Feel like shit because you only have 2 friends that were willing to help you pack, and neither are going to Heaven w you.
PS, Feel like shit because one of the two has a crush on you, and you're about to probably lose him as a friend because he's not a Christian and you refuse to be w a non-, and because you're about to have a boyfriend, and it's going to hurt him.
PSS, Great job in life so far, Tab. You're really starting to fucking suck.
Sincerely,
Self.
8.30.2009
8.21.2009
Shower nonsense.
After work today, I came home, made some spaghetti, ate some and drank some milk, then ate a couple of Chips Ahoy cookies, all while watching Alfie.
After eating, I laid down on my little bed, in front of the TV, to finish watching the movie. As it went on and on, I got sadder and sadder, because you see, earlier today at work, a few of us were sitting together, talking about (well, I was listening) their ‘slut’ phases in life. One woman said that she wasn’t a whore until after high school (which made everyone laugh, and begin the conversation in the first place), and a younger, but older than me, said that she was a slut while IN high school. I enjoyed hearing them talk, and it was like they talked as if it was a phase every woman goes through.
I didn’t have a slut stage yet. I was scared to death of physical contact, and even the idea of it, in high school. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was eighteen and a half, and I had to be stoned just to do that.
Anyway. I was thinking about it, and I was getting weird, for some strange reason, seeing as Alfie’s a movie about a manwhore learning lessons, and I’m not even close to being like that, and I still felt. And I couldn’t relate to the women I work with, but I still felt. And, it’s so odd and almost awkward for me, hearing how people I knew so long ago have already been married and are in the middle of getting divorced, while I still have yet to date since my Mark mishappen.
I don’t agree with divorce. I mean, sometimes it is inevitable, sure, I can understand and see that, but in general, no. I don’t think two people should get married, on a whim, or without the serious intent on dedicating their lives to staying together through thick and thin, until they die. That’s marriage, to me. I really think it’s sad that it’s taken so lightly these days, or at least with my generation.
Uhm, what this blog is about is what I thought after the movie was over. I felt cold. Kind of chilly. I took a really hot shower to get rid of my feeling, and it didn’t exactly fix it. I ended up sitting inside my shower, with the hot water running over my head, just thinking. I haven’t had a slut phase. I won’t ever have a slut phase, because I don’t feel comfortable in that way. I am totally grateful for how I look, and the assets I’ve been given, but ..I’m just really really not that kind of girl, and I won’t ever be.
I also thought about how I don’t even date. I thought of how I really do have commitment issues, or have had this whole time, and hadn’t realized it until sort of recently to now. How I’m scared that I’ll be with someone and it won’t work out, and it’d’ve wasted my time and effort, and hurt my heart. I’m scared that something better might come along, and I’ll already be tied down, or feel some sort of obligation towards a person.
Then I thought of marriage again. How I know I’d rather be like, 25 before any of those things like marriage, baby, house, career, etc. Who would I marry? Do I really expect for someone to go out of their way for me? Of course I do, but do I really expect for someone to go out of their way for me time and time again because I keep turning them down, or start avoiding them because I know just what they’re after? Come on. How could a person be so blind as to pass so many great guys up because they’re so nice or because they seem distant or because they seem too anything? It’s obviously as ignorant as people doing everything else that people do, while knowing they’re getting farther and farther away from what they want and what they think they deserve, but keep pushing themselves away from the good only to get closer and closer to the bad each time. We run from the good stuff. Why? Why do I run from the good stuff? I don’t want to anymore.
I’m not a cuddler, it’s true. It’s been that way for quite some time. I think that I have the potential to be cuddly, but I really don’t feel like putting myself in such a vulnerable state. I was pretty cuddly with Mark, and with Stephen. Stephen did me wrong, and it hurt me and pushed me even farther away from being so willing and open with a person. Things happen, no doubt, but I am not really good at moving on without having learned my lesson.
I think that I’m happy with me, with the life I’m able to provide for myself. I’m happy with what I’ve been given, and who I have in my life, for the most part (naturally, I wish that I would have more time with my best friends, and that they wouldn’t forget about me when they get busy with their lives, and I wish that I had someone reliable in terms of boyfriendage, and I wish that I had equal time with people who truly care about me as I have with working and my alone time, but hey, there are never enough hours in the day, you know). I think maybe, just maybe, it’s time to breathe a little easier. I’m trying to move towards contentment, and allow things to happen without me feeling concerned or planned out. I’m trying to ease myself into easy-happies, and I’m doing fairly well.
