My Little Olyvia

A few months ago I had an incredible dream. I was in the hospital and had given birth to a beautiful baby girl. I remember going home, but for the life of me hadn't a clue where Steven was. Family and friends had come over to see the baby and one of the big questions they asked was, "What's her name?" I remember feeling so nervous at first because I wanted to name her, but without Steven there, I was scared. What if the name I give her was something he wouldn't like. Yet I couldn't post pone her name much longer. It already had been a week in the dream. So the name that came to mind was Olyvia IvyAnn Kopsa. At least three different times I called her by her full name. Looking at her, she was Olyvia! When I woke, the name was so crystal clear in my mind that I'm certain that's what Steven and I will be calling our daughter.

Last night Olyvia visited again. Kind of a similar set up where I was in the hospital, just had her, but this time when I saw her, my mind lit up thinking, "That's Olyvia!" I quickly stated what her name was suppose to be. My mother was there once more and Steven, again, wasn't anywhere to be seen. Olyvia eventually wasn't the focus of the dream but rather the realization that I had her in November. As my mind became obsessed with this notion that I had a baby in November, when a few month prior I certainly wasn't pregnant, many questions came to mind. How could that have happened? I mean, I didn't know I was pregnant! Let alone back in June (I believe shortly after the first Olyvia dream) I had taken a pregnancy test. It came back negative. So I took a pregnancy test in the dream, considering I just had the baby and therefore should have those hormones still, and sure enough it came back positive, magically confirming that the first test I took was faulty. 

Of course the confusion ensued as I thought about my monthly and excessive cycles (sorry for tmi) as well as my weight loss. For a moment I got excited about the weight loss knowing that I just lost about another 10 pounds with the birth of Olyvia. Still, I was swimming in a sea of confusion about how I was able to have my little girl when everything pointed to it not being possible. At the same time, I was grateful that it finally had happened! I finally had my Olyvia!

When I woke up, it was a bit hazy as I realized I was in bed next to Steven. Then in one fell swoop it hit me that it was another dream. Part of me wants to get mad that I have these tormenting dreams, but part of me is excited for I feel I have another clue. I'm certain Steven and I will be having a little girl, her name will be Olyvia IvyAnn Kopsa, and that it'll happen in November. Whether that's the due date or that's when we find out we're expecting, November must signify something of importance.

A Song I Wrote

Too often we fall short of where we should be. We tend to be our own worse critics too. During one of my lows of imperfection these words came to me. I believe it to be God's gift of inspiration, that I was able to put to words and music my sincere thoughts of how much I desire to be more Christ like. May it give hope to those who hear it.



I am open to collaborations for I feel the song would sound amazing with guitar.



Thank you for reading and watching. May your heart and soul be uplifted by my song, Like Thee.

A Little Fun at the Washington State Fair

Killing time with my friend Amilyn while we wait for the Lindsey Stirling concert. I didn't anticipate freaking out so much XD

How I Use To Not Like Myself

In light of recent events, I too am taking the time to write about my own experience with depression. I was inspired to write this in response to a recent article I read in the wake of Robin Williams suicide. The article is titled, 'Robin Williams and Why Funny People Kill Themselves' and written by David Wong on Cracked.com. It's a good read though the gifs in it are distracting, if not completely irrelevant for the article.

What I have to say is not meant to make those who suffer from depression or any anxieties feel like they need to buck up and stop being handicapped by their disorder. No, I understand it (and Sky Williams does too). Rather part of David's article stuck out to me and had me realized how fortunate I am compared to those who are unable to crawl out of that darkness inside them. Granted that sounds very self centered, but I'm hoping as I continue on my words will be quite the opposite of that. I want to give hope to those who have the capacity to mentally get themselves to a better place, or at least those who have the desire.

About half way through the article, David writes a list that helps illustrate how it’s even remotely possible for our favorite comedians to suffer from depression or anxieties. Here’s a quick summary of it:

1. At an early age, you start hating yourself. There’s a number of reasons that could cause this and because of that other kids don’t like you.
2. While young, you did something that got a laugh from the room. Whatever it was, you got a positive reaction. It was one step up from hatred and a thousand steps up from invisibility. Something you could control.
3. Being funny built a perfect, impenetrable wall around you; a buffer that kept anyone from getting too close and realizing how much you suck.
4. In your formative years, you wind up creating a second, false you. You do it because if people hate the clown, who cares? That's not the real you. So you're protected.

I want to focus on the ‘hating yourself’ part of this article. That I can relate to. Growing up I hated how fat and unpopular I was. People said I was great, but why was I only hearing that from just a few people? If I was so beautiful, why was I the last one to be picked to dance or have a boyfriend? If my artwork is so great, why doesn’t everyone else like it? Growing up it seemed like people were telling me a lot of bull. I hated my inability to be popular which lead to cycles of depression. 

Depression is absolute helplessness. For me, I would see myself go into it due to whatever criticism, rejection, or loneliness I was feeling. Even my loud inner voice would realize how hopeless it was to try and get me out of my funk.

