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In therapy I learned to write letters to those who hurt me. Recently I took a one-day writing conference and the workshop teacher discussed using the letter writing for characters. She told us to think of our character in a story we are writing or have written about then have the character write a letter to the person in the story who has or is hurting them. Since I write memoir the character is a much younger me. This sparked an idea. What would younger Aimee write to her biggest bully in my book Escape to the Garage: Family Love Overcomes Bullying.

If you haven’t read my book the biggest bully is a girl named Donna. She pretended to be my friend while treating me like I was helpless and worthless. Donna is not her real name. I changed her name to protect her privacy. Below is my note.

Dear Donna,

  I thought you were my friend. You seem like you liked me when I met you in my second year of first grade, but yet you put me down. You treated me like I was dumb from the start. It took me a while to realize you were never my friend. You tear me apart every chance you get. You fool the teachers into thinking you are helping me when in reality you are holding me down.

 You never show kindness in the words you say to me or the way you treat me. You rip me apart every chance you get. Does it make you feel good to cut me down like trash? Your words hurt. They rip apart my self-esteem, my strength, and my self-worth apart. I stopped trying to succeed because I believe you and the teachers are right, I am stupid. But are you right? My mom says I’m smart. Wouldn’t it be funny if some day I prove you wrong?

 I feel sadness every day. I have nightmares at night, and I fear to go to school every morning. It’s because of you and your friends. You all torment me each day and it’s not fair. I’ve never did anything to deserve it. I hate you for how you make me feel. I hate that I go home each day crying because of the names you call me. I feel so sad and hopeless and it’s all because of you. Are you proud of yourself for being so mean?

 Bullying me doesn’t make you a better person. Giving me answers on tests doesn’t make you a good person. What you are doing to me should never be done to anyone. I am a person who just has a learning disability. I have feelings, I cry just like everyone else, I want to be accepted just like everyone else, and I bleed just like everyone else. The only thing different about me is I learn differently.

  I’m much better than you are because I know how to treat people with kindness. To bad you never took the time to get to know me, because if you had you would find that I’m a good person, I’m fun to be around and I’m loyal to those I care about. Too bad you are too rotten to ever get to know the real me.

  I feel sorry for you. You’ll never have real friends. You don’t know how to be a good friend. I hate you and will not let you ruin me. Some day I will rise above you and show you I can be more than on welfare. You’ll see I will succeed, and you will just be a lonely miserable person.

 How dare you put me down? You have no right. You don’t deserve to have a happy life. I wish you sadness and misery. I wish the same torture you have put on me.

Sincerely,

Aimee Eddy

Has someone hurt you badly when you were younger? If the younger you wrote that person a letter, what would it say? Take a step backwards, be that younger person and write that letter. Don’t send the letter. Instead take it to a safe place and burn the letter. Free the pain that child or teenage in you has been harboring. This method is very healing. Just writing this letter was helpful for me.

Writing my memoir and this note to my biggest bully has healed my childhood wounds. Because of writing these I stand in the light even stronger.

Since my book has been published, I have been stopped by many people telling me their stories about how they were bullied or how they struggle with mental illness. My purpose for writing my book and even this blog is to reach out to others and show them they are not alone. My intentions are not to just tell my story but to educate others, to encourage those who struggle, and to give advice.

I believe God guided me through the struggles in my life to be able to rise above them and to use them to help others. I’m not an expert in the field of mental illness or bullying. I am a survivor who writes about my experiences to reach out to others. Years of struggling, therapy, healing, and coping have given me the ability to write my blog and book.

God uses us in many ways. He puts us in situations or the right places where we can help others. This weekend I had lunch with a woman during an event. We were talking about ourselves, and she confided in me she was struggling with mental illness. I asked her what her illness was. She told me she was a self-injurer.

I told her I also had been a self-injurer and have been injury free for twenty years. Self-injury is not something you can just wake up one morning and decide to stop. It’s an unhealthy coping mechanism that becomes an addiction. It’s like alcoholism or smoking cigarettes. You can’t just stop without determination, help, and hard work.

