123.8
!!!!!
Yeah, you read that right.
123.8, BABY!
My goodness, this is the lowest I've weighed since...
college.
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.
Is it wrong that losing a few pounds can make me this deliriously happy?
Isn't there more to life than this?
Is this all that matters to me?
Oh well, I'm not going to ponder these things now. I'm just going to bask in this feeling for a bit.
Then I'll get back to being my normally contemplative, complex and troubled self.
Right now I'm GOLDEN. Awwwwwwwwww yeahhhhh.
*insert Xena Warrior Princess call here*
Extreme Dating
Over the weekend while working on my short film with the two girls in my group, I got to do something special. Girl talk.
Previously, our interactions had only consisted of casual conversations about our film. But on Saturday, as we taped up large black trashbags to the windows (trying to simulate a night scene during daylight), our conversation became much more personal. And not surprisingly, we got on the subject of dating.
I explained the story about now I became single, expecting the usual sympathy for having just gotton out of such a long relationship. Well, it turns out that the older girl has been engaged
twice. Hearing that really made me grateful that my experiences haven't really been so bad. She regaled us with tales of her evil ex's, funny dates she's been on, and all the male antics she's seen in her 34 years.
We laughed and laughed, throwing in "I'm sorry's" when appropriate and the occassional piece of advice (example: "Never ever go near him again for the rest of your life"). Then, it was my turn.
"Tell us a story, Lauren," they asked eagerly.
And I couldn't think of a single funny dating story.
Sure, I have serious relationship stories and serious betrayal stories. But those are definitely not stories I want to dredge up and talk about. I guess I'm short on stories simply because I haven't done much dating in my lifetime. I've really only had a few real or serious boyfriends, a few hook-ups, and a few "relationships" that lasted only a couple of weeks.
I've never done the casual dating thing, the blind date, the pick-up at a bar, or online dating. I haven't experienced the things that most people my age have. I guess I should consider myself lucky for that. I haven't really had to deal with horrendous dates, being cheated on, or even being treated very badly. For the most part, I've been able to spend time with good guys.
But good guys don't necessarily make good relationships. I've been with good guys, yes, but have I been with
great guys? I'm not sure that I have. I don't think I've ever experienced amazing, over-the-top greatness, in any sense.
I've never been with a guy who I've considered smarter than me. I've never been with a guy who I was so attracted to that I couldn't keep my hands off him. I've never been with a guy whose sense of rightness and moral compass rivaled my own. I've never been with a guy that I've admired so much that I wanted to be like him.
I want all of those things in a man, but I have yet to find a single one.
So far, I've only seen the middle of the road. I know that I need to meet more guys if I'm going to find one that deviates from the middle and jumps into that other extreme. I need to have the bad dates, the set-ups, the jerks. Because if I don't meet all those guys, the ones in the negative extreme, how am I ever going to stop ending up with ones that are just...average?
I've come to the conclusion that one extreme or the other is far better than the middle. The middle is too easy at first. It sucks you in, and then you're stuck because you can't think of a good enough reason to claw your way out. It took me almost five years to think of that reason this last time.
And it was the simplest and most instinctual reason out there.
I want to be happy.I've never been happy with average. It just took me 24 years and a whole lot of tears to realize it.
Phased
Last night as I wallowed in yet another overwhelming rush of self-pity, I realized something: My moods come in phases.
Every week or two (but usually once a week), I become this depressed shell of a person. I let every anxiety, every bad experience, and every insecurity have its way with me. Sometimes, I cry in loud sobs without restraint. Other times, I resist the tears, feeling that familiar lump in my throat and torturing myself by not allowing the emotion out.
I sit on my bed with my head leaning against the wall and my laptop in front of me. I put up a sad-sounding away message on IM, then think better of it and up an obscure song lyric, then change it again and put up an angry message. Yesterday I started with "incomplete," then went with a lyric to Everclear's "Overwhelming," and finally ended with "I like to throw things."
