in list not paragraph form.

giving the canadian my silver bracelet.
ever moving to leave.
saying no that last time.
ending that one friendship.
that one secret I should never have shared.
answering the phone.
not answering the phone.
not calling.
talking so much, and so little.
learning how to be vague.
getting comfortable with lying.
fear.

no fair.

just a little existential crisis

I feel like everything that has ever made me interesting, or unique, an individual, is gone.

What do I have to offer? I have a desire to stand out, and to be someone but I don't do anything about it and I feel like that makes me very common. I grew up with a certain standard that I was either supposed to live up to or at least appear to live up to. For awhile that was enough. I could fulfill my parents expectations and I was accountable to them for my  actions. In reality I learned how to paint a picture that they would accept. Somewhere along the line though I stopped portraying myself to them as who they wanted me to be. They still had a picture to view but it was no longer what they desired. Long story and pointless reflections aside I feel like I've been acting forever. I don't feel like I have any notable opinions, I feel like I'm constantly losing intelligence, I don't really care if my life is in a downward spiral, or at a stand still. I'm stuck. I'm stuck here because I'm not going to change anything. I don't make a difference in any persons life. I'm not going to go out and make improvements to the world. I'm not going to amount to anything. If I stay in this state of mind. I just can't find the switch. I see normal everyday people and they get up and they have lives, jobs, school, and they participate in them. Whether they want to, or have to they actively participate in things. That seems pretty basic to me, it's animal instinct, it's survival. I am not surviving. I am not living. I'm floating along, with a picture for everyone else to see so that  no one will interfere with me trying not to exist.

I know what I have to do, but I can't commit to myself that I'll ever do anything about it.

Why I'll probably end up being alone

I don't know how to be a girlfriend. I have been labeled "girlfriend" but really..

I know how to be the girl who has SOOO many reasons to say no.
or
I know how to be the girl you don't really tell anyone about because it's not a real relationship anyways


...

Which love?

My friend was trying to explain to me that I will eventually realize that I am not really in love because she is realizing that. Her explanation was that when asked why you loved this person none of the reasons could relate back to you. For example, "He makes ME feel...." or "I love the way he does... for ME." The only flaw in her explanation is that my case of love I hardly ever define with ME things.

"I love his personality." I said when she asked me to explain.

"But what about it, now you have to define it, you can't see so it's not real!"

"No.. I think.. I love his opinions, and his view of the world. I love the perspective he brings to a conversation. I love his interests, and his talents. I love the colors he chooses to wear, and the colors he doesn't like...."

She stopped me here cause it was getting ridiculous and her point was obviously lost but I kept thinking about it. This girl who for the last 8 months has been swearing up and down that she was in love is now trying to explain why it wasn't real. Either because she finally sees that it wasn't or in my opinion: It's easier to believe that a lost love was never love, than to feel lost after real love.

but which love is real love?

There is the case of the boy who loves a girl for five years with nothing to go off of, and so many rejections and absolutely no reciprocation. In short unrequited love. and young love. and old love. and secret love. and you get it.

And how do you show REAL love?

service? terms of endearment? deep conversation? sex?

I have all these ideas about what love might be, or should be, or may have been but when I find myself actually thinking "I am in love," the circumstances never fit into plans, or stories, or self help books. I've never had a moment where I thought "wow this love is so cliche" because even those moments come at times, and in places, and with people, that are just so unexpected, and outside of any box or quote book.

"We're all just as lost in love, as we are out." -someone said it I bet.

Can you over dose on melatonin?

There is something important going on. There has got to be an equal reaction to every action. So if I come home from a date and start sobbing on my parents floor there has had to of been an action equal to cause this reaction. What I cannot decide is if it is the crying and sobbing and depression that is important or the actions that brought it on. Also, why is it that I can't point at one action and say "yes this is what has made me feel like less of a person today." This leads me to believe that crying is a very big deal. Especially if it has taken a series, even a handful of events and actions to bring me here.

Every girl gets crossed with love. Even the never been kissed girl is crossed either by the unattainable or imagined. So the story of "I was young and in love" and the mistakes that follow has been told; not once but millions of times and in so many ways. It is frustrating to watch and so easy to figure out when you're just an observer. In the Pride and Prejudice type of love story everyone just needed to communicate better. In (500) Days of Summer he just needed to get over it and not get involved. ETC.