I had no advice that would make it easier for the woman to stop self-injuring. The best I could do was give her advice that may or may not help her. I told her about what helped me stop self-injuring. A co-worker gave me a goal to go six months without injuring. The co-worker told me if I could make it to that six months, she would put on a celebration for me.

Those were the toughest six months of my life. Several times I picked up a razor blade and held it in my hand wanting to make just one cut to ease the overwhelming pain inside me. Tears streamed down my face, anguish filled my soul, and my thoughts fought a silent battle.

Just one cut and I’ll feel better.

No, you have to make it six months without cutting.

I can’t handle this pain in me without cutting.

Yes, you can handle the pain. Try journaling, hold an ice cube until you feel the sting of coldness, or call a friend.

My thoughts fought, but my determination eventually won, and I put the blade down. I struggled, but I did make it to the six months. My co-worker put together a party at a restaurant with my friends.

I told the woman about this in a condensed version. I encouraged her to start with a smaller goal like a month. Then when she made it to the month to celebrate with friends or do something special for herself. I told her after she makes the month add on another month. I told her to keep celebrating the goal she reaches and to keep adding on time until she can stop injuring without a goal. I told her to also try to find healthier coping techniques. She said she’s tried many. I encouraged her to keep trying. I encouraged her by telling her, “You can stop injuring. Don’t give up.”

God put me at that event where I happened to have lunch with this woman who I could reach out to give encouragement and advice. I gave her my business card with my blog address on it and suggested she check it out. I’m hoping I gave her another alternative to try and encouragement to keep fighting.

     I’m a writer I go to workshops and conferences and I read books to enhance my writing. Workshops are taught by authors who each have different techniques. Writers must sift through the different techniques until they find the one that works best for them. It’s the same with mental illness strugglers: they need to go to a therapist and hear from other strugglers to find different coping techniques that will work for them. If you have reached recovery and you meet someone who is struggling, don’t be afraid to reach out. Share with the person what has helped you. It will give them a new technique to try that may be the one that works. Use your experiences to help others.

I don’t know if my advice will help the woman I had lunch with, but I feel like God gave me that opportunity to reach out to her. If anything, I hope I encouraged her. It’s the same with this blog. I give lots of tips in my post and they may help you or they may just encourage you to fight. Reaching out to you in this post and to others in person keeps me standing in the light of God’s plan.

I could lay out statics about how many live after cancer because they got a mammogram. I could tell you about how many die because they never got one, but I won’t. No one likes the yearly test. Who would? You are made to take off your shirt and bra while they put your breast in a machine. The machine squishes you while you stand completely still. It’s uncomfortable. Many don’t even bother with the mammogram. Some say they don’t have the time, others say they don’t want to know what it will find. Getting the yearly test done can catch cancer in the early stages and save your life. It saved mine.

 In April of 2018 I had my yearly mammogram done. A day or so afterwards they called to tell me they found something. I burst in tears and called my husband. The next step was a biopsy. Sure, it was a long uncomfortable process, but necessary. The process took two hours. The hardest part was waiting for the results. I waited a week to be told I have a mass and some calcification with cancer. They asked me what surgeon I’d like to see, and the tears filled my eyes.

It seems like an awful process, but without a mammogram I would have never known I had cancer. Without a simple, uncomfortable test, the cancer could have grown and spread. It could have spread into different parts of my body. I don’t know about you, but the thought of an awful disease using my body as a place to fester is even scarier than knowing I have cancer. My cancer was found because of the test and it’s in stage 0 and 1, the earliest stages.

I met with a surgeon who explained cancer to my husband and me. Much of what he told me was overwhelming and hard to remember, but what I did remember was I had a cancer that can be spread by estrogen. I was only 44. I had a few years before menopause so that meant I had years where estrogen could spread the cancer. If I didn’t get the test by the time I found out the mass could have grown and the cancer could have spread. Spread to my other breast, to my bones, lungs and who knows where else. Without a mammogram I would have found out by becoming sick. By then it might have been too late to treat it. Since I got a mammogram and found it early I didn’t have to have chemotherapy instead I have to take a pill to block my estrogen.