Not surprisingly, these three away messages--all put up within the span of 30 minutes or so--truly reflect my typical state of mind on one of these downer nights.
Usually I'm lonely, and that's what sparks the negative feelings. Then I think about everything that's worrying me (school, work, my dad, my weight, decisions, etc.), and I begin to feel overwhelmed and powerless. Only then do I move into the third phase: Anger. Anger that I allow myself to sink into sadness. Anger that I want to be happy and I can't. Anger that nobody knows what I'm going through. Anger at myself for being...myself.
It's a tough thing to realize, but almost all of these "depressed" situations result from the way I perceive myself to be. That is, I tend to perceive myself negatively.
I hold myself to an impossibly high standard as far as physical appearances go, and I'm simply never truly happy with the way I look. Yes, I have plenty of days where I look in the mirror and like what I see. But I also have plenty of nights where I catch my reflection while stepping into the shower and recoil in disgust. Sometimes, seeing my body brings about such a strongly negative reaction that is surprises even me.
But it's not just my looks that are a problem. There are other things that I wish I could change about myself, too. My social anxiety, for example. It's gotton a lot better in recent years, but I still immediately want to run and hide when I am forced--or asked--to engage in a social group setting.
The types of situations where I am in big groups and I don't know many people--or anyone--bring out my worst qualities. They bring out feelings of inadequacy, fear, self-defeat. I feel awkward and incredibly insecure. I feel like less of a person. I feel like a failure.
Acknowledging those feelings right now makes me want to scream. My heart is beating faster as I write this. Because it is the most frustrating thing in the
universe to have to conquer this fear
all the time. I'm always so jealous of people who have no problem with this. My mom, for instance, can walk into any group setting and fit right in. She's always the life of the party.
Me? I'm nothing.
Ah, see? See that there? I just called myself
nothing. What a horrible insult. Sometimes I can't even believe these things come out of me. How can I be so self-depracating?
And here is where the cycle continues. When I get to the point, this point right here, where I can calmly analyze why I'm feeling down, it all turns around. I start arguing with myself about my negative feelings. I think,
I'm NOT nothing! I'm something! I'm proud of myself! I've done a lot of great things in my life. I'm conquering my fears.And the good starts to creep back in to my mind. Like, the other day, I was so worried about giving my film pitch in front of the class. I was so anxious that I worried about it for the entire weekend, building it up in my head until I became sick to my stomach.
But guess what? I prepared, and I KICKED ASS. I volunteered to go first, marched confidently to the front of the room, spoke in a loud, firm voice, and made eye contact almost the whole time. I said everything I wanted to say, in the way I wanted to say it, and I truly conveyed my passion for the topic.
The way I felt after that presentation is the way I feel on one of my great days. Yes, I have good days, and I definitely have bad/sad/depressed days, but sometimes I have
great ones. Days where nothing can get me down. When the sun feels like its shining even if it's overcast and rainy. When I can sit alone in my room and just be content to
be. When I can post an away message about how much I love life (something I actually did last weekend), and leave it up there for more than a half hour.
When I can just be me, content with who I am, without the possibility of being phased.
That's the phase I want to be in all the time. The joyful, go-lucky, ambitious, fucking awesome phase.
But do I need a happy pill to get there?
Or do I really have the strength within me to do it on my own?
They're Everywhere
Men, guys and boys...
I see them in other cars as I drive to work. I see them at the ATM machine. I see them sitting outside eating lunch. I see them in the elevator, the parking garage, the sporting goods store, and every other conceivable place.
There is definitely no shortage of men around me. But there
is a shortage of game. My game.
I ain't got one.
The guy in front of me in line at the bank today turned deliberately and smiled at me. He was cute in a boyish way, just my type. I smiled back.
And that's where it ended.
I stood there frantically trying to think of some way to initiate conversation, but in the five seconds that took me I got too winded or scared and gave up.
He moved forward to the ATM and finished his transaction as I stared at his cute outfit--nice-looking jeans and a blue collared shirt. It looked like he was depositing a paycheck.