I just think that maybe it’s time to stop tensing up when someone thinks that they care about me. Even though I feel like they won’t sooner than later, why not let them find that out? Why not allow them to pretend for just a little while, if that’s all that they’re doing? Why not grasp it while I have the opportunity, even if I just have to go from boyfriend to boyfriend like everyone else? Why do I pass up the good guy? The guy that had a crush on me when no one even noticed me? The ones who always had something nice and sweet to say even when I had a bad time or experience? Why do I feel like I don’t want to give them their chance just because once they decide that they don’t like me anymore that I won’t have them, or that part of them anymore? It’s selfish, obviously, but I’ve come to terms with that way before now. But really, wouldn’t giving them those chances allow me to get through the “what ifs” and “just maybes” and limit my true options down one by one? I want a nice guy! Why not start with them? Why on earth go through all the trouble of dealing with bad guy after bad guy all the while, hoping that he’s actually a good guy and that I’ll bring that out in him? No way, Jose, shit doesn’t work like that. Wake up, smell the coffee.
We’ll see. I’m not backing down. And I’m not giving up my standards of him being responsible, loyal, considerate/sweet, CHRISTIAN, and preferably independent—so if that ain’t you, then you ain’t who I’m lookin’ for. DEUCES.
After eating, I laid down on my little bed, in front of the TV, to finish watching the movie. As it went on and on, I got sadder and sadder, because you see, earlier today at work, a few of us were sitting together, talking about (well, I was listening) their ‘slut’ phases in life. One woman said that she wasn’t a whore until after high school (which made everyone laugh, and begin the conversation in the first place), and a younger, but older than me, said that she was a slut while IN high school. I enjoyed hearing them talk, and it was like they talked as if it was a phase every woman goes through.
I didn’t have a slut stage yet. I was scared to death of physical contact, and even the idea of it, in high school. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was eighteen and a half, and I had to be stoned just to do that.
Anyway. I was thinking about it, and I was getting weird, for some strange reason, seeing as Alfie’s a movie about a manwhore learning lessons, and I’m not even close to being like that, and I still felt. And I couldn’t relate to the women I work with, but I still felt. And, it’s so odd and almost awkward for me, hearing how people I knew so long ago have already been married and are in the middle of getting divorced, while I still have yet to date since my Mark mishappen.
I don’t agree with divorce. I mean, sometimes it is inevitable, sure, I can understand and see that, but in general, no. I don’t think two people should get married, on a whim, or without the serious intent on dedicating their lives to staying together through thick and thin, until they die. That’s marriage, to me. I really think it’s sad that it’s taken so lightly these days, or at least with my generation.
Uhm, what this blog is about is what I thought after the movie was over. I felt cold. Kind of chilly. I took a really hot shower to get rid of my feeling, and it didn’t exactly fix it. I ended up sitting inside my shower, with the hot water running over my head, just thinking. I haven’t had a slut phase. I won’t ever have a slut phase, because I don’t feel comfortable in that way. I am totally grateful for how I look, and the assets I’ve been given, but ..I’m just really really not that kind of girl, and I won’t ever be.
I also thought about how I don’t even date. I thought of how I really do have commitment issues, or have had this whole time, and hadn’t realized it until sort of recently to now. How I’m scared that I’ll be with someone and it won’t work out, and it’d’ve wasted my time and effort, and hurt my heart. I’m scared that something better might come along, and I’ll already be tied down, or feel some sort of obligation towards a person.
Then I thought of marriage again. How I know I’d rather be like, 25 before any of those things like marriage, baby, house, career, etc. Who would I marry? Do I really expect for someone to go out of their way for me? Of course I do, but do I really expect for someone to go out of their way for me time and time again because I keep turning them down, or start avoiding them because I know just what they’re after? Come on. How could a person be so blind as to pass so many great guys up because they’re so nice or because they seem distant or because they seem too anything? It’s obviously as ignorant as people doing everything else that people do, while knowing they’re getting farther and farther away from what they want and what they think they deserve, but keep pushing themselves away from the good only to get closer and closer to the bad each time. We run from the good stuff. Why? Why do I run from the good stuff? I don’t want to anymore.
I’m not a cuddler, it’s true. It’s been that way for quite some time. I think that I have the potential to be cuddly, but I really don’t feel like putting myself in such a vulnerable state. I was pretty cuddly with Mark, and with Stephen. Stephen did me wrong, and it hurt me and pushed me even farther away from being so willing and open with a person. Things happen, no doubt, but I am not really good at moving on without having learned my lesson.
I think that I’m happy with me, with the life I’m able to provide for myself. I’m happy with what I’ve been given, and who I have in my life, for the most part (naturally, I wish that I would have more time with my best friends, and that they wouldn’t forget about me when they get busy with their lives, and I wish that I had someone reliable in terms of boyfriendage, and I wish that I had equal time with people who truly care about me as I have with working and my alone time, but hey, there are never enough hours in the day, you know). I think maybe, just maybe, it’s time to breathe a little easier. I’m trying to move towards contentment, and allow things to happen without me feeling concerned or planned out. I’m trying to ease myself into easy-happies, and I’m doing fairly well.