I also got gene testing done and found out I have a gene mutation called BRCA 2. This causes breast, ovarian, prostate and skin cancer. I had to decide to have my breasts, my ovaries and tubes removed. Since I have the gene and it can be passed through the family. I can save my family members from getting cancer by educating them about the gene and they can take extra precautions and get tested. By knowing I can hopefully save a family member from getting cancer or give them a chance to catch it sooner.

Yes, cancer is a scary disease, but if caught early enough it is treatable. Don’t skip the yearly mammogram. For your sake and your family’s sake get that uncomfortable test done. If you value your life and want to live a long life, you’ll take care of yourself and do those yearly mammograms. The annoying tests weren’t made just to torture you, they have a purpose. A purpose to find an awful disease before it becomes out of control. There is a chance you may never get cancer, but it always a good idea to keep a watchful eye.

For me a mammogram saved my life. I am now four years cancer free and proud of it. I stand in the light of recovery as a survivor.

I’m going through a medication change for my gastro reflux which has been difficult. Due to that I didn’t write a blog post this week. I’ll be sure to write one next week.

When I married my husband, I moved away from the town of Ripley where I grew up into a suburb of Erie. I was more than glad to move out of the town I was bullied in. My parents still live in my hometown, and I only go there to see them. Otherwise, I have had little to do with Ripley. When Ripley’s librarian messaged me to speak and sign books at their author night, I was apprehensive. Would some of the people who bullied me show up? Would anyone even show up?

When I got the message about talking in Ripley, I called my mom. I told her my fears and she encouraged me to do the author night. She said, “You need to put the past behind you and show them how far you have come.”

I thought about how they said I couldn’t read, and yet I wrote a book. They were wrong about me, and I needed to return to my hometown and let my light shine. I also felt Ripley was the perfect places to talk about bullying and the damage it does to the victim. I messaged the librarian and agreed to do the talk and book signing. she was thrilled.

Speaking up against bullying is very important to me. For my book launch party, I thought about my speech and thought about what I would say, but I didn’t plan anything out. I spoke from my heart and everyone at the party was impressed. I figured this method would also work for the author night. The only problem is when I tried to think about what I would say, my mind went blank. I kept thinking about what it would be like if I faced the bullies. If they read my book, would they even recognize themselves (I changed their names for privacy)? Would any of them ever apologize to me? Could I face them after all these years?

The night before the talk and book signing, I had problems with my acid reflux and was up most of the night. I didn’t get to sleep until 3:30 A.M. Then I had to get up at 7:30 to go to work. When I got to work, I was exhausted. My fellow employees kept asking me what was wrong. As I fought to keep my eyes open and do my job, I wondered how I would be able give a talk after work. There would be no time for a nap. Would I get up in front of everyone looking groggy and stumble over my words? Would I make a total fool out of myself?

By the time we arrived in Ripley after a half hour drive, my exhaustion faded and was replaced with nervousness and excitement. I set up my books on a table inside the library and talked to the librarian. It wasn’t long before people started showing up. A retired store manager from where I worked, a few people from a church I once attended, some people I hadn’t seen in a while, and others came wondering in.

A woman walked up to me and said, “Do you remember me?”

I replied, “No.”

The woman told me she was the Special Education aide who had helped me so much when I was in school. It had been years since I’d seen her and didn’t recognize her. I had written her a note about the book signing, but I didn’t know if she would come or not. Seeing her lifted my spirits even higher. Then another teacher whom helped me a lot in school and who I’ve kept in touch with over the years arrived. Then my parents snuck in and sat up front. I felt more confident than ever to stand in front of everyone and speak.

The librarian introduced me and then the words just flowed smoothly from my lips. I talked about the process of writing my book and then I talked about bullying. I told them that bullying happens in our schools, online, in our communities, in our workplaces, and even in our churches. I talked about how bullying is a from of abuse that causes wounds others can’t see. I talked about the damage it did to me, and I read a passage from my book where I was bullied in my back yard. Then I opened it up to questions. Everyone had lots to ask.