Then he turned to leave, and lingered for a moment. He looked at me again as I stepped forward to the machine. I turned my back to him, and heard the familiar slap of the door closing as he undoubtedly left the building.
I quickly finished up my transaction and burst out into the decadent spring air. I stood there for a moment, looking left, then right. Could that be him walking away toward the metro in the distance?
If this was a movie, I would have run down the street in my heels, bounding after him with passion and fearlessness. I would have reached him in a matter of seconds, and tapped him gruffly on the shoulder.
He'd whirl around to face me with a look of surprise on his tanned face. I'd stand there, noticing his chiseled features, panting too hard to speak and not even caring about my hair, which was mussed perfectly by the wind. And I'd do nothing but stare back at him.
We'd share a special moment, right there in the middle of the sidewalk as people rushed around us to the metro. Someone nearby would start to play a saxophone. And it would be easy, and comfortable...and just perfect.
It would make the best story ever for our grandkids--the chance meeting at the ATM machine, the chase down the crowded street, the pure spring air.
Just like a dream.
But in real life? I let him walk away until he materialized into the crowd.
My life is not a movie. My life is not a dream. My life is far from... perfect.
And truly, these things don't happen to me very often. Cute men at ATM machines don't normally smile at me. It's not often that something inspires me to make up a cheesy movie fairy tale story.
Maybe today meant nothing at all. Maybe he smiles at everyone. Maybe he's happily married and has five kids.
But now I'll never know.
Life is all about having the guts to go for what you want. Having the gumption to grab hold of opportunities when they come your way.
Next time I'd better snatch that opportunity up... before it walks out the door of the Bank of America.
My most missed memories...
...aren't from past relationships, high school prom, or even those all-night sleepovers where my friends and I used to belt out Spice Girls' songs.
My most missed memories come before all that. They take place by the creek in the woods behind my house, or in the mulch beds by the front door. They take place in the breezy days of spring and in the sweltering summers.
Those were the days when my sister and I would venture joyfully outside and unload our creativity on the world.
We'd throw on our mud boots and wade through the creek, marveling at the little schools of fish, water spiders and the ocassional crayfish. Then we'd snatch up our precious walnut shell boats and race them down one of the many rivulets of water, running alongside to catch them before they were swallowed up by the creek.
We'd stand on the gigantic tree trunk that had fallen across the rushing water, daring each other to jump off onto the small sliver of sandy beach and rocks. Then we'd venture across the tree to the other side of the creek, where we sometimes saw a mysterious "witch lady" who would creep up behind us with her german shepard and send us running.
We'd work meticulously for hours making mud pies and cakes. They were beautiful creations, garnished with leaves, flowers and even red berries from the wild Russian Olive trees. As our creations baked in the sun, we'd move on to the next game.
Maybe we'd hop on the swingset--she on the short swing and me on the taller one--and compete to see who could get the highest or go the fastest or touch the nearby tree branches the most times.
Other days we would pick "skunk cabbage" and onions from the swamp, or wild violets from the grass. We'd stir up caustic witches' brews in the big black cauldron our dad brought home one year for Halloween. We'd build little houses out of hay bales under the canopies of branches, and proclaim them as our own.
Or we'd move to the front yard, where we sat in the mulch beds sculpting out homes for our many toy animals. Those turtles, tigers, frogs, horses and dogs sure had it made in the shade of the hedges and flowers our parents had so carefully planted. They even had their own tin foil-lined swimming pools.
And after spending hours on end outside, covered in mud and muck and out of breath, we'd run inside for grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.
These days, my mom still makes me grilled cheese sometimes.
And it always takes me right back to the old times when everything was so simple. When my sister and I bonded over mud pies and walnut shell boats. When the world around us--the trees, the creek, even the red Virginia mud--was our playground.
We had an amazing childhood together, and it built the foundation for the close relationship we have today. And though I know we'll have many more good times, I don't think they can ever top the carefree summers we shared all those years ago.
