and moved to Ohio without telling anyone, leaving my family, and me, to deal with the backlash. The name calling started again, worse, and I didn’t have anyone to turn to. Except for One Direction. Their music transported me to a happier place, a place where I wasn’t labelled for the color of my hair, my weight, or my looks.

          To this day, five years later, they are still my saviors. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, they’re with me. Not just in my heart, or sappy stuff like that, but physical items: a phone case, bracelets, t-shirt, and so on. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t have to listen to their music to make me happy, just one look and a smile is plastered on my face for the rest of the day.

          Five guys, Harry Styles, Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, and Louis Tomlinson, became my best friends, the ones I trusted with the outcome of my life. The way I feel about them makes me believe that nothing could bring me down like I was before. I’m afraid to think about what might have happened to me if I never created a Twitter profile or tweeted about my love of the Royal Family. I think about it often, however, but when I do, the only thing I remember are the five faces that saved me from the hole I was falling into.    

The Text Message

                My freshman year of college was the first time since high school that I was bullied.

                I was placed on the eighth floor of what I considered, at the time, the worst dormitory to be placed in. I had two neighbors: one to my left and across the hall. Instantly, I made a friend with my neighbor across the hall. Vicki was confident and fearless, everything I thought I wanted to be. She always talked about all the guy friends she had back home, rubbing it in my face that she could talk to guys, when my face goes up in flames when a guy is mentioned. She was everything I wanted to be . . . or so I thought.

                It got to the point in our friendship that I trusted her. It was late September when I told her about the guy I liked. He attended BSU, and I had learned about him through Facebook. At this same time, she went off, making new friends and integrating them into our little circle. Let’s just say, I didn’t like one of her new friends that stuck around. Why, you ask? Because my Vicki changed when the other Tina was around, ditching me to go take selfies with her in the bathroom, while I waited by myself in a crowded place. But all that fails in comparison to what she did to me later in the month.

                His name was Tommy. He had gorgeous blue eyes that made me feel like I was on a beach. His smile was the definition of perfection. And I was infatuated with him. Vicki knew. Tina knew. And they used it against me. One night, while we were all enjoying dinner, Vicki and Tina went to the bathroom. 15 minutes later, they came trotting back with smiles on their faces. “We gave Tommy your number.” Vicki told me. “Yeah, he said he would text you after his basketball game.” Tina smiled. I felt sick to my stomach. I feel sick to my stomach as I write this. I didn’t think anything of it. They were my friends after all, right? WRONG.

                9:00 p.m. rolled around and I got a text. My stomach dropped. I had been hoping that he would forget and not text me. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I gave Vicki my phone. “You need to flirt, Caroline!” She told me, but ended up doing the flirting for me. Text after text, flirt after flirt, I started to get the feeling that it wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. I walked over to Vicki’s dorm, “Hey, I don’t feel right about this. Something’s not right. It’s probably a bet or something.” I shut the door and turned around only to hear Tina yell “Caroline, wait!” I walked back over and I knew I was right.

                “Before you get mad, listen to me.” Vicki said.

                “What?” I asked.

                “It’s not really Tommy texting you. We gave your number to my friend Logan, and he’s the one that’s been texting you.” Tina laughed.

                The rest of the night was a blur. Vicki and Tina came over to apologize, not quite understanding why I was so upset. Vicki was actually mad at me for being upset with her. HA. I cried myself to sleep that night, wondering what I could have possibly done to deserve such terrible treatment from two people I thought were my friends. I couldn't get their laughing at me out of my mind. It was torture. After that, I saw Tommy everywhere. Even after it was over, it wasn't over. 

               Please don't allow yourself, or a friend, to go through something like this. If you know of someone being bullied, tell someone. Don't be a bystander. Thank you. 

**names were changed to protect identities**

One Direction in Indianapolis

            After five longs years of waiting for something magical to happen in Indianapolis, Friday, July, 31^st, 2015, all my dreams came true. My four favorite boys in the world, Harry Styles, Niall Horan, Liam Payne, and Louis Tomlinson, finally made their appearance in my city, and boy did they leave an impression.

            I got to Lucas Oil Stadium around 4:30 pm, and immediately got in line at the gates. People were scattered everywhere, waiting in line at the gates, waiting in line at the merchandise tent, and, the very lucky fans that got floor seats, waiting in line to get a wrist band. The gates opened at 4:45 pm, but no entry was allowed.  I was lucky enough to stand in line at gate 3, where the guard started the crowd singing that took place up until we were allowed entry at 5:30. The crowd busted into songs by the artist we were all there to see: One Direction. “Steal My Girl,” “No Control,” “What Makes You Beautiful,” “Midnight Memories,” “Stockholm Syndrome,” and “Best Song Ever” were the songs we belted out. The workers truly got a kick out of it.

