Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II (31 page)

Read Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II Online

Authors: Jack Canfield,Mark Victor Hansen,Kimberly Kirberger

BOOK: Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II
4.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

 

Page 137
words only reassured me that I was on the right path, getting closer to "perfection."
Sadly, I made my physical appearance the top priority in my life, believing that it was the way to become successful and accepted. As an actress, I am constantly being judged by my appearance. The camera automatically makes people appear heavier than they are. So I was getting mixed messages like, "Elisa, you are so skinny, but you look great on camera."
I cut back on my food more and more, until a typical day consisted of half a teaspoon of nonfat yogurt and coffee in the morning, and a cup of grapes at night. If I ate even a bite more than my allotted "crumbs" for the day, I hated myself and took laxatives to rid my body of whatever I had eaten.
It got to the point where I no longer went out with my friends. I couldn'tif I went to dinner, what would I eat? I avoided their phone calls. If they wanted to go to the movies or just hang out at home, I couldn't be therewhat if food was around? I had to be home alone to eat my little cup of grapes. Otherwise, I thought I was failing. Everything revolved around my strict schedule of eating. I was embarrassed to eat in front of anyone, believing that they would think I was gluttonous and ugly.
My poor nutrition began to cause me to lose sleep. I found it hard to concentrate on my work or to focus on anything for any length of time. I was pushing myself harder and harder at the gym, struggling to burn the calories that I hadn't even eaten. My friends tried to help me but I denied that I had a problem. None of my clothes fit, and it was hard to buy any, since I had shrunk to smaller than a size zero!
Then one night, like so many nights before, I couldn't sleep, and my heart felt as though it might beat its way out of my chest. I tried to relax, but I couldn't.

 

Page 138
The beating became so rapid and so strong that I could no longer breathe. The combination of starving myself and taking pills to get rid of anything that I did eat caused me to nearly have a heart attack. I stood up, and immediately fell down. I was really scared, and I knew I needed help. My roommate rushed me to the hospital, beginning the long road to my recovery. It took doctors, nurses, nutritionists, therapists, medications, food supplements . . .  and most important, a new sense of what was really true about myself to get back on track with reality.
Recovering from what I did to my body and reprogramming the way I think about myself has been a very slow and extremely painful process. I still struggle with the effects of anorexia every day. Although it has been a couple of years since that hospital visit, it is by no means over for me. I must be honest with myself and stay committed to being healthy.
I had used my anorexia as a means of expression and control. I used it as my gauge for self-esteem and self-worth. It was my identity. Now I realize that the way to success lies in my heart, mind and soul, rather than in my physical appearance.
I now use my intelligence, my talents and acts of kindness to express myself. This is true beauty, and it has nothing to do with the size of my body. With my experience of trying to be ''perfect" on the outside, I had sacrificed who I was on the inside. What I know now is, we areeach and every one of usalready perfect.
Elisa Donovan

 

Page 139
My Toughest Decision
Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes. Everyone makes them. No one saw mine coming.
Overall, I was a really good kid. At fifteen, I was a sophomore at a Catholic high school and a member of the National Honor Society. I played softball and ran cross-country. I had, and still have, aspirations of becoming a doctor. If someone would have told me that at the age of fifteen I would become pregnant, I would have said they were crazy. Why would anyone do something so foolish? It's still hard for me to believe, but it happened.
October 11, 1997, was the day my daughter was born. I took one look at her, and it was love at first sight. It was so overwhelminga flood of emotions that I have never experienced. I loved her in a way that could only be described as unconditional. I looked at her, and in my heart I knew that I could not give her all the things that she needed and deserved to have, no matter how badly I wanted to. Physically, emotionally and in every other way, I was not capable of being a mother. I knew what had to be done. Putting all my emotions aside and doing what I felt was best for my daughter, I decided to give her up for adoption.

 

Page 140
Placing my baby in the arms of her mother was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. My very soul ached. Even though I still get to see my daughter because I am blessed with having an open adoption, the pain is still there. I can feel it burning inside me every day, when I think about Katelyn. I only hope that when she gets older, she realizes how much I love her. I love her more than anything in the world.
Today is my daughter's first Christmas. I won't be there to share with her the joy of this season, or to play Santa and open her presents for her (she's only two months old). In fact, I won't be there to see her first step, or hear her first word. I won't be there to take pictures on her first day of kindergarten. When she cries for her mommy, it won't be me that she wants. I know in my heart that I made the right choice. I just wish with all my heart that it was a choice I never had to make.
Kristina Dulcey

 

Page 141
It's Tough to Be a Teenager
It's tough to be a teenager, no one really knows 
What the pressure is like in school, this is how it goes.
I wake up every morning, and stare into this face 
I wanna be good lookin', but I feel like a disgrace.
My friends they seem to like me, if I follow through with their dare, 
But when I try to be myself, they never seem to care.
My mom, well she keeps saying, I gotta make the grade 
While both my parents love me, it slowly seems to fade.
It seems like everyone I know is trying to be so cool 
And every time I try, I end up just a fool.
I've thought about taking drugs, I really don't want to you know 
But I just don't fit in, and it's really startin' to show.

