August 16, 2018

I have my moments of realizing it’s a beautiful life and moments of thinking it’s hard and tonight I felt that combo very acutely. I am always trying to live my happiest, best, most beautiful life while feeling deeply sad in my very bones. And also while being the most cynical, pessimistic, anxious person on earth.

You can try to fight me on that, but you will not win.

The things we inflict on ourselves and our families and the ones we love with one choice or one action or even a series of choices or actions can haunt us and them for the rest of time. Why do we do these things? Why don’t we all make better choices? Why did I date ANY of the guys I’ve dated before? Why did I buy those flowery pants? Why did I see a dress I bought recently in People Magazine on the body of an 84-year-old? Why did I say that one thing that one time (this question can apply to almost anything I’ve ever said to anyone at any time)? Why why why?

Life can be so beautiful. I think it’s meant to be. But then we fuck it all up with moving away from our families and living alone and working long days and driving everywhere and long commute hours and short vacation time and limited financial resources and interacting with idiots.

These thoughts run through my head a lot. When I eat all the foods, the anxiety gets full and bloated and needs a nap, so I get a short break from them but they always return. Today they reappeared like an angry pimple on a 16-year-old’s face the day before Prom. Go. The Fuck. Away.

Day 67 – Choices Choices Choices

August 12, 2018

I literally have no idea what to do if I’ve overstayed my welcome. I feel like that was the theme of this weekend.

One of my friends came to visit and because he was having problems in his relationship, he stayed the whole weekend. I love my friend, but I definitely wanted the time to myself (and my other visitor…). I KNOW I can tell him to leave/tell him it’s time for him to go, but I legitimately think that message should be kind of obvious when there’s another kind of visitor in town and he’s third wheeling it hard. I third wheel it all the time, so calm yourself, but I don’t do so for long stretches at a time, unexpectedly, at the last minute, when someone else (wink wink) is visiting them.

AND THEN I BECAME THAT PERSON. Different circumstances. A good friend of mine, let’s call her Francine, invited my visitor and me over. And, 7 hours later, we were still there. Now, the time passed quickly and I asked her to kick us out when she was sick of us, but I don’t think that people can really do that. I think it’s hard to tell people they need to leave your house/go home when there’s no acceptable way to do so. If you have manners, you can’t very easily tell someone to leave. If you have manners, you should leave when it’s time to go, if you can somehow judge that exacly.

I know I should have just left. But then am I rude for randomly bailing? What if I WASN’T overstaying my welcome? Then am I rude for leaving? I swear to you, this anxiety is out to destroy me.

Destroy me.

On the other hand, it was a distraction from the every day things that feel like they’re destroying me, so at least I had a short break from those.

Day 63 – Overstaying My Welcome

August 8, 2018

Today I learned THAT lesson. The one where you never know what someone else is going through. I made a mistake by not asking/checking in with them before we started down a snarky, fighting, annoyed-at-each-other path. We mostly recovered from it, but not before I discovered what had happened.

He’s always there for me. He sits with me as I cry and complain and talk about my family. He listens to me grieve and holds me when I feel like I won’t survive. He stands by my side no matter what. I had a really rough, very grief-laden day – I don’t even know WHY, some days are just like that – but he had a rough day, too. And he doesn’t lean on me nearly as often as I need to lean on him and instead of being there for him in a clear way from the beginning, I jumped into the fight.

I guess we all live and learn, but I appreciate how often he’s there for me and I appreciate the fact that I can’t always do it alone. I can’t always get through the day by myself anymore. I don’t really remember what I did before him, but I can’t imagine how I would have survived the last 2 years without him. This grief… it’s like drowning. When I come up for air, sometimes the waters are calm, and sometimes the waves crash right back down on me. And even though his day wasn’t full of grief – in NO WAY do I want it to be, trust me – it was a no good, very bad day in its own way and I should have been there for him.

I know what it’s like to be heartbroken, but I also know what it’s like to just have a regular old bad day where you just need to go to sleep and wake up the next day and feel like it’s a new day and the mistakes of yesterday can be left behind. I can never and will never be able to leave anything behind because I HAVE ANXIETY THAT’S ALWAYS TRYING TO KILL ME AND REMIND ME OF EVERY DUMB THING I’VE EVER SAID OR DONE OR ALMOST SAID OR DONE. But still… grief is selfish sometimes.

Day 59 – Lessons Learned

August 5, 2018

If we adapt, does that mean we forget? If we can go on with our lives, does that mean we don’t care? I struggle with this a lot. I am not okay.