            5:30 pm, the crowd went crazy, pushing and running to get inside of the stadium. When I was finally inside (which didn’t take long. I was one of the first ones in), I made a beeline for the merchandise table, where I purchased two concert t-shirts, and dropped $80. I immediately made my way towards my seat, stopping to get a bottle of water and changing into one of my new shirts. Section 343 was no floor seats, but I was able to see the whole stage and the big screens. They were the perfect seats.

            Two hours. I waited two hours, impatiently, might I add, just for Icona Pop to make their appearance. I will not lie, I wasn’t thrilled to hear that they were the openers, but they sure as hell brought it. I don’t think anyone else would have gotten the crowd as hyped as they did. The two girls killed every song they performed, as well as thanking the boys, and praising us on being the best fans. They were done by 7:45 pm, leaving the whole stadium of 60,000 screaming fans in suspense.

            For an hour. AN HOUR, we waited. But the boys made up for that hour once the Introduction Video started playing. My heart was pounding; butterflies erupted in my stomach as the suspense grew. I was finally going to see my favorite boys, and I couldn’t have been happier. The video had ended and the beginning of “Clouds” started. Fireworks went off.  Niall was the first one out, his red guitar strapped around his body, with the boys right behind him. They talked, they gushed out about how amazing the fans are, they thanked everyone, and they went on and on about their new single “Drag Me Down.”

            After singing hit after hit and stealing every single person’s heart, they decided to give Indianapolis a little surprise. Louis went on, talking about “Drag Me Down,” only to make the crowd speechless by saying “so here it is.” Only seventeen hours after they released the song, the entire stadium sang the song back, beautifully. After the song was over, the fans screamed and cheered for minutes after they were finished. The look on their faces, the smiles, the happy faces, was well-worth the sore throat and no voice the next morning. Niall even gushed, “Hear that boys? I think they like it.”

            The rest of the concert consisted of things being thrown on stage, Harry making fun of a Colts football player for being so tall and making the crowd moan, Liam, with the help of Louis, dressing up in Batman pajama’s, Louis pouring water and Powerade all over Liam, and Niall being sassy towards people throwing things at him on stage.  

            The concert ended with a BANG, with “Best Song Ever,” and more fireworks. The boys walked around the stage waving good-bye, blowing kisses, and repeating how much they loved everyone. That was probably the worst part of the concert. I had waited so long for the opportunity to see my favorite boys. The feeling of seeing them walk off stage was the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever endured.  But looking back to two days ago, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. Everywhere the boys go, they bring sunshine and happiness, leaving the fans happy and appreciative. I don’t think I could have picked better role models.

            Thank you, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, and Harry Styles for making July 31^st, 2015, the best night of my life. I will be forever grateful.       

Learn to Love One Another

So, I’ve been doing some thinking and some music listening. When combined, it’s a deadly weapon for someone like me. However, I think what I’ve come upon is worth sharing. Tonight, as I was straightening my hair for tomorrow, I stumbled upon the song “Hole in the World,” by the Eagles (I’m so sorry for those who have no idea who the Eagles are…. Look ‘em up!). There’s a line that particularly stood out to me: “Until we learn to love one another, we will never reach the promise land.” This stood out to me because of all the stuff going on with the LGBTQ community. Nobody will be able to “reach the promise land” if we keep hating one another! And, I’m not just pointing out those who are against gay rights, no. It goes both ways. What we need is a compromise. Not these stupid laws that are put into effect. How could we possibly “reach the promise land” if Governor’s and other political leaders think it is okay to discriminate against other human beings? I know what I’m saying seems impossible, especially in the society we live in, but the problem is that we’re not trying. We’re not trying when it comes to gay rights; we’re not trying when it comes to children who are molested or raped; we’re not trying when it comes to children being bullied; we’re not trying when people are getting shot; we’re not trying when race plays a factor; we’re not trying when it comes to people taking their own lives because of the world we live in. WE’RE NOT TRYING. And I truly believe that if we all try, and “learn to love one another, we WILL reach the promise land.”

Human Beings

I’m 20 years old; I’ll be 21 in November.