The Russian Olive trees with the red berries have been long cut down now. The huge tree trunk over the creek has washed away. And now there are kids on motor bikes galavanting across the creek instead of the witch lady and her dog. But I still vividly remember what used to be--the feeling of wet mud on my hands, the putrid smell of the leafy green skunk cabbage, and the sound of my sister's laughter.
I will always remember those as some of the best days of my life.
Stifled
Living at home is getting to be...difficult.
It's a weird thing actually, because I really do love living with my parents. I love talking to them. I love laughing with them. I love watching them dance around outside on the deck with oldies blaring from the speakers.
The one thing I don't like is the fact that they still
act like my parents. And they still expect me to act like their little girl.
They don't expect me to stay out late. They don't expect me to go anywhere without telling them first. They don't expect me to be gone more than I'm at home.
I think it's hard for them to accept that I can take care of myself and make my own decisions. That I'm finally at a point in my life where I just want to relax a little bit.
Yeah, I don't mind sitting at home with my parents watching TV. But if that's my entire life, boy does that get depressing. I don't want to just sit around anymore. I don't want to just do homework on the weekends. I don't want to be so...
boring.
So, lately, I've been doing what I want, regardless of how they feel about it. And yet, I feel so guilty for it. I feel guilty because I don't want to worry them. I feel guilty because sometimes I'd rather be somewhere else than at home with them. I feel guilty because it's easier to ignore everything going on at home.
My dad started treatment this week. He seemed fine at first, but now I know that he's not feeling well at all. And what can I do about it? I feel helpless, and I feel guilty for wanting to run away from the entire situation. I want to go out tonight...but should I stay at home instead? Does my dad need me? Or will my presence just bother him?
My parents say they never see me anymore. That makes me feel bad. But I also have to ask myself...what is there for me at home? Every time I sit there in my room, I just get down. I think about how lonely I am. Now that I've been constantly surrounding myself with people, I've been a lot happier.
But my happiness is overshadowed by my parents. By their comments: "Don't you ever do homework anymore?" or "You got home at 2 am last night!" By my mom's e-mails to me where she signs her first name instead of "Mom."
She says she does that because she's not allowed to behave as a mother would in this circumstance. What circumstance? I'm just staying out later than I used to and asking them not to interrogate me all the time and not to call me five times when I don't pick up my cell phone. I really don't feel like that's a big deal.
But I guess it's a big deal to them.
I guess I just feel guilty...for having my own life.
Does that mean it's time to move out again?
Rainy Days
They always get me down. When I wake up to a dark, overcast sky, life just gets a little more intolerable.
My commute to work was shorter than usual, but that didn't cheer me up. It's Friday, but that doesn't really matter to me either. The scale registered even lower this morning, but I just don't even care right now.
I wasn't thinking about any of those things while driving in this morning. Nope, I was thinking about how strange it is to lose people. Typical me, thinking about the big depressing picture.
Why can't I just be content with feeling happy? Taking satisfaction in the little things?
Because...I think I like being sad. Seriously. I think it's the way I feel most comfortable. It's just...me.
I torture myself by listening to music that I know can bring tears to my eyes. Even at this very moment, as I sit at work, I'm playing perhaps the saddest song I've ever heard on repeat.
I listen, and I think...how weird is it that he's no longer in my life? It's such an odd sensation when I suddenly realize that I haven't talked to him on a phone in weeks. That we haven't spoken on IM since the day he ousted me. That all he is now is just a screen name on my IM buddy list.
I know I should take him off my list. I
know it. But I can't. I just can't let go yet. And I hate myself for that. I hate myself for being so weak. I hate myself for writing another damn post about him.
But how can I help it? I'm human. I'm sensitive.
But is he? Does he even care? Does he think about me?
I know this won't make sense, but I think what scares me most about all of this is how well I've been doing without him. Honestly, I don't think of him very often. That's why it took me by surprise this morning when he popped into my head.