No one gets a choice though. While you're in your own love story it doesn't matter how similar it is to ones you've critiqued and haggled you cannot see it for what it is and there is no logic or reasoning that can help you out. The only sure thing is it is going to come with mistakes. With almost perfections, and mistakes. 

I do not think I am in love. I think that I think I am in love, a lot. With different people, at different times, even multiple people at the same time. Yet, right now, in the middle of an emotional break down, I do not think I am in love. I think I want to be in love, and I want to be loved, and I'm searching for SOMETHING if not love. I just do not know why. I did not wake up today or any day and say I want to punish my parents for being young and irresponsible when they had me. Or that I wanted to be intimate with someone who I sometimes think I am in love with so that I can be happy for a second. My mom would say I am self medicating my depression. But this morning I did not feel depressed. I was happy with life this morning. So does that mean I am not content with contentment?

I do not pretend to know what I need or what is wrong or what I can do.

Prescription for "teen angst," please?

I feel nauseous. In the pit of my stomach there is acid, and fire. Not only dizzy but my world is spinning.. and tossing and turning, the worst kind of motion sickness. My chest, right where my heart must be is the strangest pain, it hurts, not in a sharp way but in a constant.. almost ice like throbbing. Also it hurts my head to think about anything at all.

In other words I feel awful. And I'd really like to know what a doctor would say if I checked myself in.

But I know where I contracted this disease.

When you fall in love, the kind that has to end and you know it because it has ended, it's like getting in an accident with a lot of glass. At first you can see the damage. All of the glass is sticking out of your face and your skin, it's in your hair, lodged in your arm, etc. Then you remove what you can see because that's just not healthy. Now you have all these open bleeding wounds. Still very obvious, very big, a great huge deal, and not something you're gonna run around sharing with people because it's gross and it will freak them out. Once it starts closing up though, you're very proud of it, you have great scars, you want everyone to see. People start to get sick of being told the story behind the scars, and they don't want to be shown any more scars you've just noticed, or whatever. Then to your great dismay the scars begin to fade, for whatever reason... completely healing, closing up, new skin, it's over. You stop telling stories, you move on and you think the "accident" is far behind you. BUT then months later/years later you look in the mirror and you're completely in shock. A piece of glass is working it's why out of your skin! You can't even just pull it out because it hurts too much and everything around it is healed... That's exactly like waking up and realizing that you still love some one a bit, somewhere inside of you, and there is nothing you can do about it until all the little pieces have worked themselves out.

So this disease is a side affect of a huge accident, involving glass, and the shards I'm currently dealing with slowly escaping my heart.

I still wonder what the doctor would prescribe though.

Um tolo ama o tolo que partiu seu coração.

Destination: Provo

I was thinking today. "I'm moving to Provo." And while I'm really very excited for this it also started something short of a panic attack.

I'm moving to Provo, land of the barbies, and BYU-ites, and everything that I have learned to hate in Utah. It's a beauty contest, a hole of anti-depressants, and plastic surgery. I know I can deal with that, I always have but I'm  also moving in with the most competitive  roommate ever. She's competitive in a stressful way, while helping you want to be a better person, it's impossible to keep up with her, causing a constant headache and sense of unease when around her.  Still, I can deal with this too. She's a great friend and I'm used to her.

The thing that was really bothering me was the feeling of "going back" to Utah. I feel like I'm going to my high school reunion, all I'm missing is the time in between where you have the chance to stop caring what your high school crowd thinks. That and how the hell did I get here?

This was supposed to be the summer after my third year of college. I was supposed to go up to USU have a blast at college life, exceed in all of my classes, and be on track to have a major in Journalism and a minor in Anthropology. College didn't happen the way I planned it though. Instead of owning the school I was swept into the crowd of girls with self esteem issues, and depression. After a few wrong choices I was overwhelmed sleeping through classes and driving hours to visit my pot smoking loser boyfriend. Not my finest hours.

Despite all the goodbyes I should of given, and the feelings I hurt, falling of the grid and escaping to VA was the only smart thing I did during that time. It's taken me the whole time to figure out that I really did need this time to think and evaluate myself and my future. I have a plan, its realistic, and I feel like I've made it out of a big mess. At least I'm on the right path to clean it all up.

So panic attack avoided, and long story short, I'm excited to be moving to Provoland, and to be getting a degree and my Paralegal Certificate. I really am.