I’ve been single my whole life.

I’m a virgin.

I don’t smoke or do drugs.

I’m a junior in college.

I have red hair and wear glasses.

I get my nails done every two weeks.

I love One Direction.

I’m a writer and a reader.

I don’t believe in religion.

I believe in gay rights, but I’m not gay.

I’m a 80s movies buff.

I have a dark past but a bright future.

I’m a human being, but that doesn’t stop people from being hateful to me. I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter who you are, what you believe in, who or what you love, someone will always hate you for being the only person you know how to be: you. 

Two Parts of My Life

“I bet you’re a great writer. You probably have great stories to tell.”

                Someone said this to me while discussing what I do and don’t believe in when it comes to religion (that’s a story for another day). I’ve been through some rough times when I was younger. I won’t go into detail; no one needs to know what I’ve been through. All you need to know is that it was bad enough to never wish it upon my worst enemy.

                I’m a writer, if you couldn’t tell. But just because what happened to me, happened to me, doesn’t mean I want to share it with everyone else through fiction. Granted, it probably would make a great story, but I would never want to drag my readers through the emotional ride my life has been. Not only that, but I feel like if I wrote what happened to me into a story, I’m immortalizing those who did what they did to me. They don’t deserve to make an appearance in my future after what they did to me in my past.

                I don’t write stories to please my potential readers, I write because I have the gifts of creativity and imagination. I write because it makes me happy. I write because sometimes it takes the pain away. I write because there are lives I can create, personalities I can choose, and characters I can love. I write because I can create this imaginary life where nothing of what happened to me happened to me.

                So, no, I don’t have great stories to tell, because those stories have already been told. I tell the stories of the unknown parts of my existence. I tell the stories of the life I wish I had, instead of the life I have. I create characters based off of certain characteristics I lack, because it makes me feel like I’m living both lives instead of just the one that didn’t go the way I planned.

                To sum up my little rant, I’ll leave you with the wise words of Joss Whedon:

                “I write to give myself strength. I write to be the characters that I am not. I write to explore all the things I’m afraid of.”  

Blair - Part 1 of Untitled

Blair

            The sounds of many washers and dryers filled the room, as I sat at a table impatiently waiting for my clothes to be dried. I watched as my son walks about the video games, eying the one he would potentially like to play. Two out of the four games were hunting. He passed right by them. He’s the kind of child who would rather die than hurt any animals, no matter the type. He finally settled on the racing game, asking me if he could play it. I looked at him, thinking “Am I made of money?” Instead, I sighed and gave him the money he needed to play the game.

            He stomped away from the game after losing the race, plopping down with a huff. He’s at the age where winning video games, let alone playing video games, was a big deal. I looked over to him, giving him my best smile. I was rewarded with a pitiful frown. Staring at him, I realized that he was no longer the toddler I had grown to love. Now, being five years old, he’s ready to do things on his own, not asking for help from his mom.

            His light brown hair reached down to his shoulders, lightly resting there. His bangs hung in his eyes. I lightly pushed them away, revealing bright blue eyes. Flynn was a carbon copy of his father. I knew it, he knew it, and his father knew it. I pushed his hair out of his face one last time, and sighed. “How did this happen to me?” I asked myself, and got up to fold my laundry.

            My clothes sat in one basket, while Flynn’s sat in another. I folded mine quickly, knowing that my antsy five year old was about to lose it, and would most likely cause a scene. I decided against folding his clothes, knowing they would end up on his bedroom floor at some point. I rushed out to my small four-door sedan to put the clothes up, leaving Flynn alone in the laundry mat. When I got back inside, my son decided it would be fun to climb into one of the rolling baskets.  I angrily pulled him out of the basket and put his coat on.

            “Flynn James, what did I tell you about getting into those baskets? You could’ve hurt yourself!” I quietly yelled.

            “I’m sorry, momma.” He whispered.

            I knew I couldn’t be mad at him for long, so I pulled him into my arms and take him to the car. After buckling him in and starting the car, SpongeBob Squarepants blasted through the speakers. I heard Flynn singing lightly, not getting any of the words correct. Finally feeling at peace and relaxed, I allowed myself to smile. He was safe, loved, and cared for. What else could a mother want for her child?

            “Momma?” Finn asked when we pulled into the drive-way. 

            “What is it, sweetie?” I said.

            “Who is that man standing at the door?” I looked toward the front door and stopped breathing. There stood the man who walked out on Flynn and me almost six and half years ago.......