Saturday, March 26, 2016

To The Girl Who Called Me Crazy And Then Pretended It Was A Joke.

You thought you were being funny. You thought you were making a joke, and probably that I wouldn't see it, because it was on my boyfriends wall and not mine. But you forgot, he's my boyfriend. I tend to go on his Facebook a lot. So here's the thing. It wasn't a joke, and it wasn't funny. It was hurtful. Really hurtful.

My whole life I have struggled with anxiety and what I suspect is probably depression. I have spent my whole life thinking I am crazy because I've always felt wrong in relation to every one else. I can't go in to Walmart when its busy and I routinely call out of social events because I realize I won't know most of the people there. I lay in bed for days and don't do anything because my motivation no longer exists, and I spent two months over the summer believing I was a worthless waste of space. I have spent days, months, years, hating myself because of who I am and where I came from. I have convinced myself that I am a failure in every sense of the word for every reason.

When you posted what seemed like a harmless "inside joke" between you and my boyfriend (that he has no recollection of) on his wall, you didn't realize what you were doing. You didn't realize that you were pouring salt in every self-inflicted wound I have ever given myself. You didn't realize that I would sit alone and wonder if everyone else can see my crazy, too. That I would beat myself up for coming to see Cory at work, for calling him on his lunch, for asking him to come home and hang out with me instead of doing other stuff. Because how could you know? Why would you know that I am terrified of being so insane that my boyfriend leaves me? He wouldn't tell you that, I wouldn't tell you that, I don't tell most people that. Until now it has been a secret that I carry around, weighing me down.

And then, and then you said that even if it was a joke between you two he wouldn't tell me? Let me tell you something. I haven't kept a secret from my boyfriend since the day we met. A month after we started dating he was sitting next to me while I got my stomach pumped. He has had to force me to get out of bed and do day to day things like brush my teeth and comb my hair because I won't do it if I feel low enough. I have seen him cry, I have listened to his every fear and hope, and he has done the same for me. There are things about him that he has told me that no one in this world knows. We don't keep things from each other. So even if you did have an inside joke, if I asked him about it, he would tell me. Let me remind you that you're not special to him. You mean nothing, and let me emphasize the nothing here, to him . You are an insignificant passing thought that we laugh at over the course of the day. You have nothing with him, and mean nothing to him, so why you would think that one of your jokes would ever be special enough to keep from me, I do not know.

I know that you'll never see this post because you blocked me on Facebook for calling you out about this whole ordeal. So maybe I am crazy. Crazy for putting this effort out into the universe to respond. But if I've learned anything, it is to always speak up for yourself, even if no one hears you.

I care about myself enough to tell you and the world that I am not crazy. And my boyfriend will never make me crazy. I love him, he loves me, you remain irrelevant.

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

For the Love Of Being a Mess.

As mentioned many times before, I always figured I would have it all figured out by now. I had this pre-made road map for my life that planned all out. And since that plan kind of went to shit, I have been lamenting my ruination.

But recently I have changed my tune. It is time to embrace not having it all together. It is time to embrace taking longer to figure stuff out about myself. It is time to realize that I am not a failure for not making Plan A work.

So this is me, celebrating the fact that I am a 22 year old and I am a mess 95% of the time. I go out on nights when I shouldn't and stay out way too late. I dance like a fool and drink too much and don't hydrate enough. I procrastinate important things, like taking care of myself, in favor of having fun, or hanging out with friends, or sleeping on the couch snuggling with my cat.

Many times I buy clothes and not groceries, or laundry soap, or video games, or coffee. Usually coffee. I put a lot of importance on theatre and cheer and leave my boyfriend out in the cold sometimes. Then I get angry when he says he doesn't feel important. But that's not his fault, because I fill my time with all this crazy stuff like three cheer squads at once and come home to eat and sleep.

I have not gone back to college, despite promising myself only one year off, and I haven't left Omak, even though I swear every calendar year that it is going to happen. I  once saved a ton of money that could have paid for a quarter at WVC, and went to DC and NYC instead.

I do not regret any decisions that I have made thus far. I have learned so much about myself while I've been on this crazy journey that I can't imagine my life being any different and being this happy. I
don't have my dream job, and I'm not in my dream home with my dream guy, but I've got the guy so I'm like a third of the way there.

What I've recently realized I guess, is that I don't need to change myself. I know that I should go back to school, and move away and become successful. But I also know that I am so happy right now, going out and dancing with my friends until my feet ache, and singing along until my voice goes raw. I love that three nights a week I go to rehearsal and get irritated, get happy, get enriched and come home exhausted. I love that all my friends think its ridiculous that I love Bloody Mary's before midnight and after brunch. Point being, I have a GREAT life. So why do I constantly convince myself that it is anything but?

Let's learn to embrace our messy lives, full of mistakes and lessons learned, sometimes the hard way, with laughter and joy and open arms. Here's to being a 20 something who doesn't have it together. May we eventually figure it out.