I just think that maybe it’s time to stop tensing up when someone thinks that they care about me. Even though I feel like they won’t sooner than later, why not let them find that out? Why not allow them to pretend for just a little while, if that’s all that they’re doing? Why not grasp it while I have the opportunity, even if I just have to go from boyfriend to boyfriend like everyone else? Why do I pass up the good guy? The guy that had a crush on me when no one even noticed me? The ones who always had something nice and sweet to say even when I had a bad time or experience? Why do I feel like I don’t want to give them their chance just because once they decide that they don’t like me anymore that I won’t have them, or that part of them anymore? It’s selfish, obviously, but I’ve come to terms with that way before now. But really, wouldn’t giving them those chances allow me to get through the “what ifs” and “just maybes” and limit my true options down one by one? I want a nice guy! Why not start with them? Why on earth go through all the trouble of dealing with bad guy after bad guy all the while, hoping that he’s actually a good guy and that I’ll bring that out in him? No way, Jose, shit doesn’t work like that. Wake up, smell the coffee.
We’ll see. I’m not backing down. And I’m not giving up my standards of him being responsible, loyal, considerate/sweet, CHRISTIAN, and preferably independent—so if that ain’t you, then you ain’t who I’m lookin’ for. DEUCES.
8.20.2009
Inspired.
I might want to be a teacher. Seriously.
(High school. Probably English. Or typing. LOL)
I still want to be a flight attendant.
(High school. Probably English. Or typing. LOL)
I still want to be a flight attendant.
Just for an update.
I'm getting happier and happier.
I don't want to ruin anything, but I feel pretty great in life, and I really feel like things are just going in the right direction for me.
I'm not going to sit here, and type that I'm totally happy with everything ever, and that I've got it all figured out this time, and that I'm set on a path and a plan for sure, because it simply isn't true, completely.
I can, however, honestly say that I am happy with my day-to-day life with work (all three of them), my family, my random circles of friends that change every so often, my pleasures, my possessions, my stable cat.
=====
I like knowing that I have a set-schedule at my main job, only about ten random hours at my new, nice job, and a steady one night a week plus benefits fun job.
I like going to OC on Wednesdays to hang out, late-ish at night w my sister and her Christian friends.
I like getting on the floor and laying right next to my cat while she naps.
I like going for ice cream and to a movie every two weeks or so, just to have some me-time.
I like praying when I wake up, and praying before I go to sleep, and thinking about and talking to God all the time throughout my day, saying sorry for doing something or saying something it's too late to take back, but soon enough to have realized it was wrong. Talking to Him like I'm talking to a friend, a reliable person in my life. Thanking Him for each little good thing I get my way, even a green light when I'm already running a little late. I like it.
I like my hair, and I like the things I have, and I like who I am and what I look like, and how people see me, and how I can be so blendable. I'm in everyone's league. That's a pretty cool thing.
I don't know why I stressed out so much about things. I wish I wouldn't've. I wish I could go back to junior high and rock out, and go back to high school and just be ..me. I WAS me-- don't get me wrong-- but I was the me who was stretching myself out as far as I could go, trying to experiment and figure things out, trying to grasp things that might help me along the way to wherever it is that I'm going, ..but like I said, I wouldn't've had to do that. I could've just BEEN. And that's really just being me. Just being is being.
Anyway.
Laundry calls.
I also like Dark Chocolate Snickers. Which, for the record, are slightly noticably smaller than regular Snickers, and even Milky Ways. Which is some serious crap, btw. ;P Later.
I don't want to ruin anything, but I feel pretty great in life, and I really feel like things are just going in the right direction for me.
I'm not going to sit here, and type that I'm totally happy with everything ever, and that I've got it all figured out this time, and that I'm set on a path and a plan for sure, because it simply isn't true, completely.
I can, however, honestly say that I am happy with my day-to-day life with work (all three of them), my family, my random circles of friends that change every so often, my pleasures, my possessions, my stable cat.
=====
I like knowing that I have a set-schedule at my main job, only about ten random hours at my new, nice job, and a steady one night a week plus benefits fun job.
I like going to OC on Wednesdays to hang out, late-ish at night w my sister and her Christian friends.
I like getting on the floor and laying right next to my cat while she naps.
I like going for ice cream and to a movie every two weeks or so, just to have some me-time.
I like praying when I wake up, and praying before I go to sleep, and thinking about and talking to God all the time throughout my day, saying sorry for doing something or saying something it's too late to take back, but soon enough to have realized it was wrong. Talking to Him like I'm talking to a friend, a reliable person in my life. Thanking Him for each little good thing I get my way, even a green light when I'm already running a little late. I like it.