Granted, I have been blessed with ADHD. Yes it’s a blessing (and a bloody curse), for I can never linger on an emotion for too long. Depression usually only lasts a few hours to a day for me. Once something new and interesting comes in to play, I’m back to what most people see as a happy, carefree kind of girl. 

But, I still hated myself.

So my arts became my hope to achieve supreme popularity and prove to the world I am someone amazing, beautiful, and worthy of being praised. I was confident that my creations were something of value. Something that deserved recognition.

However the internet is so selective. One person could be an overnight sensation while the rest are like me and still invisible to the world.

It wasn’t until June 2014, that a light bulb went off in my head. I hated myself because I wasn’t receiving adoration for my art and my looks. I was spiraling down into depression over it and at a low point that loud inner voice finally said something that struck me to the core:

“Why does it matter what they think?"

Of course my ears perked and waited expectantly for my head to elaborate.

“Do you like your art?”

Yes.

“Do you think you’re beautiful?

I honestly could answer yes to that question for I have been taking better care of myself and was loving the results.

“So tell me why it’s so important that they have to like it, when you find joy in what you do?”

A sense of peace came over me at this realization. I may not be mainstream and renowned for my art and beauty, but why was I hating myself for not being popular? I love what I create! I love how I look! Yet, how dependent I was being. I was the cause of my own depression!

In that realization, I recalled probably one of the most profound advice given to me by my friend Bill H, "Meri, don't let your happiness be determined by others. Happiness starts with you." At first I thought it was selfish of him to say. It sounded like I had to focus on myself only. Now I see the wisdom. People come and go, but I'm stuck with myself for the rest of my life! If I can't be happy with who I am, then I was bound to set myself up for failure (aka depression).

By sharing all of this, it is my hope to get it into everyone’s head to stop hating yourself! Everyone of us is different. Everyone of us has something to offer. Everyone of us is of great worth. The trick is figuring out what it is you enjoy doing, and taking pride in it. To find that joy in what you do that despite what anyone else says, you can smile and say to yourself, “Oh well. Their loss.”

~Meriam L. Kopsa

Good Bye to a Man Who Made Me Laugh and Cry.

I usually don't feel so lost when a person dies, especially someone whom I've never met or had a physical connection with. Alas, yesterday the world lost one of my favorite actors. Robin William has been a favorite of mine since a young kid. I felt like I grew up with him, as though he were some distant father that one day would come into my life. He was funny and yet serious. His roles in Mrs. Doubtfire, Patch Adams, Jack, Bicentenial Man, and Hook are some of my favorites that have pulled laughter and tears from me.

All the tributes people have been posting have been beautiful to read, but I can't deny the loss that I feel in my heart that Robin no longer is around. Part of me hopes the world will wake up to find it was all just a dream... but I doubt that'll happen. At least I can take comfort knowing he's finally at peace. 

Until we meet again Robin Williams. God bless.

"The world is a little dimmer tonight. RIP" ~Sarah G.

What's Your Name?

Recently I've read an article that talked about baby names. No Steven and I are not expecting, but ever so often I'll come across a baby article. As I read this one about choosing a baby name, one of the interesting advice the article gave put simply as this, "Would you want to give that name in a coffee shop with your order?" For me, this was something exciting to try! I don't often go to the coffee shop, but the first time I went to one after reading that, I missed my opportunity. By good fortune too since I was using my debit card and on it is my actual name!

Today I remembered and  I had cash on me! One of the names I've thought of, if we were to have a girl, is Emiaya (Em-I-ya). It's a name I've made up years ago (though I'm sure I've met someone with that name in the past year) and really like how it sounds. Granted, how would it be received? So while in line at Starbucks, I was beaming inside, excited to try the name out. Low and behold, I get it out and the cashier is all, "That's a pretty name." "Thank you," I say, part of me wanting to say, 'I made it myself.' I helped him spell it and then waited for my hot cocoa to be made. When the barrista finished, I watched as she looked at the name. For a brief moment I think I heard what she thought, "Oh hell..." To spare herself from potentially miss reading the name she calls out that a tall hot chocolate was ready.

I smiled brightly and thanked her for her service. I can't say if it was a smashing success, but it sure made my morning a bit more entertaining.

Becoming a Story Teller

Those of you who know me are quite familiar with my character Araja. I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing with how much she's part of my every day life, but she is a familiar character with the children I watch. Every time I learn a little more about what happens in her story, I have fun telling her recent adventure to my children. Of course I tone it down because I don't want to be insensitive to them with Araja slaughtering things. 

With that, ever so often the children will make my day by asking about her past adventures. The other day they wanted to know how she got her wings. Part of me sighed inside because it's a sad tale, but I told them it anyways knowing I would tell them the happy ending I have planned for Araja. I'm not going to write it here, there's a different blog for that. However what I wanted to share was how captivated I had my kids in the retelling of this prominent character. When it got scary, I could see the concern on their faces. When things worked out and Araja overcame the odds, they were elated! It just warmed my heart to see them so interested. It gives me hope that there'll be a place for my stories one day. If anything, I'll be appreciated among the children if not the adults.

