The New Normal

I sat on the floor thinking about how rediculous I must look. Chest to the floor, pajamas on, no bra, and hair that must of looked like hell wound into a tight bun. My ear was pressed to the crack under the door, listening to my parents argue back and forth. Every now and then I found myself closing my eyes and feeling the breeze come through the crack.

Are we all this fucked up? Am I as doomed as the predecessors that gave birth to me?

I chuckled as I thought to myself "and my dad wonderd why I never brought a man home". If only he actually knew that I'd never even been in a real relationship before. "Hmm I wonder why."

I shook my head and continued to focus on the relationship that was unraveling before me.

"I don't understand how you can't see this. Don't you see that you never fall through?" my future step mom choked through her sobs. "You promised me two weeks ago that you would buy a ring. You promised me. And what have you done since then? Nothing."

I could hear my dad focusing on something other than the conversation. It felt as if I could hear his thoughts. "Say something, Daddy. Stick up for yourself. You don't want this." I chanted in my head. Instead he did something that will remember forever.

"Okay. I'll go to the jewelry store today."

I think my eyes almost fell out of their sockets, I rolled them so hard. I turned to my back and looked up to the ceiling. I focused on it's perfectly manicured paint job. I turned to my left and tried to focus on something, anything really, that was not here. I racked my brain for an escape route that couldn't include the front door. My stomach started to growl.

What woman would sit there and basically push a man into buying her a ring? I understand that we all lived together, and that the wedding has been paid for, blah blah blah. But really? If someone is obviously holding reservations you should be running straight for a therapy session.

I thought back to my previous thought to whether or not fuckedup-ness was hereditary and if I was doomed from the get-go. I always wondered why I ran from any man that tried to keep me somewhere for too long. Yet at the same time I hungered for proximity, for want. It ended up just turning into pointless sex.

I lay my hands under my head and cross my feet at the ankles. If anyone where to come through that door they'd find themselves crashing straight into a 115 pound doorstop. Not that anyone would come. No one ever comes in here. When I close that door it's like I'm miles away in my own little safe haven. That is, until I hear screaming and sobbing about wedding plans with no ring. Blah blah blah.

I shook my head again. Picturing an Etch-A-Sketch and giggling. Yeah, I was fucked up alright. I began to think about my life, and what I thought it would be like. My job- event planning, hopefully for a small but popular company here in San Diego. My house- a small apartment shared with a close (and highly organized) friend, clad in the latest Ikea home furnishing. My love life- (queue screeching tire sound) that is a whole other story.

I knew I wanted to be a wedding planner ever since Jennifer Lopez got that heel stuck in that pothole. I've known, for what feels like forever, that I'd be creating woman's number one fairytale day sometime in the future. When I thought about my own special day, however, I always found myself standing alone at the alter. Everything is planned down to a T, but instead, I'm standing by myself, as if not a single thing is missing.

My family upbringing was not something to be desired. A seemingly fucked up child coming from a nasty divorce and an even nastier mother. The thought of marriage both frightened me and comforted me. Deep down I knew my marriage would be a beautiful one. That I would wait, a long long time, and be absolutely sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life with that man. Those gorgeous thoughts were chased away by the other part of me that just keep thinking: "how is it possible that amount of crazy that is your parents, didn't give birth to something more fucked up?" Gee, thanks other me.

I hear the opening and closing of multiple doors and the sound of my dad's voice. "I'm going to go now" he said. They sounded quiet, comtemplative.

"Okay," she said "make sure you close the sliding glass doors."

And just like that, he was gone. He's probably going to tell me some bullshit excuse about how he couldn't break her heart later on. About how she's such a good person, just with insecurities. "We all have insecurities, Daddy" I thought to myself.

I lifted off my back and looked around my perfectly designed room. I really need to get my shit together. But how in hell am I going to get myself out of bed before 12pm?

CC: Everyone

You don't scare me. You did at one point. You made me anxious, and shaky, and you made me want to cry. I was fearful of what you thought. I wanted you to like me. Scratch that, I wanted you to love me. To think about me as much as I thought about you. I was a little obsessed by it, to be completely truthful. I used to imagine one thousand different ways for me to walk into a room. Wind blowing my hair, light shining on me like the Virgin Mary. I used to think of all the ways to make you wonder about me. Ask about me. Talk to me.