I like my hair, and I like the things I have, and I like who I am and what I look like, and how people see me, and how I can be so blendable. I'm in everyone's league. That's a pretty cool thing.
I don't know why I stressed out so much about things. I wish I wouldn't've. I wish I could go back to junior high and rock out, and go back to high school and just be ..me. I WAS me-- don't get me wrong-- but I was the me who was stretching myself out as far as I could go, trying to experiment and figure things out, trying to grasp things that might help me along the way to wherever it is that I'm going, ..but like I said, I wouldn't've had to do that. I could've just BEEN. And that's really just being me. Just being is being.
Anyway.
Laundry calls.
I also like Dark Chocolate Snickers. Which, for the record, are slightly noticably smaller than regular Snickers, and even Milky Ways. Which is some serious crap, btw. ;P Later.
8.11.2009
This was originally private, but.. ha.
I am a sweet girl. A sweet person, really. 13 Going On 30 makes me feel good. The movie makes me feel better no matter how hard of a day I am having, no matter what happened. After seeing it, even after one thousand viewings, I still feel inspired each time! I feel ready to take on the world, show everyone what I’m made of—what the possibilities of human beings actually are. I think that I can relate to Jenna Rink in the way that I, deep down, really am that sweet person who is quirky and fun, and different, but normal. I didn’t really lose a huge chunk of my life, like she did, but maybe somewhere, I did lose myself. Maybe I took the wrong turn when I started feeling the need to show that I’d be able to embrace myself as an outcast and an outsider. I started drinking and smoking pot when I was fourteen. A year before that, I was “gothic” (however that really went). I don’t really remember much of my life before then. I feel like I stepped away from myself, my truth, and just got carried away, as I do.
It’s nearly uncommon for me to not go all-out if I go at all, I’m well aware. My mom thinks that I have an addictive personality. I don’t. I think that maybe my work ethic just gets out of hand sometimes. A lot of times, probably. I put myself into everything that I believe, that I want, that I plan for, that I think about. I may’ve been scared that I wasn’t the same as other people, and I didn’t want to be afraid of myself, so I took what I knew and transformed it, enhanced it. I enhanced it too much, too many times. I lost who I was, and I’ve become someone new, someone different. A druggy, a girl who partied too much, who got alcohol-poisoning, who was probably a slut (this one is a definite myth, let it be known), a nobody trying so hard to be a somebody, a …failure.
Let me be the one to set things straight, right now, right after having watched my 13 Going On 30: I am not a failure. I am not just a druggy, just a party-girl has-been, I’m more than you know, I’m more than I remember being, more than I know how to show yet. I’m nice, and I’m normal, and I’m regular, and I’m invisible sometimes, and I can be sweet on accident, and I’m sensitive, and I’m slightly misunderstood. I’m not really that different than you, or anyone else, I just …pushed myself to be. A year or two ago, I remember thinking about how it felt to be normal, and I got afraid that I wouldn’t be remembered, or that I wouldn’t matter anymore, that I’d just fade away. There is no reason for me to feel so afraid of those things happening to me.
I deserve to be how I was when I was five. I deserve to just say things, without trying to add some edge, add some sarcasm, add some humor. I deserve to have brown hair and brown eyes, to be 5’6, to be pale, to have tiny hands and cold feet. I deserve to wear pink if I feel like wearing pink, to wear a dress if I want. I deserve to take pleasure in simple, normal things, without feeling naive or looked down upon. I deserve to not have to overthink my actions and words and thoughts and conversations and friendships and relationships with everyone. I wasn’t sure what I really deserved—what anyone really deserves—until right now. I do deserve those things. And I deserve respect, as a person. I deserve to be heard, to be hugged. And I forgot, and I drifted, and I have red/purple hair now, and tattoos all over my body, and I do drugs, and I have friends that mostly all do drugs, and I’m known for those tattoos and for those drugs that I’ve done. I want more. I want less of what I have, and more of everything else. I’m more.
And, I’m going to be honest and admit to having hurt people along the path I chose, and to have done bad things, but I am truly sorry for all of that, and to each of you. I am so sorry for taking things that have been said for granted, and just nodding and saying “yeah, that sucks.” I’m not that air-headed, and you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry for letting you go so easily. I’m sorry for pushing you away so hard. I’m sorry for holding a grudge against you. I’m sorry for never forgiving you. I’m sorry for never saying sorry. I’m sorry that you never really knew me, that you only knew who I wanted you to know. I’m sorry for lying.
