Author Archives: kacyearnest

About kacyearnest

There's not much to say about me, but what there is shall be discovered and not told.

Stereotype: Chesty girls

For my Drama 3 class, we had to choose a stereotype from the long list the Drama 1 class made. Then, we had to create a monologue that portrays the stereotype as real and non-comedic.

Stereotype: Chesty Girls


You know, this wasn’t something I asked for. When I think back on it, these seemed to have come overnight in middle school. I had sexual passes made at me when I was twelve. I had grown men messaging me on Facebook asking for topless photos. That’s pretty tough on a twelve-year-old. All the girls in my dance class at school mocked me, some even bullied me-slamming me into the wall-and telling me that I stuffed my bra and was a huge slut for doing so. I was twelve. They stopped saying I  stuffed my bra when I finally gained the confidence to change in the same room as them, but I was still a slut. Riddle me that. Bra shopping was my own ninth circle of hell. The women in Victoria’s Secret would give my pity eyes because they knew I couldn’t fit anything in the store, and it’s not a real bra shopping trip without an hour of crying and two mental breakdowns where I scream at my mother. Most of the time, I wouldn’t even get a bra on the “bra shopping trip.” My brother’s friends would come over and caress my face, tell me I’m sexy, and ask for my phone number so I could send them nude pictures. I was twelve. Puberty hit me. Puberty beat the shit out of me, and I was emotionally punished for it. 


Halloween Story

Every Halloween in Drama class, our teacher walks to middle of the black box and gestures behind her to the board. The objective states that we are to write a “spooky” story beginning with “On a dark and stormy night…” in a group. Here’s how it goes: Every person has a sheet of paper, and they begin the story. Every 5 minutes, you pass the page to the person next to you. After each person in the group has written something on every story, the original author gets to wrap it up.

Here’s the spooky story that I started and finished:

On a dark and stormy night, not a creature was stirring, except for, well, the house. The house with the clangy shutters, the house with the whispered mutters, the house with a mind of its own, the house with its prophecy en sewn. On Halloween night, as everyone knew, the house came to life. My family and I flew. Flew from the house for we knew what was inside- a creature whose will you must abide. He’ll grab you from the streets and control your thoughts. He’ll control your body that’s all in rots. 

He reaches into your mind, unleashing your deepest fears and making them into the darkest version of reality that you can imagine. You can scream, but it will not affect him in the slightest. He loves to bask in the pain of others. He feeds off the pain. 

This creature has no name, but we all know him well. He’s the one our parents tell us to fear. The creature is an outcast, who has great pleasure out of mining other’s lives. I can recall one night, as I was walking home from church, I passed this old house. Just walking past it gave me chills. A rush of his cold heart swept me off my feet…I was stuck. No help. All alone, in front of this terrible house.

Your insides twist in a way no normal creature should cause. Your mind whirls to the harsh reality he has created. You can fight, but what wold that do? You could give in to his gripping wave, but that would make him victorious. What was I to do but run? Run like the residents ran. I often find myself thinking of that house. It usually happens after a stormy day, and the creature consumes my mind yet again. I have no control. 

The Life of the Intern

I have yet to inform you lovelies that I have received my dream job of interning at the local arts center. Let it be noted that I worked my ass off beforehand as a volunteer, but now I’m getting paid for it! Awesome, right?

One of the perks of working here is that the people I work with are surprisingly hilarious. They’re all much older than I am, but they connect with me.

My first day, Carol, an office worker, informed me that lunch is the most serious time of the day. “I wake up for lunch, Kacy. We take it very seriously in this building,” she said with the a killer stare.

The point of this post is to propose a question. (ALLITERATION) Would you, as a reader, enjoy a series of Life of the Intern on this blog?

Summer is ending, but happiness is staying

Summer is quickly coming to an end, but that’s okay. My last year of high school is coming at me like I’m holding a red flag. Toro! Toro!

That actually means Mexican fighting bull. They’re literally calling the bull. If someone is insane enough to call a raging bull towards them, I can welcome the end of summer with open arms.

Keep an open mind and may your end of summer bring you the same comfort as mine.

How I Cured My Anxiety

This is a true inspiration.


UPDATE: As of July 2013, this article is the #1 search result on Google for “how to cure anxiety.” In this post, you will learn about the key breakthrough I had that freed me from my mental prison. More than anything else, this change in how I viewed the world gave me my life back. It’s helped tens of thousands of readers, and I hope it can help you as well.

If you’re interested in reading my short memoir, which includes my weekly schedule and every technique that helped cure my anxiety, click here.

Now… on with the post!

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For a long time, I thought I was going crazy. I’d convinced myself that something horribly wrong was about to happen. I thought I would be stabbed, shot, or arrested every time I left my apartment. I was sure that there was an impending disaster that would melt the…

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Rest In A Peaceful Mindeset

Rest In Peace, they say, or RIP for short. Some have considered what it’s like from the bystanders perspective, rather than the dead, and it’s a very interesting perspective. If I were a photographer, I would not photograph the mourning or sorrow in a cemetery but the peacefulness and ease of mind.

Meandering though the cemetery, you see names, not faces. These are the names of people who have lived their lives, “successful” or not, and have found ease of mind and a sense of freedom. Success does not determine where you go in life. Death does. And you all end up in the same place-freed. You are freed.

All the lambs and all the shepherds-freed. 

One headstone says “Free at last” and had a dream catcher lightly swaying in the summer breeze. That’s what I want my headstone to say-free. Free of the shackles of struggle, impatience, and rage.

Life is worth living, especially to the fullest, for the best is yet to come.

I’m boring.

For many years, I have accepted the fact that I am, indeed, boring. Often I have wondered how does one becomes un-boring. Finally, it has dawned on me.

Interesting people have seen the world. This is fact, and you probably think I’m an idiot for not making this connection earlier. People with stories are the people that are listened to- the interesting people. They have a plethora of stories ready to escape their lips and tell of their past.

Interesting people do not boast. They merely exclude the monetary portions of their adventures and focus on the actual adventure. They travel across the globe, but they make is seem as if these adventures were happening up the street from them. 

That brings up another topic: Interesting people are passionate. They are passionate about their interests and where they go and the things they do. They can make the world seem so small because they seem to be on atop it. 

Life goal: Not wealth or fame, but passion and interest