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Pep Talk

There is a curse in being intuitive when it comes to other people.   It’s amazing to be able to pick up on a personality within minutes of meeting someone, but it’s a horribly lopsided ability.  It’s mentally awkward when a person you have no qualms with subtly stops being polite to you and/or doesn’t acknowledging your presence unless you say something.  Granted I’m no stranger to this behavior, but I’ve never suddenly “turned” on someone I considered an acquaintance without a good reason.
This sort of thing has been happening to me my entire life; I will form a friendship with someone when suddenly I’m being shunned with no explanation.  I’m generally pretty good at pinpointing the problem, but nothing has happened and yet, here I am in the arctic breezes of the cold-shoulder again.

Although I’ve formed a pretty thick shell and buried any physical signs of hurt feelings, it still stings like hell and it still makes me feel kind of shitty.  It doesn’t do any deep, internal damage anymore because I’ve grown to the point where I actually respect the person I’m growing in to and in light of that, I quit blaming myself for other people being total assholes.  For the past five or so years, I’ve been working really hard on my unpleasant qualities and molding myself in to what I believe is a good, stable person.  And as far as I’m concerned, I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself and those who have always supported me.
Every time this happens though, I dig deep through the pain of it and work to better myself.  The ability to do that is an actual gift – to take something from a bad situation and create something beautiful from it’s debris without letting the negativity affect you negatively.

Even my best friend, who is mad at me and hardly speaks to me (completely my fault) will always be my best friend because despite my major fuck-up during my 10th tour of best-friend duty, she still knows I’m a good person beneath my mistakes – no matter how big or small.  Even if she doesn’t know how much she doesn’t hate me right now, I know she opens every message I send her even if she doesn’t respond.
In fact, I don’t even know why I felt the need to write this, I’m irritated at a co-worker whom I actually liked among a sea of co-workers I don’t like, but fuck it; I have dinosaurs on my desk next to pictures of my mother.  I have my iPod with me filled with over 100 GB of music from the past 4 years (lots of emotional healing there) and even though my best friend won’t talk to me (which I really hate), I still annoy the hell out of her with text messages and pictures because I’m annoying and that’s okay because it comes from a good place and she knows I mean it.

I suppose I wrote this because I needed to remind myself that I’m a decent person capable of becoming a really good person.  And even though I’m far behind where I want to be in life, I truly do not worry about not becoming the person I want to or not doing the things I want to in life.  I have no idea how I know, but I know that I will be fine in every aspect of my future, and even though these little emotional mosquito bites itch like crazy, they’re only small happenings that help sharpen the image of the bigger picture.
It’s not even a lemonade thing, it’s just realizing that you’re in complete control of how you let life change you.

The Act of Socializing From the Perspective of a Hermit

Last night, I experienced a moment where I realized I had peaked in social awkwardness.  I felt the walls of my inability to understand the act of socializing close in on me and squeeze away any confidence I carried with me into the evening.   I tunneled as quickly as I could through years of reading philosophy and psychology books to take charge of the situation and make the best of it, but found myself pressed in to the background of a group of people I had nothing in common with.   I grabbed my bag, sneaked out the back like a rat and left concluding that I was boring, mature and rather friendless.  All of which carried no self-pity, but a rather harsh self-examination of how I ended up alone and crying on park bench across the street from a good friend’s graduation party.

Had I been this way my entire life, my hide would have been thick enough to protect the teeth of bitter self-loathing from sinking in, but the truth is, I haven’t always been this way.  I’ve always been a loner, always in my own mind, developing my own opinions and practicing my own philosophies.  However, I haven’t always been so withdrawn from other people.   Yet, after spending the rest of my evening reflecting my past, I realized that 95% of any social life I’ve ever maintained has been strictly for appearances and hardly ever for genuine interest.

What bothered me even more was the fact that in order to press myself in to a social situation without raising any eyebrows is to drink.  Get as much liquor inside of me as possible and ride passenger to my liquid courage.
Every angle of that particular “solution” strikes me as pathetic and insincere.  Which begs the question “Am I a hermit by choice or because I have no choice?”  Have I been so psychologically damaged by my past that I fear closeness with others, or am I genuinely uninterested in what people who share no common interest have to say?

In no way could I ever be considered arrogant, judgmental – absolutely, but not arrogant.    I am simply a firm believer in my own opinions and would prefer discussing human nature rather than human interests.  I prefer “naked conversation” where all parties are stripped of self-lies and false-confidence.  For me, a conversation doesn’t have to have depth, just honesty.