There is not a day that goes by where I don’t regret how things went or ever feel like my old self or feel okay in any way. But I also laugh. I think about my future. I take naps and walks and buy clothes I like. I book trips and go out to dinner. I take vacations. I watch Parks & Rec with a smile on my face. I dream of waffles. I do all the mundane things, too. I do my dishes and clean my bathroom and try to remember the last time I washed my sheets. I text my friends about their everyday problems, and I genuinely want to help them even though a second later it all seems so silly. Lose 5 pounds. Don’t lose 5 pounds. Who cares?!

I cry at inopportune times over chicken piccata or walking down the sidewalk. I can’t watch certain commercials (I’m looking at you, Sarah McLachlan) without it ruining my whole day and I can’t visit certain places (so long, Hawaii) without having a mental breakdown. I think in equal parts with a brain of absolute all-encompassing grief and with hope for my life and future. Devastation is like that, maybe. Maybe everyone goes through this. Maybe we have to survive, because we’re animals, and that’s what we do. And survival means adapting. Means moving on. Means ignoring or forgetting. But then we’re humans again, and we can’t imagine that we could ever have moved on.

I think my mom feels the same way, but we don’t talk about it.

Day 56 – Grief and Comic Relief

August 3, 2018

Oh my lord. I just saw “Eighth Grade” and I swear I’ve never had so many feels. All the feels. The actress and storyline are so essentially relatable and loveable and cringy and cute. I laughed, I cried, I remembered all the times kids were mean to me…

Growing up is never easy. Life isn’t fair. Someone said those things to me on repeat as a kid, usually my mom probably, but nothing reminds you so obviously of that fact until you see a cinematic throwback to experiences that mirrored your own to make you sit up and hate/love the person in front of you as you beg her not to make a bad decision.

I don’t think we ever stop growing up. When I look back on me and my decisions a year ago, a week ago, yesterday, I immediately cringe and try to find a hole to go crawl into. I stay up and night and wonder WHY IN THE NAME OF GOD DID I SAY THAT? THAT’S SO EMBARRASSING. And then I think of something I DID that was actually worse than what I said and all I can think is, AND THAT, TOO? CAN YOU JUST BE NORMAL FOR ONCE?

No, no I cannot be. I must be weird, it’s my only option, it seems. I must draw awkward and embarrassing attention to myself. I must relive those moments when I’m trying to sleep and get jolted awake again from the horrible memories. I must push people away with my awkwardness and then wonder why I don’t have any friends. Some people have to keep up their perfect Instagram stories. This is just my cross to bear…

Day 54 – Eighth Grade and Growing Up

August 1, 2018

As always, I have to be responsible for my own actions and mistakes. I skipped writing my blog post so I could sleep/rest/think and I shouldn’t have done that. I have hold myself accountable.

On the advice of someone close to me, I will say this: I got some news – both good and bad – that I’m not ready to share yet. When I am, I’ll put it on my blog.

Day 52 – Accountability

July 31, 2018

All that matters about today is that it’s Harry Potter’s birthday. I KNOW I AM TOO OLD FOR IT, BUT I DON’T CARE. Alan Rickman said he’d love it forever and he did and since I am basically on the same level as Alan in every way (except I’m thankfully still alive…knock on wood), it’s fine that I still love HP.

HP changed my life. It truly did. I’m sure it did for a lot of people, but I hate other people, so I don’t care about them. Boiled down, HP was, for me, the ultimate fight of good vs. evil with humor and love and acceptance and friendship without any of the usual over-dramatized, dystopian, or unrealistic elements. Truly, magic included, it just felt so real.

JK Rowling is a genius and I will love her forever for creating that series.

Now that I’m done being mushy, I will tell you that today is ALSO the day where I wore nude Spanx under a black dress and everyone saw them both because they were too long but also because they were NUDE UNDER A BLACK DRESS. You’d think I was taught nothing. If you met my family, you’d know that’s pretty close to the truth…

Not to just stop there, today was also the day I set my friend up on the worst possible date, feeling very innocent about my choice at first, until I got a post-date call at 7 PM (HOW DID THEY EVEN GO ON THE DATE YET?) and realized the error of my ways. Emily, I’m sorry, I love you, I made a mistake, I thought he seemed nice, I suck, please still be my friend.

In other, unrelated news, I have a sudden opening for a new friend…

Day 51 – Harry Potter and Many Mistakes