Writing Writing Writing!

You'd think I'd given up on this blog. For those of you who do check, yes I've slacked off greatly! I have allowed myself to stop journaling about the interesting things going on with me and Steven. I could make an excuse and say nothing exciting has happened, but that's just me being unimaginative.

In actuality, something had been happening. I've been excessively writing. It's been well over a year of constant, daily writing. Whether it be a post on Facebook, an email to someone or the constant catch up work on my stories, I've been writing! But there's good news. I know I'm not the best of writers, but I have seen marked improvement to what I've written a year ago. Heck, if you click on an old post of mine here, and compared it to this post, I would imagine you'd agree. Perhaps by next year I'll be even better while this post become blatantly amateur.

Before I close, I'll let it be known that life is well. I've been slacking on my health some, but my nagging inner voice is finally kicking my butt back into gear. Lately I've been working out very regularly and have become a plain Jane on my diet. I'm eating yummy foods still, but I have limited my variety so as to help me focus and not get into the rut of 'what should I eat' (which more often then not lead to eating unhealthy). Steven is on the job hunt seeing his 100 day break is coming to an end. We hope he'll be hired back on with Mircosoft, but we're making sure we're not completely reliant on that. In the mean time, I'm making the bread for the family and he's been keeping the place clean (or at least as clean as one can when one of their housemates is a toddler).

A Vile Man

Steven, Emily, Anne, both of her sons, and I were taking a long walk. We were on the northeast side of the port of Tacoma, walking from my parents house. We had decided that walking to downtown would be an excellent way to spend the day. As we came down the large hill to the port, I noticed a road that at the very end of it was the suspension bridge into Tacoma. I didn't remember such a road cutting across the port, but it was there and it looked traveled enough that it wouldn't be difficult for the stroller to go on.

The road got trickier the further we traveled across the port. About half way across, we all were beginning to feel rather exhausted from all the walking. Emily, though, had met some guy along the walk. He was friendly enough and opened his home up to us that was down a side street. In fact there happened to be a neighborhood right in the port that I hadn't known about. It seemed like one of the neighborhoods in northeast Tacoma.

We rested that night in the man's home. In the morning, I woke up around 9am. I looked about the room and saw no one was there. I got dresses and figured everyone else must have woken early and got a head start on finishing the walk to downtown Tacoma. As I left the room I saw the man who greeted me warmly. I told him good bye and thanked him for his hospitality. Once out the door, I saw my car. It didn't register to me as odd considering I had walked there the day before. What stood out was as I approached it, the car shook a few times. I couldn't see anything in the car so I figured I'd check the trunk.

When I opened the trunk, I was shocked at what I saw. Steven and Emily were each tied up and gagged. Their eyes were pleading and yet helpless. I knew something awful was done to them, something no person should ever experience in their life time. I asked who did it to them. They said it was the very man that welcomed us into his home. I felt sick in my stomach that the man would do such a vile thing! To violate our trust on so many levels. I was furious and was determined to bring him to justice.

I called the police and that's when things got tricky. I still had the trunk open. I was still outside the man's house. I needed to get the address. I needed to get the man's name. No one knew his name! As I tried to give the house number, the man came out. We made eye contact and I saw him note the open trunk. He gave that look of 'you really shouldn't have done that.' He advanced toward me to which I ran with the phone, yelling at him to stay away. I didn't care if I lost connection with the 911 operator. If I was killed, I wouldn't be of any use.

The man gave up on his pursuit after me. I watched him, from behind a fence, shut the trunk of my car and walk back into his house. With the car key clenched tight in my hand, I knew I had to move quick. I was certain he'd be waiting, but I had to get to the car and get home. I didn't know where Anne was, but I hoped somehow she and the boys got away.

I took a deep breath, then ran with all my might. Sure enough as I got to my car door, the man stepped out. I slip into the seat and in the heat of the adrenalin, I don't recall inserting the key into the ignition and starting it. Never the less, I stepped on the gas and got out of there as fast as I could. I saw the man in my review mirror and he was not happy.

Once to the safety of my parents home, I got my sister and husband situated. I then dialed 911 once more. The person who answered was expecting me. I couldn't answer his questions about the man's name and location other than saying he lives in the neighborhood that's in the port of Tacoma. I explained that if someone came to my parents and got me, I could then navigate them there. My phone then alerts me of a new message. It's a picture message from an unknown number. I open it and find myself looking at Anne and her baby boy. They didn't look good and clearly were frightened. Tagged on the end of the picture was, "Report me and I'll kill them."

I remember breaking down as I feared for my friend's life and that of her children. What would I tell her husband? How was I to stop this man from doing more evil if I didn't try to get the police involved?

Unfortunately there isn't a happy ending for I woke up after breaking down. It was strangely vivid and I hadn't had a dream so vivid in a long time. The anger and fear that I felt still lingers. I keep reminding myself how grateful I am that it was just a dream.