“Each time we face our fear, we gain strength, courage, and confidence in the doing.” -Unknown

Two nights ago, I made the decision to show my mom my blog. As those of you reading know, this little un-noticed page, among millions of un-noticed pages on the net, contains deep thoughts and dark secrets. My mom read everything. She in turn had me show my step dad and explain things to my little sister.

Last night, I told my grandmother what has been going on. She was acting really supportive all night.

Today, I went to work and ate breakfast. I had a piece of toast and some hashbrowns. I couldnt keep it down. It was too greasy. I tried really hard, but I just couldn't do it. Then, for lunch at work, I had a turkey sandwich and french onion soup with the other servers. My stomach couldnt take all of it, and I ended up purging as soon as I got home. I tried to cover my tracks. Music and a shower. But, my grandma caught on and lectured me before I even got out of the bathroom. After a 2 hours lecture about being stupid, she took me to town.

We went out to dinner at QDoba. She made me eat my entire meal. By the time we got to the store, my stomach hurt so bad I could hardly stand it. I tried to stow away to the bathroom, but she followed close behind. So, while in the stall, I popped a few laxatives.

I am really starting to regret telling anyone. I feel like I have less control than I did before. I am really starting to think that I can't do this. I'm not strong enough. My family is pushing me too hard, too fast. They expect me to be able to just eat and not purge, or take something. They expect me to be able to just stop. *sigh* i'm so scared. I think a bigger part of me wants to stay this way. I'm honestly terrified to even try to recover. But I suppose its baby steps. One day at a time. I've gotten through telling. Only can get easier, right?

“It is better to be a coward for a minute than dead for the rest of your life” -Irish proverb

I'm really starting to realize the severity of things. Tonight a very good friend of mine said something that scared me terribly.

Ash, I'm so worried about you. some day soon you're not going to be satisfied with not having control over your life... and you'll stop making excuses. you're getting closer and closer all the time. On the flip side... you're getting worse when you're having your down days and i'm really worried that you are going to end up in the hospital or dead before you seek out help. Please, Ash, please tell someone. Theres only so much I can do. I support you, forever, but i'm really scared.

After this incident, my mom lectured me about diet pills. And made a comment about how I have lost alot of weight. I can't keep hiding. I'm so scared. I feel so tired and weak all the time. But I can't just stop.

This whole thing is a vicious cycle. Eating away at me every minute of everyday. I feel guilty about not eating, so I eat. Then I feel guilty about eating, so I purge. Then I feel guilty about purging, so I eat. I just can't be satisfied. I reach a goal, but its never enough. I make a new goal. I tell myself, once i reach this goal, i'm done. But I can't stop.

I'm giving in. I have to tell someone. But, i'm terrified. I feel like such a coward. Maybe somehow i'll manage.

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” -Oscar Wilde

I think its time I tell the truth...

Lately, it seems, that things have been going downhill, and fast. I feel like my life has spiralled out of its normal rotation, and I no longer have control over it. I've faced so much in the past year, even past month, i'm not sure how much more I can take.

I feel as if I am lost. Cut off from the world I once knew. People no longer understand. They no longer can relate. I've began to distance myself from everything I love and care about. I'm slipping farther and farther away from the girl I used to be. I'm losing touch.

Two years ago, i'd of told you that things were wonderful. I had everything I could of wanted. I had a loving boyfriend. A beautiful little girl on the way, an apartment all of our own, a stable job, and the greatest friends anyone could ask for.

But as time passed, I started to notice little changes. Changes in me, my friends, ked, just the world in general. My dreams began to fade. I started losing touch with who I really was. Everything i'd wanted out of life, started slowly slipping away, just fast enough for me to not be able to catch them.

I started telling myself that everything was ok. That everyone has trouble right after having a baby. I managed to talk myself into believing it. I started feeling better, not only about my life, but about myself.

Sometime in early 2006, I came to realize the truth about my life. I got a phone call from a gal I hardly knew. She explained to me that Ked had been unfaithful. I began to feel sick. Disappointed. And overwhelmingly sad. I felt my heart come up into my throat, and my stomach twist. I wrote a letter and packed up Quinn. I had to leave. I couldn't stand to think that the man who was supposed to love me, the man whos child I bore, could do something like that to me. I started to fall into a state depression. I lost my self worth. And along with that, I lost my hope for a happy future.

Ked woke up before I left the house. He read the letter, and attempted to talk to me. I couldnt bear to look him in the eyes. It hurt. After a few hours of talking and crying, I told him that I was tired of him saying I love you. I needed him to prove to me that he cared. He pulled me into a very tight embrace and proposed. I said yes.