I'm fine when I don't think about him. It's when I
remember that the trouble comes. It's when I realize that I'm moving on. It's when I feel that void get a little smaller, a little shallower. It's when other people in my life start to fill it.
Isn't it funny how we always find people to almost "replace" others? When DishonestBF and I had our falling out,
he was there to dry my tears. He was the one who came into my life like a freakin' hurricane and changed my world.
And five years later, I know that will happen again now that he's gone. Someone else will come along. But this time, I'm not going to make the same mistakes. I'm not going to attach myself to someone just to heal myself. I'm going to be strong.
I don't wanna miss him. It hurts to miss him. And it hurts more to think that he probably doesn't even miss me at all.
What were we doing all those years? What were we doing if all that we're left with is this...nothingness?
And WHY DO I CONTINUE TO CARE?
I sincerely hope that he's stopped reading this blog. Because I don't want him to think this rambling post means anything. It's the same one I've written in different words many times over.
It doesn't mean I want him back, even as a friend. It doesn't mean I'm not moving on. And it doesn't mean I'm not happy without him.
All it means is that I'm thinking, feeling a little melancholy on a rainy day.
One step forward...
...and two steps back.
Story of my life.
This morning, I practically screamed out loud when the scale registered a cool 125.0. Yes, that's one twenty FIVE point ZERO. The lowest I've weighed in ages. I hopped off joyfully, silently wondering how in the hell this happened, then pushed the scale back into the linen closet and pushed the door closed...
RIGHT INTO MY NOSE.
I am not kidding. I fucking closed the door. On. My. NOSE.
I don't even understand how this was logistically possible...although I guess I shouldn't be surprised considering that my lack of depth perception has caused much worse accidents in the past (running into buses, head-first into glass doors, large columns in parking garages, etc).
Thankfully, I don't think this blow did any real damage. I didn't hear the familiar crack or experience any bleeding. Whew.
My mom's comment? "Maybe now you can get your nose fixed!" Gotta love her for finding the silver lining in that one.
***
Another step forward: Rollerblading is my new favorite form of exercise. It's so much fun. I go around the cul-de-sac trying to do turns and tricks, then speed down the hill past my house. It makes me feel super cool.
Step back: I've become recently obsessed with sitting in my bedroom doing nothing. I can just sit in my bed with my laptop watching some inane television show for
hours. My parents have even started commenting on the fact that I am turning into a hermit.
Step forward: I'm getting my hair cut and colored this Friday. Gotta do something about these unsightly split ends and dark roots.
Step back: There is a large chance that I will cave and get new highlights, which will only lead to more roots in the future. But they just look so cute, especially for summer.
Step forward: I'm totally done with boys. Totally and forever. I am woman, hear me roar.
Step back: Okay, I lied. I like talking to boys, looking at boys, and getting attention from boys. I need boys. Dammit.
Step forward: I've been going to bed earlier.
Step back: I've been getting to work later. Hey, that's the best way to shorten my commute, right?
Step forward: I've been writing in this blog much more frequently. Oh, and yesterday I reached another milestone: my 100th post!
Step back: I am also reading other people's blogs much more frequently. Like, when I have other more important things to do. And also, today's post is really sub-par.
Maybe that's because I'm just not experiencing any angst today. Wait a minute, now
that's what a call a step forward!
Cut Off
So this is what it feels like.
I left my cell phone at home today, accidentally. I think this is the only time I have
ever gone off to work without it.
The sinking feeling hit me in the pit of my stomach about 10 minutes into my commute. I quickly debated turning around, but common sense prevailed and I didn't look back. And yet, the whole drive, I wished I would've just taken those extra minutes to speed home.
I kept thinking I heard it vibrating. I'd turn down the music and jerk my head toward my purse, only to realize all over again that the phone wasn't there.
Now I sit at work feeling...uneasy. It's a strange, worried feeling. Almost as if a part of me is missing.