It’s nearly uncommon for me to not go all-out if I go at all, I’m well aware. My mom thinks that I have an addictive personality. I don’t. I think that maybe my work ethic just gets out of hand sometimes. A lot of times, probably. I put myself into everything that I believe, that I want, that I plan for, that I think about. I may’ve been scared that I wasn’t the same as other people, and I didn’t want to be afraid of myself, so I took what I knew and transformed it, enhanced it. I enhanced it too much, too many times. I lost who I was, and I’ve become someone new, someone different. A druggy, a girl who partied too much, who got alcohol-poisoning, who was probably a slut (this one is a definite myth, let it be known), a nobody trying so hard to be a somebody, a …failure.
Let me be the one to set things straight, right now, right after having watched my 13 Going On 30: I am not a failure. I am not just a druggy, just a party-girl has-been, I’m more than you know, I’m more than I remember being, more than I know how to show yet. I’m nice, and I’m normal, and I’m regular, and I’m invisible sometimes, and I can be sweet on accident, and I’m sensitive, and I’m slightly misunderstood. I’m not really that different than you, or anyone else, I just …pushed myself to be. A year or two ago, I remember thinking about how it felt to be normal, and I got afraid that I wouldn’t be remembered, or that I wouldn’t matter anymore, that I’d just fade away. There is no reason for me to feel so afraid of those things happening to me.
I deserve to be how I was when I was five. I deserve to just say things, without trying to add some edge, add some sarcasm, add some humor. I deserve to have brown hair and brown eyes, to be 5’6, to be pale, to have tiny hands and cold feet. I deserve to wear pink if I feel like wearing pink, to wear a dress if I want. I deserve to take pleasure in simple, normal things, without feeling naive or looked down upon. I deserve to not have to overthink my actions and words and thoughts and conversations and friendships and relationships with everyone. I wasn’t sure what I really deserved—what anyone really deserves—until right now. I do deserve those things. And I deserve respect, as a person. I deserve to be heard, to be hugged. And I forgot, and I drifted, and I have red/purple hair now, and tattoos all over my body, and I do drugs, and I have friends that mostly all do drugs, and I’m known for those tattoos and for those drugs that I’ve done. I want more. I want less of what I have, and more of everything else. I’m more.
And, I’m going to be honest and admit to having hurt people along the path I chose, and to have done bad things, but I am truly sorry for all of that, and to each of you. I am so sorry for taking things that have been said for granted, and just nodding and saying “yeah, that sucks.” I’m not that air-headed, and you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry for letting you go so easily. I’m sorry for pushing you away so hard. I’m sorry for holding a grudge against you. I’m sorry for never forgiving you. I’m sorry for never saying sorry. I’m sorry that you never really knew me, that you only knew who I wanted you to know. I’m sorry for lying.
8.07.2009
Couldn't write for weeks, and this is what I explode with? <:/
You know, sometimes, I feel like I know who I am because of who I’ve been and what I’ve been left with. When I think this way, I feel secure and aware.
I was a party-girl, really. I enjoyed going to parties, mingling, making new friends, being loud with my old ones. I would drink, if someone offered (and of course, someone always offered). And if I did drink (which, I wouldn’t go to a party unless I knew I was guaranteed something to do), I would drink as much as I could, as fast as I could. If I was going for it, I was going for it for real. I drink to get drunk. Let me be the first to tell you, I am a very, very fun drunk. I’m not obnoxious, I’m not hateful, I’m not rude—I’m actually quite funny, goofy, carefree and the life of the party. I also enjoy drugs, which I got into heavier at some point. If there were drugs around, I’d be around—if there were people doing drugs, they would find me and offer, and I think we’ve been through this: I don’t turn down offers. I’d sniff something if someone I was good friends with did it first without knowing that’s what I was waiting for. I’d take pills in the same situation. I’d do shrooms. I’d probably do just about anything other than heroine and meth. I was intelligent and responsible enough to not do drugs and drink alcohol at the same time, thankfully, but man. Parties were where it was at for me. For the majority of the time I’ve been being who I am.
Things have changed. I can say, truthfully, that things have changed more than once. And I’m not really sure which way is best, I feel like I know, but I really feel like I should’ve forced myself to hold out longer before accepting the truth.
Sure, yeah, I’ve stopped drinking and gone into my drug phase. Yeah, I’ve gotten busted for drugs and went back to drinking. Yeah yeah, I’ve been conflicted when given the option of doing both at the same time, and made decisions according to the actual position it would be putting me in. And, I’ve stopped doing everything for some amount of time. I went to parties again, for some reason, and drank again. I stopped.
I got alcohol poisoning, and fell on a porch. Went from standing up straight as could be, and was completely conscious and aware when my entire body collapsed under me, and I landed heavily on a wooden porch, on my side, throwing up all over my arm, into my hand, waiting those very long, long seconds until someone would come to pick me up from the ground. Yeah, I drank. I partied. That’s who I was. That’s what I was good at.