Months went by. I still felt depressed. I felt unpretty, imperfect, and unwanted. I started thinking thoughts like "if only I were prettier, he'd love me more." and "if I were skinnier, he'd love me like he should". As the clock ticked and hours turned into days, an old habit I fought through high school started to resurface. I started skipping meals. Chewing food, but not swallowing and just spitting it out later.

I had it under control. I could stop if I had too, and eat an entire plate. But as time went by, my control started to slip through my fingers. I started feeling guilty for eating. So i'd purge if I ate too much. When it started, i'd only purge if I felt overly full. Then it slowly morphed into me purging everytime I ate because I just couldn't stand the feeling of being full. The guilty feeling the food would give me.

Now, I have lost my grip. Its a terrible cycle. I can't stand to even gain a pound. Anything to save me from the fate of being fat and ugly. Laxatives, diet pills, diuretics, binging and purging, fasting. If its within my reach, it gets put to use. I'm fading fast. I'm scared, tired of lying, covering up my own tracks, and hiding. I've fallen so hard that I can't get back up.

When I started losing control, I started feeling worthless. I still felt betrayed. But I hid it. Pretended that the feeling didn't exist. Ked had proposed. He really loves me right? But, no matter how much I told myself that, I just couldn't get over the hurt, betrayed feeling he'd left me with. As my wedding drew near, I started feeling trapped. I had dreams. I couldn't be married. I wanted to go places. Do things. Things I knew Ked wasn't interested in. I wanted to back out. Call it all off. But I couldn't. I couldn't stand the thought of disappointing my family. Being a failure my whole life made me scared to disgrace my family more than I already had.

About a week before the wedding, I started to get excited. Papa was going to live to see his youngest daughter get married, and to have the opportunity to give her away. I love keddy. very much. But I still didn't want to get married. But I wanted Papa there. And I knew thats what my family wanted. I wanted him to witness that special day.

Now, I sit here. Thinking about everything that has gone on in the past two years, and I wish that I could just run away. Escape my marriage, eat healthy, live in a place far far away from here, and just be myself. But My problems have consumed my soul. Made it impossible to live a normal life. I'm stuck in a hole with no ladder to climb. I cry silently, hoping someone will see the red flag. But no one does. No one does.

"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it." -Clarence B. Kelland

John Nicholas "Nick" Shepherd

Dec. 12, 1945-Sept. 1, 2007

Age: 61

Residence: Eaton

Tribute: Mr. Shepherd was born in Greeley to Billie Lou and John Earl Shepherd. He grew up in Greeley and graduated in 1964 from Greeley High School, where he played football and wrestled.

After graduation, Nick attended college for one year and then joined the U.S. Navy in January 1966. He served aboard the U.S.S. Tinosa SSN 606, a fast attack nuclear submarine. On April 9, 1966, he married Louise Reichert in Greeley. On Feb. 5, 1970, Nick was discharged from the Navy, and he then settled his family in Eaton.

Nick worked for Kodak for 32 years. He retired from the Eaton Volunteer Fire Department after 22 years of service, three years of which were as Fire Chief. Nick was currently serving as president of the Eaton Fire Protection District Board. He belonged to the Eaton Jaycees for 10 years and the Eaton Band Boosters.

His favorite hobbies included hunting, fly fishing and watching his children and grandchildren in sports. He loved the Broncos and a good debate with anyone. Nick died Saturday at North Colorado Medical Center after a five-year battle with ALS, also called Lou Gehrig's Disease.

Survivors: His wife, Louise Shepherd of Eaton; three daughters, Denise Shepherd-Castillo and husband Joe of Eaton, Kimberly Kimbrough and husband Kody of Friona, Texas, and Ashley Bredemeier and husband Keddy of Eaton; a son, Mark Shepherd and wife Amber of Evans; his mother, Billie Lou and stepfather Virgil Baxter of Greeley; his stepmother, Frances Shepherd; a sister, Sue Good and husband Bob of North Carolina; one brother, Pat Shepherd and wife Diane of Greeley; his mother-in-law, Dorothy Reichert of Greeley; two brothers-in-law, Floyd Reichert and wife Janet of Greeley and Marvin Reichert and wife Paula of Windsor; and grandchildren, Autumn and Brandon Castillo, Kendall and Kambree Kimbrough, Izaiah, Izak and Zaidyn Shepherd, and Quinn Bredemeier.

Preceded in death by: His father, John Earl Shepherd; grandparents Icel and Herschel Brooks and Laura and Everett Shepherd; and father-in-law Alex Reichert.

Services: 10 a.m. Tuesday at First Congregational Church of Eaton, 325 2nd St.