I knew I was very reliant on my phone, I just never knew I was
this reliant. It's my connection to the outside. Sure, I have a phone at work, but no one calls me here. And for that matter, I don't know anyone's numbers because they're all
in my phone. Which I don't have. Because it's at home sitting on the kitchen counter.
What am I going to do if something happens to my car? Sure, it's practically new, but knowing my luck the day I don't have my cell phone is the same day I have some car-related catastrophe.
And what am I going to do on my long drive home without my phone to keep me occupied? I usually call someone to prevent myself from literally falling asleep as my car inches slowly forward in traffic.
I remember back in 2004, I dropped my phone (well, my entire purse) into a fountain. My phone died and never turned on again. The next two days were pure hell. I didn't have any of the phone numbers I needed, and I seriously could not communicate with the outside world (I was in the process of moving, so I didn't even have a computer for e-mail or IM). I resorted to using my roommate's phone to make short calls.
I bought a new phone as soon as I possibly could, and all was right with the world again. But I didn't learn my lesson.
When I moved into my own apartment later that year, I never bothered to get a land line. I had my trusty cell phone, after all. But what would have happened if I lost my phone? Luckily, I never had to find out.
I remember another time when I left my phone at home. My ex and I took his boat out on the Potomac for the day. When I realized I forgot my phone, I completely flipped. "What if something happens to us? What if my mom is trying to call me?" Yes, in case you were wondering, the boat had a radio. Yes, I completely overreacted. And yes, he had to convince me that we shouldn't go all the way home just so I could get my phone.
And now, here I am, without my phone again. Yes, it's only for a day, but I'm still having the same irrational reaction. I am clearly far too reliant on this form of technology.
Obviously, there was a time before cell phones. I didn't get my first one until the very end of high school or beginning of college. What did I used to do back then?
I think I need to remember that my phone is really just a security blanket for me--a modern convenience. It's not everything. It's not something that should ruin my day if I don't have it, or send me into total panic mode. It's odd, but I think it's actually
taken away some of my independence.
So, I guess this phone-free day is good for me. I'm cut off. It feels wrong, but I think I will try to embrace this feeling. It's actually kind of liberating. For today, I am unreachable, no matter how many times you call.
Ha! Let's just hope I don't fall asleep in traffic.
Nap, Anyone?
So this is new: Today, April 3, is National Napping Day!
What brilliant genius thought of this?! To designate a day for naps on the very day after that evil Daylight Savings conspiracy took effect is just...staggeringly awesome.
And this is the SEVENTH annual Napping Day. Those folks may be brilliant, but they really need to work on their marketing. 'Cause I ain't never heard of this day before now. And believe me, I'm the
first person who would want to celebrate a day honoring
sleep, of all things.
Apparently, businesses are encouraged to have nap-related functions on this day, where they allow employees to settle down for a few winks. Um, why isn't my workplace in the spirit? Is anyone else's employer recognizing this holiest of days?
I mean, we're not so lucky like all those people in Europe who take siestas after lunch. We've just gotta keep on truckin' and catch bits of sleep where we can--during meetings (ahem, me in our 1.5 hour all-staff meeting today) or on the way to work (hopefully not while driving, as I am wont to do). I think we Americans deserve a nice nap once in while.
In college, I took naps on a regular basis. The feeling of settling down into my soft bed with my stomach full from lunch and soap operas still on the brain is nothing short of amazing. So satisfying.
Unfortunately, today holds no naps for me. I've got class until 9 pm and then it's home for regular old sleep. I tell myself that I'll go to bed by 10:30 or 11 at the latest, but we all know it'll be past 12 and I'll still be sitting on IM wasting away.
Ah, sleep, you nasty trickster. You continue to elude me.
Hopefully someone got a nap today. I'll let ya know when I get mine. Someday.
Oh, and P.S.: I've been popping those yellow Easter candy Peeps all day and let me tell
you, they really do help with the fatigue. Sugar cures all. Even life sometimes. Cheep cheeeeeep!
Last Chance
Life is so fragile.
I've been reminded yet again of that simple fact.