I stopped drinking again. I started doing drugs again. I did drugs a lot with my “best friends.” One would have parties every single weekend, and drugs galore (and alcohol, too, of course, but I’d deny, as previously explained) were brought to be served as a buffet to me, and boy was I hungry for it. I went through a best friend, the love of a lifetime, through the mess of a lifetime, and somewhere at the end, I quit. I couldn’t do something that hurt me, that led someone else—let alone two someone else’s—hurt me.
I drank at an old friend’s birthday party, side-by-side with two great friends. I had a blast. I sword-fought with Rockband drumsticks. I threw up. I was plastered. People took care of me. The birthday boy took care of me. I did drugs again. I didn’t really stop this time, I just faded in and out. I had some good times; I had some steady, scheduled good times, too. I’ve gone from friends to friends, and now I’m here, I suppose.
I don’t want to drink anymore. I’ll have a cash-bar at my wedding, but I won’t be utilizing it. I won’t be drinking on my twenty-first, simply because I don’t want to. I don’t like the taste of alcohol; I don’t like the thickness in my throat. Of course I like the drowsy, weird feeling that you get when you’re about to lose control of your vision and your speech. Of course I like the way I let my tongue be released, and let it say what it wants, and not feeling about giving it its own time. But it isn’t enough for me to put myself in such a state that I’m unable to fully protect myself. It’s not enough for me to put my body through hell a few hours after and even for days afterwards. I like to think of myself as a fairly intelligent person, and I know when to stop being a fool despite the fun factor.
The point is: I don’t know if I like who I am very much without my ability to go to a party and actually enjoy it. My friends know my past, they know who I was, who I’ve become to be. They know that they can tell me stories of all kinds, because I can understand, I can relate, I can listen without feeling as if I have the ability to judge. My family knows my past, my struggles, a lot of my situations. From my grandparents to my little brother, they all know where I’ve been, and they know that I change from day to day, hour to hour, and that everything that has ever been, has the opportunity to take its place with me once again at any given time. They all know—you all know—that I’m a loose cannon, a rollercoaster ride. I am probably the only one who forgets that from time to time.
I have God in my heart now, more than what I have had. I am closer to Him than I have been. I don’t give Him up when I smoke pot, when I do my drugs. I don’t forget about Him, and I make it a point to try very hard to think about how wonderful He’s made everything for me when I am wasted, because I know that that’s why we aren’t supposed to be un-sober.
I just… have the issue to where I don’t go to “parties” anymore because I don’t feel comfortable there. I don’t feel like it’s cool, in any sense of the word, and I don’t understand why people destroy themselves and refer to it as having been a “good time.” I don’t like that some people try to complicate things sometimes and blame it on being drunk, how some people try to place their actions and words off of something that someone else said in their drunken-state, even if that isn’t even close to how that should’ve and could’ve been taken. I don’t like it when some people try to pressure others into doing things, whether it’s drinking some more, drinking at all, smoking, taking any drugs, making-out, telling them things that isn’t any of their business, kissing/making-out/having sex, all of it, any of it. I don’t like it, and I don’t like being at a party and being sober, and noticing all of those things happening.
I don’t like going to a party and blending in with the wall. I feel invisible half the time as it is, why should I have to endure a party-like atmosphere and feel nonexistent there? And have to deal with seeing all of these things, and seeing people treat their bodies like shit while they willingly punish themselves and call it a “good time”? I don’t want to do it. I don’t like to do it.
And it makes me feel sad, and confused, and lost, as does a lot of things at this point in my life. I feel sad knowing that I can’t allow myself to be set free sometimes, even being totally aware that it’s taking a substance to give me that. I feel sad not being able to keep up with living my legacy. I feel confused because I don’t know how to say no to going to a party, when that’s what I’m known for, what I’m expected to be doing. I feel confused because that’s who I was, who got me to who I am now. But, I’m confused and lost because I can’t even push myself into that spot right now. I can’t even force myself in, with the hopes of it turning out like it always did. It’s like trying to squeeze myself between the wall and my refrigerator—there’s no having it. What do I do if I don’t do what I’ve always done? Where do I go if I don’t go where I’m allowed, expected, anticipated, and welcomed fully?
Why can’t I allow myself to have a good time? Because I feel so connected? Because I feel like there are more important things to be focused on during those blurry times? Because I have too much going on to just fuck it all off? Because I know that He loves me more than you guys do… Because I know that one day, it’s not going to be hard to just BE… Because I know that I’m more than just a piece in a party. Because I deserve more than what drugs and alcohol can give me, more than what anyone can give me. More than what anyone is trying to give me. More than what I’m being offered, more than what I’m saying yes to, more than what I’m refusing? I can’t be perfect. I can’t stay on top of it. I can’t be who He made me to be, who I’m supposed to be. I can’t do what I feel like I should be doing, because then I lose me, and even though I’m supposed to be okay with that, I can’t let go of me.