Notes: Contributions may be made to the Eaton Fire Department or the Nick Shepherd Memorial Fund c/o Allnutt Macy Chapel, 702 13th St., Greeley, CO 80631. View the online obituary and sign the family guestbook at www.allnutt.com.

" And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time
As I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409
And I rationed my breathes as I said to myself that I'd already taken too much today
As each descending peak of the LCD took you a little farther away from me
Away from me

Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines in a place where we only say goodbye
It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds
But I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all
And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground as the TV entertained itself

'Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room
Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news
And then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads
But I'm thinking of what Sarah said that "Love is watching someone die"

So who's going to watch you die?.." - Death Cab For Cutie


It wasn't until this weekend that I fully understood the meaning and pure emotion behind those lyrics. But tonight, as I sit here, hiding behind my music, I reflect on the events of the past few days. I haven't really been ready or able to talk about this with more than a few very close people, but I feel that it is time I let everyone know what has been on.

As most of you know, I was raised by my grandparents. They have always been, and always will be my mom and dad. Mimi and Papa are the ones responsible for raising the person I am now. Papa was diagnosed with ALS (autotrophic lateral sclerosis aka- Lou Gehrig's disease) in August of 2002. For 5 years, he battled this terrible ailment, fighting everyday.

On Thursday August 28, 2007, at around 6:15 p.m., Papa said he had a hairball in his throat. He was too weak to try and cough it up. Mimi leaned him forward, tried to pat his back to get him to cough; no luck. She tried the cough assist machine; no luck. So finally, she resorted to calling 911. The firemen arrived, and the ambulance shortly after. They got him hooked up to an IV, and tried, desperately, to get the phlegm out of his throat. After numerous failed attempts, and when it became obvious that he was having trouble breathing, they whisked him off to the Emergency Room.

At about 7:00 p.m., I received a phone call at work. I heard the words i'd been dreading for such a long time. "Ash, Papa was sent to the hospital by ambulance about an hour ago. You need to go. I'm not sure how serious it is but you should go right now." I called my manager over, and he said that he would close for me, but he had to get the clear from his manager. His manager came up to me and asked me why I needed to leave. I explained my situation, and he responded with "You called in on Monday. If you leave, you could lose your job. You need to decide if this is really worth it." I walked out.

I arrived at the Emergency Room at about 7:20p.m. A few family members were there already. I sat with them and awaited the news on how Papa was doing. Finally, after a 30 minute wait, Mimi came out, and asked my mom and I to come back. We sat in the E.R. room with him for a few hours. Waiting. Papa got scared. He ended up having a panic attack. They gave him a sedative. The sedative reacted with his medication for his ALS and threw him into a coma state. Thats when they decided to admit him.

After a wait of a few more hours, Papa finally was given a room. It had a bed with a special mattress. The kind he needed to accommodate his ailment. It was on the general ward floor. Our hospital lacks a neurology floor, so they made special arrangements for him. We sat and watched as the doctors took all his vitals.

Later that evening, Marky and I talked Mimi into going home for a while. We decided that she needed a shower and fresh clothing. Marky and I sat with Papa. Papa went through spells where he'd be in a comatose state, then flailing around, then talking normally. It was so hard to see. At one point, he looked at me, and mid tears, I heard him say "Ash, please, relax". I had to leave the room.

I ended up spending the night with Mimi and Papa. I didn't want her there alone. She needed company. Neither of us slept.

On Friday morning, August 29, 2007, Papa stopped breathing. They put him on a respirator, and he seemed to be doing a bit better. Throughout the day, he drifted in and out of a coma. Talking with us briefly, being the same old Papa he'd always been, except, instead of his glowing face, he was frail, and pale.

By Friday night, he had gone down hill incredibly fast. I'm not sure how it happened. The whole day seems like a blur. But somewhere down the line, he started failing. At about 6p.m., my grandma and the doctors made the decision to pull his life support at 9p.m. I broke down.

When 9p.m. arrived, all of us immediate family gathered into Papa's room, and held hands. We prayed, we told Papa everything we felt we needed to say. He told us he loved us, and that he was checking out. I sat in the room with him, my mom, Marky, Kimmy, and Mimi for a few hours in silence, watching Papa slowly leave our lives. I held his hand the whole time.

At 9:15a.m. on August 31, 2007, Papa passed away.

It all seems surreal to me. I still expect to see Papa sitting in his chair in the T.V. room every morning when I wake up. I still wait for him to yell at me every time i sit down at my computer. Why should I have to lose my dad? And only weeks after I lose my grandfather? This whole situation just seems unfair. And with this, I have to say, Love is watching someone die.... Who's going to watch you die?...

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