Today I found out that a girl I knew in high school just passed away. I don't know what happened, but it was obviously sudden. She was only 23 or 24.
There she was, going to school, working, living her life. Now she's gone. Just like that.
It's so eerie to see her Myspace page filled with comments from friends honoring her memory. And underneath all of those, comments from the days before she died, where people were just asking her to hang out. Who could've known that she only had a few days left?
And I don't really understand. It just seems so meaningless. Why was it her time to go? What is life for if not for living? Why do some people get to live to be old and have families, while others are taken so quickly?
This is the third person from my high school (that I know of) who has died since we graduated. And I know of a few people from college who have also passed away. It scares the hell out of me. It scares me because I can't imagine myself not living. Not doing the things I want to do in my life.
It scares me too because I can't imagine losing a good friend. I've never lost someone close to me who's not a family member. And yes, losing grandparents is horrible, but it's...different. They were able to live out their lives, have children and grandchildren, make a mark. But people my age? Or people even younger? We've barely even had our chance.
I'm so afraid to die. I know it could happen at any moment. Every time I get into my car could be my last. And that's why I'm kicking myself for feeling the way I did yesterday.
How can I get all depressed when I have a life to live? When I've been given this gift, this CHANCE, to do something real? For whatever reason, I'm still here, and I need to start appreciating life.
I've feared death for as long as I can remember. Not only my own death, but others as well. For the longest time, I was so paranoid that someone in my family would get gravely ill. And then, when that actually happened, it made me realize how nothing is concrete.
Life is so unpredictable, always changing. And I can't rely on good luck to get me through it. Inevitably, something horrible and world-shattering
will happen to me. It already has. And it will happen again.
What can I do but try to prepare myself for it? I must truly appreciate every moment I have with the people I love. I must be a good daughter, a loyal friend, and a supportive sister. I must do everything in my power to live a fulfilling, satisfied life, no matter what the obstacles, and no matter how long it lasts.
I know I should not think of death as such a scary thing. I know that it can bring with it peace. And I truly hope that is what it has brought to my former classmate, and to those who love her. I hope that they can accept this sad turn of events and celebrate who she was. Remember and honor her.
Because in a time like this, what else can anyone do?
Hole
I'm so sick of myself and my crazy mood swings.
If I'm not surrounded by people for even a couple of hours, I fall right back down this hole. I know it so well now. I've been there many times before.
It's a hole of sadness. Melancholy. Isolation.
Stress. Pain. Guilt.
Everything bad that I could possibly feel is down here with me.
In this goddamn hole.
I hate it here, but I'm stuck. I'm stuck because I don't know the way out. I never have and I probably never will. Because instead of dealing with the situation rationally, I go all emotional batshit on it.
I think about how sad I am, how horrible my life is, how I'll never ever just be a happy, normal person. This is bad thinking. This is the thinking that gets me into holes.
I realize this, but I
continue to think this way. It's who I am. A feeling-sorry-for-myself little weakling. A sad little pessimist.
It would be nice to have someone to hold me during these times. To have someone to just listen. To tell me it's okay to cry.
But I've got no one. I keep saying I'm okay with no one. But, really, I need someone. I need people. I keep trying to fool myself, but my emotions know better.
And the worst part is, who wants THIS? No one wants to deal with me and my emotional theatrics. Even worse, I already found someone who could deal with it, who could deal with it
well, in fact.
And now he's gone, too.
I'm so frustrated.
I'm frustrated because I'm stressed out right now and I'm avoiding my work like the plague.
Because I'm lonely right now and I'm still not calling anyone, or telling anyone besides this stupid blog.
Because I'm trying to be independent and I'm failing miserably at it.
Because I need to take a shower but I'm too lazy and depressed to care.
Because I just curled up and slept for the past four hours just to avoid feeling like
this.
Because I don't want to be this way.
Because I was getting help for this but I thought I didn't need it anymore.
I think maybe I do need help. But I'm too damn afraid and stubborn to ask for it.