I had woodburned leather bracelets that say, “Stop Bullying.” I urged them to stand with me against bullying by buying a bracelet for five dollars. Afterwards they came to buy bracelets and books. I signed the books while I talked to them. Many told me I spoke like a professional and were surprised that I hadn’t planned out my speech. I felt exhilarated. I couldn’t have been prouder of myself.

Bullying may never stop, but if I can help bring awareness to the harm it causes and save other children and adults from suffering like I did, then I will promote my book and speak about bullying wherever and whenever I can. We need to stand together to fight against bullying. Words and actions do hurt. Bullying is peer abuse and can be verbal or physical. Children and even adults suffer with mental health problems, commit suicide, turn to alcohol, and much more due to this abuse. If we stand up together, we can save children and adults from suffering its wrath.

Making my dream come true by publishing a book and speaking out against bullying helps me shine within the light of recovery.

You can order your copy of my book on the home page of this site. Just click on the picture of my book and it will take you to Amazon to order it.

https://www.goerie.com/story/news/local/2022/09/08/lawrence-park-author-aimee-eddy-recounts-overcoming-bullying-memoir/65419959007/

Bullying is a big problem in our society. It does a lot of damage to the victim of bullying. It leads to mental health problems, suicide, alcohol abuse, and much more. Bullying can be physical or mental abuse, and it happens in our schools, our communities, our workplaces, and even in churches. Many victims of bullying suffer in silence. They fear the consequences of telling others what is happening to them. The problem is their silence can be devastating. It’s important to communicate with someone you trust and to know you can’t fight and suffer alone.

When I was bullied in school, I told my parents about some of the things I was going through, but not everything. I kept a lot to myself and I hid from them my declining mental health. My mom went to my school a lot arguing with the teachers and principals who would not help me. She never knew how horrible some of the teachers treated me. She would have fought harder for me if she knew everything.

Each day I went through school being put down, and the bullying didn’t stop at school. Some kids called me names and threw rocks at me in my own yard. I struggled with self-defeating thoughts, tormenting nightmares, and inner anguish. I tried to deal with it on my own, but as the years went on it took its toll on me. In time my silence became deafening, but my inner thoughts became out of control. My thoughts were like voices in my head, one telling me how awful I was, and the other one telling me I was a good person. My thoughts fought until the negative ones won, and I slipped down that black hole.

 Now that I’m an adult I look back at how much I kept to myself and I regret it. If only I had talked more to my parents, maybe they could have helped me fight the bullies and get me help for my mental health. Maybe if I hadn’t tried to deal with the bullying and mental illness on my own, I wouldn’t have suffered for so long. My parents could have gotten me help sooner. There is a lot of maybes, but the most important thing is what I have learned. I learned that communication is very important.

When I was being bullied and when my mental illness became overwhelming, I felt like I was all alone. It seemed like no one would ever like me or understand me. In school I just wanted to be accepted for who I was. I didn’t want to be popular, but liked. My classmates never took the time to get to know me and to see me for the person I was. Instead, they judged me for having a learning disability. I took their abuse day in and out without talking about it with my parents or others who cared about me. My mind became my jail.

Talking about my feelings has never been easy for me. It was in high school I discovered I had the ability to write. I would spend endless hours writing out a story in a notebook. My inner pain bled out through my pen. My stories were dark. I wrote about dying and tragedies. I poured my feelings into my stories. If only I would have just written about my feelings and what I was going through and let my parents read them.

I now know that communication about what is happening to me and inside me is very important. As an adult I went to a therapist who knew I am a writer. My homework for my therapy sessions was to write down my feelings and at our sessions we would discuss what I wrote. This worked well. By doing this she helped me find a way to deal with my illness, she taught me how to change my negative thinking, and she taught me coping techniques. I reached recovery because I was able to use this type of communication with my therapist.