I suppose the point I’m (sloppily) trying to make here is that nothing is truly wrong with me.   There is something more wrong with drinking to “fit in” than there is staying home and enjoying my time privately.  It used to make me feel guilty and ashamed, but now, I realize it’s just what I enjoy.  And that’s not to say I never want to go out and drink again, we’re social creatures, too much time alone is unhealthy for one’s mind; we need stimulation and challenges, but not to the point where it becomes self-destructive.

While I believe it’s necessary to push ourselves out of our comfort zones, the result should be rewarding, never damaging.  And, although I know last night wasn’t the last time I will ever feel uncomfortable or suffer an anxiety attack, I will never have to feel guilty about it again.

2013, ain’t it a beaut?

Today, I filled out my FAFSA application for Financial Aid.  Today, I also decided I should really start working on that whole “aspiring alcoholic” thing.  This was before the FAFSA business.  So now, in a tingly, merry state of mind, I can hold my head up.  Should I be ashamed?  Probably.  Am I?  No, not really.  I figure, I’m a failure in every other aspect of life, why not give my nagging blood the thing it craves and succumb to my heredity?   My family is full of failed dreams and alcoholism.  And hey, at least I’ll really have something to write about, right?
I already make myself miserable by trapping any happiness in thoughts of doubts and insecurities, so why not weaken such a cruel structure with some liquor?  Hell, at least then I’ll have an excuse other than sheer laziness for my lack of accomplishments.  And my family will look at these days, here, as the days when I really could have been something.
It’s like giving in to my destiny.
You see, after my grandmother died (the smoking alcoholic she was — to give you an idea), my mother found a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey hidden in a drawer in the kitchen.   My grandmother, Nanny, fought cancer for about 11 years and claimed she’d quit drinking after her first visit to the hospital in those 11 years prior to her death.  She battled with smoking and had weened herself to the point of being able to not smoke in front of other people, but we all knew she still smoked.  I told my mother to let Nanny live her life in a way that was comfortable for her, but my mother nagged her about it anyway because well, daughters need mothers.  The same cravings course through my mother that course through me, and we both inherited our “desires” from  my grandmother and grandfather.   My  mother had successfully fought off the demons until she lost both parents last year and now she spends her weekends in a drunken stupor from wine.  Last week, I flew home for Christmas and stayed 7 days, 5 of which were spent drunk with my mother.  How wonderful it felt to rest in the bottoms of bottles 1,700 miles away from my problems.
And now, with flushed cheeks that greet saddened cheekbones, I have continued my grandmother’s legacy.  Only, she was brave and stubborn and confident and she died living up to  the bold letters of her name.
Sure, she was sad but I’ve come to accept that we’re all sad, we’re also all happy.  We’re a mess of every emotion tangled in to a single, conscious vessel, obligated to ignoring certain things because, well, we have to if we want to be happy.  I simply have problems with putting on my blinders.  It’s not a bad thing, necessarily, but it takes it’s toll.  And tonight, I drink to all of those thoughts and problems and to my grandmother who was certainly brave, honest and genuine until the day she died.
I’ll get through my problems but it will never be below me to drink some of them away.

