Today has just been filled with absolute excitement from the beginning. First, my laptop crashed last night, so I’m taking it to Best Buy today after work. Woo. Party.
Second, work was busy in the morning and now quiet in the afternoon so I’ve blazed a fiery trail through some paperwork and filing to help a coworker. Crazy. Fucking. Shit.
Third, I finished my Netflix show I’ve been binge watching (Bates Motel) accidentally so I’ve been researching what show to start next. Riveting conversational points. I know.
Finally, I might go over to the new comic book store after work and get a new comic book to read at work tomorrow. Insanity.
It’s been a bit of an uneventful day, as you can tell (unless my sarcasm is too thick for you), which is both a good thing and well a boring thing.
I got some really great advice, however, when I went to visit my Grandma yesterday after work. She said in reference to me picking up a new hobby, “Well, you just gotta do it, Hope, if it’s what you want to do.” Thanks, Shia LeBouf Grandma. Thanks.
The process of getting your hair done is a state of being. Nothing else quite like it and it’s genuinely a full body and mind experience that yes, can just be something that you do “for funsies” or whatever. But for me, no, my hair changes when I need to change. It’s a physical representation of my growing pains as I’m desperately trying to grow the fuck up but not look like I’m trying too hard to get there.
A hair cut is a freshening up, spring cleaning of my person and it helps me clear out whatever I’ve been working through and move the fuck on. On to something new onto something that needs more of my attention than my relationship anxieties than my fear of being lied to than X, Y, and Z.
This hair dye and hair cut mean something to me. They are a physical manifestation of my fervent hope that my anxieties will lessen. Perhaps without the loud, bright red hair that I’ve had, I can be more quiet, more calm, and relaxed about the unavoidable uncertainties of my life here on planet Earth.
I mean, I hope it does.
In the silence of the moment is when I feel like I cry the most. The unavoidability of everything that’s been running through my head is suffocating and makes me realize how toxic a place my brain is. My thoughts processes swirl with anxiety and fear and wanting to feel anything but the angst and anger I feel towards myself.
I don’t know exactly where this mentality came from. I didn’t have a scarring childhood, nor did I have THAT many horrible experiences in my youth. But maybe that’s just it. It wasn’t ONE event that made me think in this horrible way, perhaps a culmination of tiny events that have shaped my view of the world and of myself.
You see, to me, if I let the horrible part of my thoughts take over, the world hates me and everyone in it is just lying to me, pretending they love me. And my evil side thinks that I’m just a desperate joke. Crying too much and running after love that I’ll never truly receive because really, who would ever actually love me.
It’s horrible right?
I need to start going back to therapy. I had to stop at the end of the school year because I was going through my school for free therapy. My therapist recommended some new people I could go see, but there’s a whole fear in that. What if I don’t click with this person like I did with my previous therapist? What if they DO think I’m crazy and need more help? Etc, etc, etc.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, I don’t like this, but I at least want to fight it. I just don’t know how. It’s honestly a struggle to have your brain at war with itself and pretend like everything is okay. But here I am, trying to be okay.
I feel like I’ve accidentally turned into a Bed and Breakfast. Yesterday, I came home after work and a dentist appointment and my lovely boyfriend had spent the day lounging about my house, eating, showering, watching Netflix, and relaxing. I was more than elated to see him even if had made me giggle a little bit that he’d been relaxing in my house, by himself all day.
Last night, he couldn’t spend the night again and me, fearing the dark and being alone, invited my friend to spend the night. We had spaghetti and drank wine and caught up on life because we hadn’t seen each other since early January, but then I left this morning after having made her coffee, given her doughnuts, cleaning the bathtub so she could use a bath bomb and relax, and leaving a key for her to lock the door behind her.
Again, the idea that she’s at my house just relaxing enjoying her morning makes me giggle a little bit and feel only a little weird, but this girl has been my friend for years so I trust her and I know she’s not gonna burn the house down.
Even still, it’s an odd and funny situation that I’ve deeply enjoyed and gotten some joy out of.
Who knows? Maybe this is who I should’ve been all along! Just a Bed and Breakfast host. I bet I’d make fucking bank.
Today I feel relaxed. I genuinely do. That’s not an easy thing for me to feel lately, so that’s why I feel like it’s note worthy. I relaxed all day at my friend’s house after I’d done some chores around my house and then I fell asleep next to my love and woke up with him beside me.
It’s the little things like that I suppose, but I just feel so rested and so loved and so relaxed. It’s like that’s what weekends are for or something.