If you’re being bullied or struggling with mental illness, don’t do it in silence. Communicate what is happening to you in the best way you know how. If you’re not good at talking, then put your feelings down on paper. Maybe you don’t have a close family or many friends who will listen, so you feel like there isn’t someone you can talk to. If this is the case then find someone you can trust like a teacher, a nice co-worker, a therapist, a manager, a pastor, a priest, and so on. Never suffer alone. Talk to someone you can trust or write it in a letter.

I have recently told the world what I went through in my memoir Escape to the Garage: Family Love Overcomes Bullying and it was healing. Now I have a support system that I talk, text, or write letters to when I’m struggling. I no longer suffer in silence. Because I now communicate what I feel and what I go through, I stand in the light of recovery stronger than ever.

People can hurt us badly. The pain they’ve inflicted on us can lie heavily on our hearts, and the wounds they caused are burned into our souls. Betrayal, abuse, lying, and so much more are so hurtful that they seem unforgivable. Forgiving others when they have hurt us is extremely hard to do. It’s easier to bury the hurt and anger than to release the pain by forgiving.

Recently, as you have read in earlier posts, I have published my book Escape to the Garage: Family Love Overcomes Bullying, and a topic that I have discussed with my readers is forgiveness. Many have asked me if while writing this book was I able to forgive those who bullied me. Writing this book was therapeutic and healing. For years I carried around the wounds of the bullying I endured in school. Carrying it around was a heavy burden. I hated my abusers. Each time I remembered my childhood, I thought of the pain they caused me, and it flared a deep anger inside me. That anger ripped at me.

As I wrote my book, I had to relive it and that was extremely difficult, but it was helpful. By reliving it, I was able to trace my slow decline into mental illness and at the same time forgive those who abused me. As I wrote about the bullying, I felt that pain all over again. The hate and anger I felt towards them seared through me. I cried in my husband’s arms and whispered, “I forgive you.” Then suddenly a wound healed, and my soul was freed.

From childhood to adulthood, I carried anger, hate, and pain from what the kids and teachers did to me in school. As an adult, that anger, hate, and pain weighed on my soul as I struggled with mental illness. I talked to my therapist about the bullying, and it felt good to talk about it, but my heart was still heavy. It pulled me down.

I made friends but struggled to trust them. When I started working, I feared anyone who had authority over me. I couldn’t ask some of my teachers for help because they put me down, and to a kid, they were people of authority. So, when I started working, I feared managers. I did my best to avoid talking to them and if I needed their help, I found myself unable to ask. The worst part is when I started in the bakery department at the grocery store where I work, my first manager yelled a lot. I found myself unable to speak. Each day before work I felt sick to my stomach. I kept making mistakes until they moved me to the front end as a bagger.

Carrying that fear of authority around made my job harder. I couldn’t go to a manager for help or stand up for myself when I needed to. My fear and anger towards the teachers who hurt me hovered over me and pushed me down. Not being able to forgive those teachers held me back and left wounds open. While I wrote my book, I forgave each teacher one by one. By doing that I have taken control of the fear and have healed my wounds. Now I can talk more easily with my managers.

I learned that forgiveness isn’t for the person who hurt you, because that person may never admit he or she ever did anything wrong. I realized I didn’t have to track down each of my classmates and teachers who bullied me to forgive. I had to forgive for me within my heart and soul. It was the only way I could free myself of the hurt, anger, hate, and fears that burdened me for so long.

In high school when my mental illness sent me hurtling towards the bottom of the dark hole, a friend abused me. For years afterwards I struggled with the abuse and my feelings about it. I couldn’t move past it and it haunted me. I struggled with relationships because of it. My therapist told me to write down what I would say to the friend who hurt me in a letter and how what she did to me made me feel. She told me to let out all my feelings and then forgive her. She told me not to send the letter but burn it. I took it to a place where she hurt me, and I burned it. (I made sure I safely burned it without catching anything else on fire.)

By burning the letter and watching the paper turn to ash, I let go of all the anguish she caused me and forgave her. For once in my life, I was finally able to put what she did to me behind me and move on with my life. There are scars that no one can see, but I am no longer haunted by what the friend did to me. I am free. I’ll never completely forget, but it’s in the back of my mind and I live a happy life.