But I don't anymore. I don't give two shits about what you think. I don't hope for you to love me, want me, come up to me. You've done absolutely nothing for me to get anything from me. You didn't care, you didn't ask if I was okay. You did nothing but care for yourself like the selfish person you are. I don't owe you anything. I don't owe you explanations, or a god damned second to speak. None of you have done anything for me. I know that for a fact.

I have gotten here completely on my own. I don't remember the last time anyone has asked me if I was okay. If I needed help. If I needed someone to talk to, or hold me if even for a moment. I have spent countless nights crying, stressing, and planning my way out of every single situation without the likes of you. So I don't care anymore.

Because I'm going somewhere without you. Without your help and without your love. And you better fucking believe you
are not worthy enough to let the words that are my name slip through those selfish lips of yours.

Hope.

“Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?” -James Patterson

There's something about hope that both angers and fascinates me. It reminds me of a wheel. Continuous going without end. The anger and frustration comes from my inability to end things. I always find myself deciding to do something, and then somehow talking myself out of it. All these emotions I fall victim to will surely be my downfall. Why is it we continuously fall into the same acts over and over and over again. Obviously I'm referring to my relationships with the opposite sex. They can treat me so horribly and do so much wrong, but with the snap of a finger (or the discovery of a tweet to be exact), I'm sent back into the day dreaming stage. 'What if he is a good guy deep down?' 'What if he didn't mean that?'

The fascination part obviously does not even equal anger. But it is there. We know something is bad for us. We 100% know we shouldn't do something, or feel a certain way. But we do it anyway.

I don't want to want you. Hands down I know you will bring nothing but toxicity into my life. But for some reason, I find myself yearning to learn more about you. To be around you. To be with you. You have given me NOTHING. You have not given me an inkling of a reason to continue on pursuing you. Yet, here I am. And although I'm not physically seeing you, texting you, asking you to hang out, I still find my mind wondering to you a little to much. Still day dreaming scenarios and scenes where you miraculously get to know and learn to love me.

Which is worse? Actually acting knowing you'll bring nothing but trouble? Or laying in bed, thinking up a million ways on how we would meet and you would fall for me again.

I think the latter. Because if it were really happening, despite the fact of it being a treacherous idea, at least I'd know...

..and wouldn't be left to wondering. And hoping.

"D. All of the Above"

"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living.”  -Jonathan Safran Foer

Throughout my life I have had a strange obsession with lists. Bucket lists, lists of things to do, places I want to go, lists of who I think I am. Call it what you will (identity crisis?), but it is undoubtedly one of my favorite things to do. My latest obsession has been figuring out what frightens me the most. Two years ago I probably would have said "being alone" or something equally dramatic. However, these days I welcome solitude. I revel in it. I spend my free time sleeping, reading, or just trying to steady my balance on this thing that has become my life. I now welcome the thought of going home and just shutting the door for a couple hours, and being...me. Obviously it gets a little lonely from time to time, but thankfully there are ways to take care of that.

Today I figured out what I am most scared of. Not ever accomplishing...anything. I go to work five times a week, and the moment I step foot on those grounds, I am overwhelmed by the same feeling everyday. Is this really what it's going to be like for the rest of my life? I look around and realize that 80% of the population probably feel the same way for their entire life.

There are so many things I want to do with my life. But not all of them fit together easily. Another branch that stems off of this particular fear is the opportunity cost of life choice. What am I giving up in order to achieve this goal? Would I be happier with this choice? All of these options I have in life just overwhelm me to the point where I don't end up doing anything. I feel as if I am sitting around waiting for a sign.

They say the fact that we only have one life makes a person want to follow their dreams. As if knowing our impending doom really makes us 'truely live'. If you ask me, it makes me even more nervous. How am I supposed to make a decision and not be afraid that I chose the wrong one?

I'm sorry.