I am that I am

I am filled with fiery emotions, all spilling over the cusp of my sanity and driving my heart in to the ground.  I feel broken among every jagged piece of my heart that fell to the ground and “cushioned” my fall from the great heights I once occupied.
I am nothing more than another statistic, another failed relationship swept under a rug of bitter, lonely, angry women.  The only ones that understand my frustration and my continued efforts in the face of defeat.  I left a warm world of comfort and love and assurance that I would always have support. I left it all for an unknown world that gave me nothing but discomfort, insecurity and the complete absence of support.  I have dragged myself across the coals of every decision I’ve made the past two years and let them burn the flesh of hope right from my bones.  I have cried on the bathroom floor countless times, prayed to any god willing to take pity on me and created a fantasy world to lay my head in before I sleep. But my bad decisions and misery callously invade my dreams and paint bold letters before me “MISTAKE, MISTAKE, MISTAKE!!!” and I find myself waking up to the fear of living a lonely, loveless, miserable life with the same words flashing across my waking eyes.
I used to be filled with optimism and hope and wonderful things but a bad relationship can turn any woman in to the very thing she’s always despised.  I still manage to pull myself up and remind myself that yes, it’s all temporary and yes, I will find the warm place I so desperately covet.  I pinch myself and tell the inner-cynicism of lost battle that I’m still young and my future is still attainable and bright and that I’m nothing like those who ride passenger to their setbacks and failures.  I’m not that person and I never have been.
In truth, I’m a self-loathing, depressed thinker who constantly dissects every situation and because of it, I put myself in the position of the victim.  But rarely, do I ever let anyone in to this world, it’s my world and my secret and it’s no one else’s problem to fix.
When I was younger, I never dreamed of telling my mother any of my problems but now, it seems I’m living a life she’s already lived.  She has guided my like the lost puppy I am and reminded me that pride is overrated in the face of love.  Without my mother and her infinite wisdom of experience and growing up as an independent woman, I wouldn’t even be able to hold my head up.
But because of her, these boiling emotions that constantly bubble beneath the surface are no longer the center of my life.  Sure, they find ways to overwhelm me but all I have to do is sit and think reeeaaaal hard and remind myself that I’m smart, beautiful, genuine, kind and most of all, young.  I have a full life ahead of me to redeem the mistakes of my early adulthood and I plan on using the rest of those years living the life that I want and because of the wonderful qualities that are naturally embedded in being, I will never be alone.
Maybe I’m not where I want to be or should be in life, but I’m tired of letting this relationship take charge of how I feel about myself.  It may last another month, another year, hell, it might last forever, but as of right now, I am wiping my hands clean of the damage it has done and instead of focusing on the problems of this strained relationship, I’m going to do some damage-control and hopefully, one day walk away from it with my head high and my heart healed.  I deserve to be happy.

Welcome To My Blog

Okay, so creating a first post is always a bit awkward. I’ve had AT LEAST 15 blogs and that’s no joke. But, I finally feel like I’m ready to settle down and have a blog of my own. One I can stay loyal to and dedicate that necessary TLC.  Mind the fact that the design isn’t really one I’d choose if I were given endless options, but it’ll do.

Let me tell you a bit about my life.  I’m not happy with it.  I find myself dealing with long bouts of depression and my goals are all askew.  I am in a relationship that doesn’t make me happy, I’m unhappy with my body and two years ago, I moved 1700 miles away from the only home I’d ever known (Texas) to a place I hate that’s tan and colorless and soulless (Arizona), seriously, people here look, act and are the same.

My life is total chaos, however, I’m extremely positive and strong-willed and I’ve never given up on myself.  About two months ago, my car died and I’m now at the mercy of the public transportation system.  THAT was a pretty big blow to my ego, but, I started saving money and working on my debt instead of cowering and feeling sorry for myself.  I am not trash, I never have been and never will be.  I come from a good family with strong morals and incredible ethics and I never once felt unloved.  I am filled with undying love, respect and loyalty for those I care about and those who inspire me.  I am kind and honest and genuine.  I am, though, insecure and constantly question people’s loyalty to me as well as their intentions of friendship/relationships in general.  I get very uncomfortable in big crowds and suffer from the most miserable anxiety.

On my darker side, I am non-confrontation but certainly vengeful (to a more innocent extent).  I talk shit about everything and people I do not care for.  I bitch about “people these days” but contribute to the great rift between socializing and technology.  I also bitch about people doing things that I’m most-likely guilty of.  I’m a conspiracy theorist and obviously, I pride myself on my opinions because they’re generally from well-thought out (personal) theories and not read somewhere.  This makes me, more-or-less, a snob of some sort and I feel mild chit-chat as filler is not worthy of my time.  I would never consider myself rude but seemingly cold when I’m uncomfortable around people (which I usually am).  This is more a result of being shy but also because my interest are generally not widely accepted by those who socialize.  Also, I was raised in a family that rather than hugs (we’re a bit awkward with mushy sentiments) we show our affection with sarcasm and loving-insults.  As I’ve gotten older, I realize that most families are not this way and it’s likely that my sarcasm is another reason I find social situations awkward and unpleasant.  It takes people a while to get to know me, but once they do, they get the sarcasm and genuinely begin to like me and not consider me a bitch.

While this seems like a long, boring biography, it’s more a less a way to let you in and realize why you will read some of the things you are going to read.  If you have a better understanding of me, it should all make more sense.

That being said, my next post will be very much more interesting.