Forgive those who have hurt you for yourself. Don’t carry around the hurt and anger he or she caused you. By carrying it around, it’s eating you up inside and only hurting you and not them. They go on with their lives while you quietly drown in your own personal anguish. Forgive to free yourself, forgive to heal your wounds, and forgive to move forward with your life. You don’t have to face the person to forgive him or her. Put your forgiveness in a letter and burn it, or whisper it quietly into the night.

Since I wrote my book, I was able to forgive those who hurt me and now I’m free to dance within the light of recovery.

People find comfort in many ways while dealing with stressful and deeply emotional times in their lives. We all have things we use to soothe our nerves and ease our tension when life becomes challenging. Some people with anxiety use a comfort object. This object might be a stress ball, a gemstone, a rabbit’s foot, a pen, or anything small that can be carried around in a pocket or purse. Manipulating, rubbing, squishing, and so on distracts the struggler from the worries or thoughts that produces the anxiety.

A therapist I had gave me a smooth pink stone and told me when I started worrying to rub my finger across it. I got a little silk bag to put it in. I took it everywhere with me. I was fighting to reach recovery at the time and was struggling with racing thoughts. Each time the thoughts started, I pulled out my stone and rubbed it. I focused on the smoothness of its surfaces and its curves. Suddenly my mind was preoccupied with my stone and my racing thoughts calmed. I used this stone until I reached recovery and then put it aside.

A co-worker carries a small Lego piece with a wheel on it in his pocket. He told me it helps him with his anxiety. When he gets anxious, he twists the wheel around in circles. I see him carrying it with him at work and twisting it to calm himself. He told me he likes the feel of turning the wheel around in his hand and it distracts his anxiety.

Anything can be a comfort object as long as it’s small enough to carry around with you. The important thing is finding the right object for you. What calms one person may not calm another person. Playing with a Lego piece wouldn’t do much for me, but it’s a great help to my co-worker.

A month or so ago I found these animal-shaped squishy toys at Dollar Tree. I’ve seen kids play with squishy toys and have squished a few when going through the toy section in stores. I liked the feeling of them, so I bought one. I opened the package and started squishing it in my hand and manipulating. I loved it.

I decided to try using the squishy toys when my worries started to get the best of me. As I squished, stretched, and squeezed it, my mind became focused on the feeling of the squishy and the different things I could do with it. My mind became so focused on what I was doing, my worry eased up. Suddenly I had something to keep my mind busy and no time for my worries. Before I knew it, I became addicted to the squishy toys. Each time I went to Dollar Tree, I walked out with a new squishy toy, small ones and a bigger one. Each one small enough to put in my pocket. Now I have nineteen squishies.

I have several squishies lined up on my coffee table, one on my bedside table, and two I carry to work each day. They bring me comfort when anxiety rears its ugly head. By concentrating on the feeling of it, the different ways I can squish it, stretch it, and so on I’m distracting myself enough to stop myself from having an anxiety attack.

Anxiety strikes me the most while I’m at work and at night. Nighttime is when my worries start filling my mind. When the worries start to grow, and my anxiety threatens to make me sick, I reach for my squishy. The stress of work, especially when it gets very busy and during occasions when it’s slow and I’m bored, triggers worries which flare my anxiety. My squishy comes in handy at those moments. In between customers I squeeze it and when I’m bored, I squish, stretch, and focus on it.

In her article Using Comfort Objects to Reduce Anxiety, Tanya J. Peterson, MS, NCC, DAIS states that in carrying with you and using a comfort object, you are not only reducing anxiety in the moment, you are training your brain to shift its focus when anxiety flares. This is very important when you struggle with anxiety. When anxiety peaks it’s hard to stop the mind from racing and worrying. Finding something to train the brain to shift from those thoughts will help you take better control of your anxiety. It’s an important factor in your recovery.