Everything I worked through, all the things I’ve gone through, everything I’ve learned, all that I am and ever was? I can’t give it up yet. I can’t surrender everything that I’m familiar with to end up in a position to where there isn’t a single person that I can turn to, and know that they’re in the boat with me, someone to truly relate to, someone to look up to, I can’t be any more alone that what I am already. And if I give up me, I give up a very good friend. If I give up everything forever, I give up a lot of good friends. If I give up everything else, I’m where I am now, and that’s led me to this.
I’ll know what to do some day. I’ll be even more relieved then, than I was on Tuesday, when God gave me this life to start over. More relieved than when I did everything I could do, then gave every problem, every worry, every stress, every situation to Him, and just let it all go, a week ago. More relieved than I was when I got saved for the first, true time, when I breathed in for the first time, to receive real air with real lungs. When I heard His name and smiled every time, because I knew that He was with me, and because He loved me and I wasn’t ignorant about it, and because He looks out for me more than I can even look out for myself. I’ll know what to do some day. And then I won’t feel like a failure anymore. And I won’t feel out of place, sad, confused, or lost. I won’t feel betrayed. I won’t feel so alone. And that’s how I feel right now, and that’s how you leave me to feel.
I was a party-girl, really. I enjoyed going to parties, mingling, making new friends, being loud with my old ones. I would drink, if someone offered (and of course, someone always offered). And if I did drink (which, I wouldn’t go to a party unless I knew I was guaranteed something to do), I would drink as much as I could, as fast as I could. If I was going for it, I was going for it for real. I drink to get drunk. Let me be the first to tell you, I am a very, very fun drunk. I’m not obnoxious, I’m not hateful, I’m not rude—I’m actually quite funny, goofy, carefree and the life of the party. I also enjoy drugs, which I got into heavier at some point. If there were drugs around, I’d be around—if there were people doing drugs, they would find me and offer, and I think we’ve been through this: I don’t turn down offers. I’d sniff something if someone I was good friends with did it first without knowing that’s what I was waiting for. I’d take pills in the same situation. I’d do shrooms. I’d probably do just about anything other than heroine and meth. I was intelligent and responsible enough to not do drugs and drink alcohol at the same time, thankfully, but man. Parties were where it was at for me. For the majority of the time I’ve been being who I am.
Things have changed. I can say, truthfully, that things have changed more than once. And I’m not really sure which way is best, I feel like I know, but I really feel like I should’ve forced myself to hold out longer before accepting the truth.
Sure, yeah, I’ve stopped drinking and gone into my drug phase. Yeah, I’ve gotten busted for drugs and went back to drinking. Yeah yeah, I’ve been conflicted when given the option of doing both at the same time, and made decisions according to the actual position it would be putting me in. And, I’ve stopped doing everything for some amount of time. I went to parties again, for some reason, and drank again. I stopped.
I got alcohol poisoning, and fell on a porch. Went from standing up straight as could be, and was completely conscious and aware when my entire body collapsed under me, and I landed heavily on a wooden porch, on my side, throwing up all over my arm, into my hand, waiting those very long, long seconds until someone would come to pick me up from the ground. Yeah, I drank. I partied. That’s who I was. That’s what I was good at.
I stopped drinking again. I started doing drugs again. I did drugs a lot with my “best friends.” One would have parties every single weekend, and drugs galore (and alcohol, too, of course, but I’d deny, as previously explained) were brought to be served as a buffet to me, and boy was I hungry for it. I went through a best friend, the love of a lifetime, through the mess of a lifetime, and somewhere at the end, I quit. I couldn’t do something that hurt me, that led someone else—let alone two someone else’s—hurt me.
I drank at an old friend’s birthday party, side-by-side with two great friends. I had a blast. I sword-fought with Rockband drumsticks. I threw up. I was plastered. People took care of me. The birthday boy took care of me. I did drugs again. I didn’t really stop this time, I just faded in and out. I had some good times; I had some steady, scheduled good times, too. I’ve gone from friends to friends, and now I’m here, I suppose.
I don’t want to drink anymore. I’ll have a cash-bar at my wedding, but I won’t be utilizing it. I won’t be drinking on my twenty-first, simply because I don’t want to. I don’t like the taste of alcohol; I don’t like the thickness in my throat. Of course I like the drowsy, weird feeling that you get when you’re about to lose control of your vision and your speech. Of course I like the way I let my tongue be released, and let it say what it wants, and not feeling about giving it its own time. But it isn’t enough for me to put myself in such a state that I’m unable to fully protect myself. It’s not enough for me to put my body through hell a few hours after and even for days afterwards. I like to think of myself as a fairly intelligent person, and I know when to stop being a fool despite the fun factor.