Monday, March 7, 2016

I Miss You

I miss my sister so much. And I can't escape it. I thought I was okay, but its almost been three years and it still hurts every time I hear her name. And every day she's in some flashback post on my Facebook timeline, and holy shit it hurts like hell.

I thought that I could heal. It feels like this is all some bad dream. But it isn't I'm still here on my couch crying over her pictures and she still isn't here, and she's still gone, and she still isn't coming back. And how is that fair? She said she would always be here. She PROMISED. She promised. And she's not here. You can't just leave people. You CAN'T. You're not supposed to. What am I supposed to do with myself now that she's not here? I've been asking myself that for three fucking years.

If Carissa was here today would she be proud of me? Would she still see value in me? I know she would. I hope she would. She always told me how proud she was of me, just for being me. She never forgot to call me on my birthday. We always got each other presents, and made each other stupid cards. One time we quit talking for two months and after we worked everything out, we cried. Because you don't just stop talking to the one person who will never leave your side. It hurts too much.

I spent my summers with her, laughing until we cried, crying until we started laughing, laying in a shared bedroom laughing about boys, about life, about how dumb some people just are. I lived vicariously through the situations she got herself into, and she tried to help me be less socially awkward. And you know something? She gave the best hugs. And when she was just being herself, she was so funny. So funny. She had a song for every situation, and a smile that lit up a room. She was never afraid to just be weird with me, or laugh with me, or wrestle me for a pair of sandals. She came to all my plays, and I helped her with homework so she could graduate. And I was so proud of her. I have never been more proud of someone than when I watched her get her diploma. That's my friend, that's my friend who could have slipped through the cracks and she didn't. She fought for this. And she fucking did it.

I never pictured a life without Carissa in it. She gave me the greatest five years I could possibly imagine. And I would do almost anything to be able to see her one more time. To hold her and hear her laugh, and hear about her day, watch her tell a story, see her come through the door with her pink laptop. There was so much I wanted to do with her. And now. Now I never will. And that hurts, it hurts so god damn bad.

The One, The Only, The Real CA <3

Tuesday, March 1, 2016


I remember the first time I felt ugly. It was in the eighth grade when a girl I went to school with called me "anorexic". I knew I was thin. I knew I was  too thin, in fact. But it hurt. Up until that day no one had made me feel wrong for being so small, I was treated like any other normal child. My grandparents fed me plenty whenever I went to visit and my mom didn't really say anything about my malnourished body. It is true that I was sickly thin. When I bent over you could see every bone in my back, my knees and elbows jutted out uncomfortably, and a strong wind knocked me over.

But I was comfortable in the skin I was in. Until one day, for no reason, a girl threw out a word in my direction that would change how I saw myself. Every time someone pointed out how skinny I was, I took it as a personal affront to my being, even if they were actively trying to compliment me. When someone told me "wow, you're so in shape, I wish I could be as thin as you" I heard "you look wrong. Why are you so small? There's something wrong with you". I felt like my arms and legs were too lanky, my body too awkward.

And then, after I no longer lived with my mother, I gained weight. I wasn't being starved, I was no longer malnourished, and I gained weight and began to look like a normal teenager again. And guess what? People had a ton of stuff to say about that, as well. Suddenly there was a lot of questions about when I gained so much weight, comments about how big I had gotten, and sly remarks and suggestions that maybe I should lay off the potato chips and candy. Do you know how much I like candy? SO MUCH. But all these comments hurt, too. Because before, I was too skinny. Now, at a normal weight I was too big? I was a size five through most of high school and saw myself as the dumpy, fat, friend. I never felt as pretty as my other friends. I felt unwanted, insufficient. Because no one could leave me alone when it came to my weight.

And even now, as a grown woman, who I feel should be allowed to live my life in peace without worrying about body shaming, I still hear comments on my weight. Comments from people wondering if I should stop eating this or that, if I should exercise more, if I should really be wearing that certain thing with the way my body looks. None of those comments help. Those comments in fact only hurt my self-esteem.

So for years, on top of all the other things I've had to worry about, I also had to carry around this weird self hatred. I preached body confidence and looked in the mirror and hated my own reflection. Sometimes, I still do. And like I said, it started with a girl in the eighth grade making a nasty remark that she probably couldn't remember today if she tried. What you say today will affect someone for the rest of their life. Don't forget that.

It is no one's business how much I weigh, or what I look like, unless I'm dancing naked on main
street, and then the main concern would be public nudity, not the fact that I have a few extra rolls that I have been lamenting for the past year. Being curvy does not equate to being unhealthy. Having cellulite does not mean someone is over weight. Being lanky does not mean someone is anorexic. And what someone else's body looks like is none of your damn business. You know what is your business? Your body. And your life. And your character. It is entirely none of your business what I look like and how much I weigh, because I have a good heart (literally and figuratively!) so stop talking about it like it matters! Let me live my taco bell loving, diet failing body, and I'll afford you the same respect.

"Your body be usable
Your body be suitable
Your body beautiful
You don't need anything different"
-Watsky, "Drunk Text Message to God"