Good God! How often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part. -Alexander Pope

I'm often suprised by just how much the human brain can remember. They say if your brain were compared to a digital video recorder, 2.5 petabytes (or one million gigabytes- the brain's memory storage capacity) would be enough to hold 3 million hours of tv shows. You would have to leave the 'TV' on for over 300 years in order to use up all the storage available. The memories that can be triggered by a single photo have always fascinated me. I can remember outfits, weather, what we ate that day, and just how long I cried on a single date. I can probably remember the first words you've ever spoken to me, or what I felt the first time I met you.

When you think of memories off the top of your head, the best ones probably come to mind first. It's like you're fast forwarding through a VHS tape, and only seeing the glimpse of emotions playing off an array of faces. You see your mother gushing, your dad clapping, your sister cheering, and your best friends laughing. You remember dances, lunchtime gossip, pep rallies, your little sister's sweet sixteen, and your first slow dance. When my friends come into town, we spend hours and hours laughing about people we dated for 36 hours, the first time we got drunk together, our first tearful heartbreaks, and just how much everything has changed. With the arrival date of my best friend's fast approaching, I decided to crack open the old photo albums, and log onto old accounts.

You'd think going through my old photos would be an overall joyful feeling. But as I scrolled through 100 pages of photos, I couldn't help but become more saddened with the click of every button. You never realize how many friends have come and gone until you look at a small amount of pictures that span through a long period of time. When you take a closer look at the things you normally pass by, you can't help but notice the girl who brought you Wendy's frosties when you were sick for a week. Or the girl who held you for an hour when you showed up late to fourth period crying in seventh grade. You realize that there were some people you should have held onto, and some who you were grateful to let go of. Wounds that never fully healed are reopened, and you yearned for things you onced loved long ago.

I never thought I could regret so many things within an hour. There are so many goodbyes I wish I could have said properly. And so many "I'm sorry's" I wish I could just belt out without sounding like a complete fool. There are people you hurt, and people who hurt you. The worst part is, there is a side of me that knows I will never have the courage to own up to my mistakes. Everything feels so semi-permanent when you're young. We walked around in this alternate reality, thinking we were forever invincible and never wrong. All the time. We were so proud and so unwilling to say two words that could have made an entire difference. Not even knowing that a smill 'tiff' could potentially end in something much more.

I have had so many priviledges in my life. I have loved and been loved. I have been provided for and now am able to provide for myself. There are things back then that were so important, that sometimes I wish I knew at the time.

"Everything was simple. And nothing hurt."

I never believed in 'no regrets'. I always felt like regretting was a way of recognizing something you did wrong. And hopefully a way for you to learn how to appreciate the things you have now. I am saddened by friendships that have passed, losing things I was solely supposed to protect, and just not loving things I should have. But I guess that's life. And life can have a fucked up way of teaching you things sometimes. But hey, at least I learned, right?

the Anatomy of a Machine

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body. -C.S. Lewis

My bones have become heavy with thoughts, doubts, and long lists of things to do. My skin is rough from the harsh things I have endured in my time. My hands are trained for hard work. They welcome sweat, stress, and obstacles..as if they were home. My legs have walked this earth for almost twenty years. My back is the equivalent of an adult twice my age. The curve and impressions in my spine show how I've been living. Difficult yet managable. Heavy yet possible. Permittable, yet detrimental. My brain, once so quick to respond, now runs at the sight of any altercation.

I'm growing older and older, every day. As I carry down the list of these mundane tasks, I'm only working my body closer to death. Each day everything works a little less. My bones become weaker. My skin loses life and softness. My hands begin to hurt. My legs beg for me to stay in bed longer. Just five minutes, please? My back whines for a massage. For a caressing touch. Something so different from the demands of my everyday life. My spine craves support. My body craves support. I crave support. Maybe if I had someone to carry my baggage for just a little while...I could get a little rest? I don't really know how much longer the parts of this machine can hold. My body has proved strong enough to carry the weight of my daily routines so far...but just enough for that. Anything else added onto this pile of problems...I'm afraid...will not hold.

Simple

1. Change yourself
2. You are in control
3. Forgive and let go
4. Without action you aren't going anywhere
5. Take care of this moment
6. Everyone is human
7. Persist
8. See the good in people & help them
9. Be congruent, be authentic, be your true self
10. Continue to grow and love