Have you found a comfort object for your anxiety? Don’t be hasty in your choices and don’t be embarrassed by the object that gives you comfort. Make sure your object is small enough to carry around with you so you can use it whenever you feel anxious. Try different objects until you find the one that fits you best. Run your finger over it, check its texture, notice how it feels in your hand, and ask yourself will the object keep your mind busy. Give it a try. You find a comfort object very helpful.

My squishy addiction is giving me comfort when anxiety strikes and helps me stay in the light of recovery.

For several years as I wrote my book, I watched authors have book launch parties and I attended a couple. Each time I cheered them on and congratulated them while daydreaming of having my own party. Finishing my book at the time seemed like an endless process. I envied those who celebrated their published books, because it seemed like mine would never reach that point. I continued to dream as I wrote my book and rewrote parts of it. A dream was launched.

     As you’ve read in past posts, I have dreamed of writing a book and autographing it since high school. It’s a dream I have striven through the years to make come true. My parents always told me dreams can come true if you work hard enough. They were right. Writing a book is not an easy task. It takes time, planning, learning, rewriting, and lots of editing. It was a big accomplishment for me to finish the manuscript, but an even bigger accomplishment to publish it. Holding my very own book was one dream that came true. The next dream I strove to make come true was to celebrate its publication with a launch party.

I saved up money from selling my woodburnings to pay for my launch party. I had several friends offer to help me put together the party. My husband works in housekeeping at Erie Yacht Club in Erie, Pennsylvania where we live. So, we asked if we could have my party there, but a member must sponsor you. A fellow Pennwriter, Eugene Ware, is a member and agreed to sponsor me. Before I knew it, we had a room booked.

I wanted to make invitations on my computer but the program I use to make cards and invitations wasn’t working. I tried to look for templates on Microsoft Word to make them, but I was unsuccessful. My brother is a computer wiz so I asked him to make them and email them to me so I could print them off. He did an excellent job at making them.

I handed out and mailed seventy invitations. I counted the days down to my launch party. I decided I wouldn’t write out a speech and I would just talk from the heart. In my mind I went over the things I wanted to talk about. At night I dreamed of the party. I wrote down a brief outline of the order of things I would talk about. My friend Amy Bovaird donated baskets to raffle off at the party.

In the weeks before the party I woodburned bracelets that said, “Stop Bullying,” to sell and wooden bookmarks to raffle off for those who signed up for my blog. The books arrived three weeks before the party. When the day of my launch party came, I was ready. I was nervous, yet excited.

I got forty-three RSVPs, but I had them set up for fifty people. When people started coming in, I greeted them and got several hugs. People were ready to buy books before I even got started. They were excited. Once I told everyone to have a seat, we realized we needed more chairs. They brought in twelve more chairs. Instead of forty-three guests I had sixty-two.

I stood up in front of family and friends and spilled out my soul. I talked about how publishing my book was a dream come true. I presented my husband and parents with books and spoke about them and I spoke about bullying. Then I read two scenes from my book. I spoke with confidence and with God’s guidance. My nervousness faded away.

When it was finally time to sell and sign my books, I was flying like a bird above the clouds. My guests lined up. My husband took the money as I signed books. I can’t tell you how awesome it is to sign a book you wrote. It’s one of the best feelings in the world. As I signed their books, they congratulated me and told me what a wonderful job I did speaking. I was beaming with pride and glowing from the fulfillment of my dream.

My wedding day was the best day of my life and the day of my launch party was the second best day of my life. When we went to pay for the party, we were told we owed nothing. Someone made that day even more magical by paying for it. After the party I wanted to dance and jump for joy. It was so hard to go to bed that night. I was still filled with joy and pride.

If anyone ever tells you, “Dreams don’t come true,” don’t believe them. Dreams do come true if you work hard enough towards them. Don’t let anything stand in your way, not an illness, a disability, others disbelieving and so on. If I can make my dreams come true, so can you.

I can’t be prouder of myself for making my teenage dream come true. I launched a dream and fulfilled it, and because of that I’m flying above the clouds in the light of recovery.