The point is: I don’t know if I like who I am very much without my ability to go to a party and actually enjoy it. My friends know my past, they know who I was, who I’ve become to be. They know that they can tell me stories of all kinds, because I can understand, I can relate, I can listen without feeling as if I have the ability to judge. My family knows my past, my struggles, a lot of my situations. From my grandparents to my little brother, they all know where I’ve been, and they know that I change from day to day, hour to hour, and that everything that has ever been, has the opportunity to take its place with me once again at any given time. They all know—you all know—that I’m a loose cannon, a rollercoaster ride. I am probably the only one who forgets that from time to time.
I have God in my heart now, more than what I have had. I am closer to Him than I have been. I don’t give Him up when I smoke pot, when I do my drugs. I don’t forget about Him, and I make it a point to try very hard to think about how wonderful He’s made everything for me when I am wasted, because I know that that’s why we aren’t supposed to be un-sober.
I just… have the issue to where I don’t go to “parties” anymore because I don’t feel comfortable there. I don’t feel like it’s cool, in any sense of the word, and I don’t understand why people destroy themselves and refer to it as having been a “good time.” I don’t like that some people try to complicate things sometimes and blame it on being drunk, how some people try to place their actions and words off of something that someone else said in their drunken-state, even if that isn’t even close to how that should’ve and could’ve been taken. I don’t like it when some people try to pressure others into doing things, whether it’s drinking some more, drinking at all, smoking, taking any drugs, making-out, telling them things that isn’t any of their business, kissing/making-out/having sex, all of it, any of it. I don’t like it, and I don’t like being at a party and being sober, and noticing all of those things happening.
I don’t like going to a party and blending in with the wall. I feel invisible half the time as it is, why should I have to endure a party-like atmosphere and feel nonexistent there? And have to deal with seeing all of these things, and seeing people treat their bodies like shit while they willingly punish themselves and call it a “good time”? I don’t want to do it. I don’t like to do it.
And it makes me feel sad, and confused, and lost, as does a lot of things at this point in my life. I feel sad knowing that I can’t allow myself to be set free sometimes, even being totally aware that it’s taking a substance to give me that. I feel sad not being able to keep up with living my legacy. I feel confused because I don’t know how to say no to going to a party, when that’s what I’m known for, what I’m expected to be doing. I feel confused because that’s who I was, who got me to who I am now. But, I’m confused and lost because I can’t even push myself into that spot right now. I can’t even force myself in, with the hopes of it turning out like it always did. It’s like trying to squeeze myself between the wall and my refrigerator—there’s no having it. What do I do if I don’t do what I’ve always done? Where do I go if I don’t go where I’m allowed, expected, anticipated, and welcomed fully?
Why can’t I allow myself to have a good time? Because I feel so connected? Because I feel like there are more important things to be focused on during those blurry times? Because I have too much going on to just fuck it all off? Because I know that He loves me more than you guys do… Because I know that one day, it’s not going to be hard to just BE… Because I know that I’m more than just a piece in a party. Because I deserve more than what drugs and alcohol can give me, more than what anyone can give me. More than what anyone is trying to give me. More than what I’m being offered, more than what I’m saying yes to, more than what I’m refusing? I can’t be perfect. I can’t stay on top of it. I can’t be who He made me to be, who I’m supposed to be. I can’t do what I feel like I should be doing, because then I lose me, and even though I’m supposed to be okay with that, I can’t let go of me.
Everything I worked through, all the things I’ve gone through, everything I’ve learned, all that I am and ever was? I can’t give it up yet. I can’t surrender everything that I’m familiar with to end up in a position to where there isn’t a single person that I can turn to, and know that they’re in the boat with me, someone to truly relate to, someone to look up to, I can’t be any more alone that what I am already. And if I give up me, I give up a very good friend. If I give up everything forever, I give up a lot of good friends. If I give up everything else, I’m where I am now, and that’s led me to this.
I’ll know what to do some day. I’ll be even more relieved then, than I was on Tuesday, when God gave me this life to start over. More relieved than when I did everything I could do, then gave every problem, every worry, every stress, every situation to Him, and just let it all go, a week ago. More relieved than I was when I got saved for the first, true time, when I breathed in for the first time, to receive real air with real lungs. When I heard His name and smiled every time, because I knew that He was with me, and because He loved me and I wasn’t ignorant about it, and because He looks out for me more than I can even look out for myself. I’ll know what to do some day. And then I won’t feel like a failure anymore. And I won’t feel out of place, sad, confused, or lost. I won’t feel betrayed. I won’t feel so alone. And that’s how I feel right now, and that’s how you leave me to feel.