It gets so hard for me to shut my brain off, but yesterday it felt like I did. I did laundry, did some dishes, washed my sheets (one of my favorite things, mind you), bought myself a new Betsy Johnson backpack, got a birthday present for a friend, dusted, and I did all while smiling and feeling calm. Like I said, I’m so surprised by how happy and relaxed I am today! A Monday of all days!
Work has given me stuff to do, as well, to keep my hands busy enough for my mind to wander and it just wanders back to what a lovely day yesterday was which keeps me smiling and pleased.
I always wish I could be home with my love, all wrapped up in each other, but for now I can just daydream about it alongside how lovely Sunday was. That’s good enough for me.
Frustration can be almost as debilitating as a mental illness or a broken bone. In fact, it’s often associated with fierce times in one’s life.
As I become closer to my boyfriend and we’ve stayed together longer, the growing pains have begun to be felt. Where little things just build up into a frustrating pile of shit that you don’t want to acknowledge but is so hard to ignore.
It puts a strain on the relationship even if it’s just the external forces surrounding the relationship that are causing the frustration. More so, the refusal to talk about the problems hurts. My feelings are important. And it’s not my boyfriend’s refusal to talk, it’s my own.
I don’t want to acknowledge my problems, my illnesses, my qualms. Because of some ancient guilt complex, built into the very fiber of my being. I feel guilty for feeling frustrated. I feel guilty for wanting attention and wanting to talk. I feel like I’m wasting breath and that eventually no one, including he, will care.
It’s a toxic thought process, but it’s mine.
So when I melted into a puddle of tears last night over Facetime, sobbing over every detail of the past two weeks, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Feel guilty, because it felt good to cry and it felt good to complain and it felt good to get everything out there for him to take it or leave it.
And he took it. And then he told me he loved me. For the billionth time.
And it’s moments like last night, that convince me, that maybe – just maybe – this guy is gonna be it.
He’s the only one that always knows what to say and when he doesn’t have anything to say, that’s says everything.
I am perpetually needy. That person that needs constant affirmation and attention. Some might say it’s a problem of mine as far as my intimate relationships go, but I’m trying to see it not as a problem but one of capabilities instead.
I want to talk to my boyfriend as much as I can, not out of jealousy, but because I love hearing from him and I feel close to him when I see a text from him. Because some times we go days without seeing each other and it gets hard. We’ve been spoiled in that sense, the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other has been 5 days. But nonetheless, when I have to go without seeing him, I get needy. I have demands.
Text me when you get home.
I miss you, tell me about your day.
Baaaaaaabeeee love meeee
Are some of the frequent messages he gets from me.
How can I help it? He’s kind of my other half and I feel weak or unfeminist for saying that but it’s how I feel. I’m still a full person, but goddam does he make me feel alive and I love him for that and I want to talk him.
So I’m needy.
Oh, No One. What trouble I’ve gotten myself into this time. I seem to have done something truly horrendous. I’ve fallen in love.
It’s awful I know.
It’s still weird for me to say it, let alone write out. But the fact remains.
It’s been a while since we’ve talked, my dear, yes, but I won’t bore you with the gross details of how it’s all come about. Not tonight.
Tonight, I wanted to tell you and to tell myself.
We all know that I’m an innately selfish creature, but with this particular one. This person. This human. I’m truly struggling with that facet of my personality.
There’s a fine line between selfishness required in a relationship and selflessness required in a relationship. Learning to understand how complex and different and needing of different things and not understanding other things my human is has been quite a challenge for me, someone who has in the past so desperately tried to separate the people in my life into the ones who are in it and the one who are not, and the people who I like and the people I don’t. Trying to understand someone AND love them past those points has been a struggle.
No, grander than a struggle. A vital battle that my own subconscious demanded I fight in.
You see, this human, is just so wonderful and beautiful and complex that my heart can’t bear to place him in a box. My soul craves understanding of his complexities even if doing so makes me second guess myself and stand back and observe my own insecurities.
You see, I think my selfishness is rooted in a place of doubt and insecurity in others who I’ve trusted in the past that have broken that trust. It’s a lot easier to shove someone in a box and never let their words touch you than to experience someone’s vulnerability and show them your own and let their words touch you in so many beautiful ways only to hope that their kindness never leaves.
Because that’s just it, my heart and soul want to fly and be free and live where I am no longer attached. Yet my brain and obsessive compulsive nature demand normalcy and regularity.
Balance is what my life needs to focus on right now. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to reach a happy and comfortable place with my human until I – we – my brain and my heart – find that balance. Find that compromise and agreement to what I truly need from this life.
P.S. Do you see why I feel like I need to start blogging again?