An attempt

Waiting: the middle part of a story. It's the longest part that gets cut out in editing. The days that stay in bed, or days spent staring at hands, or out the window, or past the eyes of people talking. It's the moments spent deciding not to call back, or not to answer the phone, or to get into the car, or close your eyes, right before you do. It's telling yourself over and over that "this is the plan" before something changes and the plan is canceled out. So much time is spent waiting for the right moment to stop waiting. It's always: I'll start this change at the beginning of the week, or after this big event, or before some other forced change. That’s why New Year’s is so appealing. It’s the ultimate fresh start to delete everything that came before. “The year 2025 was the beginning of everything new and wonderful.” That’s the big wish. What usually happens is on some random Wednesday night we realize that if we don’t get off our ass nothing is going to happen and then things will start working out for a bit until they stop again and we forget to keep moving. Or nothing. Waiting can be a permanent state.

 People remember when the big things happen. And that’s what we fight for: the memorable stuff. I’ve started to think that as long as we can figure out how to stop waiting the best parts can be the moving parts before and after the parts that everyone else cares about.

Not productive.

I'm going to take everything I know that conflicts and contradicts each other into a hat and in another hat I'm going to put every single plausible life track I can think of.


and then I'm going to burn both hats, and do something else.

missing person.

It isn't normal to say yes to a complete stranger, just at all.

For example:
Do you live here?
Can I have your phone number?
Would you like to walk down a dark alley way over there with me?

Just as a general rule saying no to strangers is safer.
So.. when this guy asked this girl to be his girlfriend, and she had the thought "I don't really know this guy" that should of been a clue as to what her answer should of been.

However, she said yes.

to be continued

I was going to delete this blog cause it's stupid and I forget it exists.
BUT I wanted to say some things to no one in particular.
SO this is perfect.

I  do not like being called "lady friend"
I hate the word panties 
I am not a singer, a guitar player, or musically talented in any way
I am not a straight A student
just because I got my associates degree out of high school does NOT mean I must be super smart
I will argue about it but I don't care about your political views/religious
Being called princess is oddly satisfying
Being called doll is not.
I am not so thrilled about being some one's girlfriend.
Smoking marijuana is stupid.
Smoking tobacco is worse.
I am afraid of stuff.

front porch-itis

I  miss the me that was walking down Newcastle wondering what my first kiss would be like.
She was funny. And she hated talking to people who were "in love."
I still hate those people. I guess I have less of a right to.

But you're still all idiots.

The future

It is your parents fault.

If you end up a drug runner, with an incurable addiction to meth, and debt collectors calling you 24/7.

or

If you're pregnant at 18

or

If you sleep with your spouses entire family male and female. (in other words you're a whore)

And here's why. Those parents were judgmental and religious. Be they Baptist, LDS, Jewish? Anything with enough wiggle room that you can rebel. Your parents didn't know how to love you, or raise you, and they probably had favorites. The favorite didn't end up any happier than the ones that were shunned or ignored.

That's their other problem. It's your parents fault because they were strict but they also ignored the real problems. They didn't talk about anything uncomfortable, they gave you a book when you asked about sex. They believed you when you said you must of missed them when they couldn't find you the night you snuck out.

There is a whole generation raised by these types of people. And now they're raising us.

I may not ever have kids.

He was bludgeoned.

I've got nothing clever or smart or witty to say. I'm just going to say whatever the hell comes out of my mouth (or off the keys).

 If you are a smoker and you are addicted to smoking then I wish you well. I don't care if you get cancer, or kill your unborn children, or smell like an ashtray.. or any other trivial non-related to me problem. But when I have to walk by you and have an asthma attack as in you take away my right to breathe... it gets personal. It gets personal and it's a right at this moment I'm going to die personal. Not like in 10 years I'll have cancer... which will then be personal but it'll be hard to prove. Right now you are killing me. So I've decided : if you are smoking near me, around me, or in any vicinity that causes me to stop having the ability to breathe unaided and freely, I  get to bludgeon you to death with a baseball bat. I even have sound logic and reasoning to back up this decision.

1) your smoking is killing me.. so I get to defend myself.
2)you are killing me because smoking makes you feel good/better/relaxed/calm ... beating you to death with a bat will do very similar things for me.
3)you are killing me because you're addicted to smoking ... I'm addicted to beating your face in.
5) also I'm addicted to breathing... you are hindering my addiction. Imagine all the nicotine on the planet just disappeared. Major bummer. you'd probably kill to get it back. That's just like me.. only with oxygen.


So smokers,  future serial killers that kill smokers with bats, and future prosecutors who use this as evidence to frame me for their crimes... just stay out of my air space.