 

Page 142
Maybe if I could make the team, I'll stand out in the crowd 
If they could see how hard I try, I know they would be proud.
You see I'm still a virgin, my friends they can't find out 
'Cause if they really knew the truth, I know they'd laugh and shout.
Sometimes I really get so low, I want to cash it in 
My problems really aren't so bad, if I think of how life's been.
Sometimes I'm really lost, and wonder what to do 
I wonder where to go, who can I talk to.
It's tough to be a teenager, sometimes life's not fair 
I wish I had somewhere to go, and someone to 
CARE
.
Tony Overman

 

Page 143
Not Your Typical Prom Night
It's supposedly the happiest night of a girl's life (aside from her sixteenth birthday, that is). The night when every girl in the free world does her hair for far too long, spends much more time on her face than she ever will the rest of her life, and waits for Mr. Right to whisk her away to a night filled with excitement, music, friends and fun. Ah, prom night.
Strange how things always look good in the theory stage, but never in the execution. When I look back on my prom night, I see those wonderful things that other girls sawthe pretty dress, the date, the car. However, that night I also saw something that a teenage girl should never have to seea brother slowly dying of cancer.
This isn't as morbid as it sounds. My brother was never the morbid type. Everything was always "fine," even though as prom night approached, he couldn't see more than five inches in front of his face, and had limited use of his arms and legs because the cancer pressed on nearly every nerve in his body. It caused him excruciating pain with every touchevery hug.
This is how I found him the night of my prom. As I

 

Page 144
entered the room, my father was already there, being a dad and sitting there with my brother, watching whatever sports event was on the television. My brother made a feeble attempt to watch; he could even try to convince himself that he could see what was going on. Looking back on it, he had us all (except for my mother who spent twenty-four hours a day with him) convinced that he would get better. That night I fully believed he saw me walk in the room.
"Hi, my Dacy," he said, in the ever-so-cute baby talk tone he always used with me. I greeted him with a smile, which to this very day I am not sure he saw. I wanted to give him a hug, but the pain for him would have been too great. So instead I leaned over and gave him a slight kiss on the cheek. He heard my dress rustling as I did this, and I could see him strain to see it. He always tried to hide this act from us, but you couldn't help but notice it. He had this funny way of tilting his head downward, because to quote him: "It's like the bottom part of my eye is cut off and I can only see what is above this line." And he would hold his large hand up and divide his eye in half horizontally, to try to demonstrate.
As he tilted his head, desperately trying to see me in all my prom-night splendor, I couldn't help but sob quietly. A tear hit my red satin gown and I tried to brush it away, absurdly believing that he could see me.
"This sucks, Mom," he said, frustrated. "I can't even see my own sister's prom dress." I took his hand and let him feel the satin of my dress. Being the protective sibling that he was, he felt around the neckline, and noticing there wasn't a neckline, began to chastise me.
"I don't know about this, Dacy," he said protectively. He then tried to look around, and proceeded to call my date over and lecture him on what a gentleman he was going to be that night. I stood back and watched him, this

 

Page 145
bigger-than-average boy, who couldn't see or even walk on his own at this point, telling my date EXACTLY how he was going to treat his sister. I began to cry. I cried not only for his feeble attempt at protection (actually, as I found out from my date much later, my brother was still able to strike some fear into his heart), but at the fact that God, fate or whatever was doing this to a boy who all his life just wanted to be normalwho just wanted to live.
I knew at this moment, as I watched him talking, that he would be gone from me soon. Maybe I didn't admit it to myself right then, but I knewsomehow I knew, and I cried even harder. My brother heard me from across the room, and called me over.
"Don't cry, Stace . . .  don't cry." He had changed tones on me. This was the Serious Brother tone now, the you-better-listen-to-what-I'm-saying tone. "It will be okay. It will get better. I know it will." He started crying at this. My mom tried to reassure me that it was his medication that was making him depressed; I wasn't convinced. Those tears were real. He tried to hug me and let me know that it was okay; to let me know that I should go to my prom, and live my life. I gave my brother one last kiss and was gone.
Stacy Bennett
Submitted by Diana Chapman

 

Page 146
No Matter What Happens
I remember a time when each day was long, 
When the world was a playground and my life a song, 
And I fluttered through years with barely a care, 
Ignoring the future and what waited there.
School was intriguing and filled with delights. 
I played away daytimes and dreamed away nights. 
My parents assured me I had nothing to fear, 
And that no matter what happened, they'd always be there.
Little I knew of a world outside home, 
Where tragedy, sorrow and murder could roam. 
All I saw were blue skies, rainbows and stars. 
I looked past destruction of buildings and cars.
As a child, my biggest concern was just me; 
I had to be happy, I had to be free. 
And if I was content, I would not shed a tear, 
And no matter what happened, I still would be here.
But as I grow up, darkness starts to set in; 
My bright world has turned into concrete and tin. 
I now see the violence I looked past before; 
My friends start to die and my heart hits the floor.

Other books

The Valhalla Prophecy by Andy McDermott
Chain Reaction by Gillian White
The Transference Engine by Julia Verne St. John
A Creed in Stone Creek by Linda Lael Miller
Lion's Heat by Leigh, Lora
Pasado Perfecto by Leonardo Padura
Dealing With the Dead by Toni Griffin
Project Aura by Bob Mayer