12/28/18 part two

I never realize how much shit I have until I’m getting ready to move. And then all of a sudden, it becomes painfully obvious that I have a ton of shit. Every time I move, I clear it out. I donate the clothes I have no interest in wearing, I sell the things that are collecting dust in storage bins or closets. Yet every time I move, there’s always more. More shit. More clothes that I ordered online out of impulse and then didn’t love it as much in person as I thought it would, but didn’t return it because I might wear it for SOMETHING. I often complain that I don’t have the funds to travel, and yet I look at all this shit that I’ve purchased over the last year and a half and most of it I don’t actually use. How much money is hanging in this closet? In a moment, I felt that I needed it. In a moment, I felt that I would wear it. And I never did. Those moments that I thought would come never did, and that’s how I have a closet full of clothes and yet nothing to wear on some days. It’s batshit.

We’re basically programmed to shop. Advertising is everywhere. I’m slowly beginning to unplug from it. Working in luxury retail hasn’t helped me much. I begin to catch myself thinking about everything that I need for my work wardrobe. Not necessarily the brands that we sell at work, but just things I can buy to make myself look better. Constantly upgrading. Constantly buying new outfits so that I don’t become the girl who wears the same 5 outfits every week. I had to stop. I had to stop online shopping with a glass of wine after work, and I had to remind myself that even though my coworkers see me wear the same outfits every week, the customers don’t necessarily see that.

Plus, it doesn’t matter. I make $20/hour and because of where I work, it’s easy to try on the Gucci belt or the Jimmy Choo’s and think, “After my discount, I could pay this off with a couple of paychecks.” It’s stupid. It’s SO stupid. I make $20/hour! Why in the world should I be stretching the leftover money I have into designer shit that I would only wear to work — because I feel like a fraud wearing it anywhere else — when I could be throwing the few hundred into my savings account??

I’m currently planning a trip to Iceland with one of my best friends and her husband, and that’s helped keep me in check. I’m so excited for this trip. We’re tentatively going January 2020, and probably booking the flights and everything this summer. I’m so excited to see the northern lights and hike the ice caverns and yes, even take some swimsuit photos in Blue Lagoon for good ol’ instagram, that now when I look at something I want, I think, Does this matter more than a horseback tour? Or a whale-watching trip? Or eating at a nice restaurant in Reykjavik? Nine times out of ten, no. My wanderlust is much stronger than my materialism.

My materialism continues to diminish the older I get. My teenage self would be so obsessed with where I’m at right now, but I’m just like, Get me out of here. I want to move to Colorado like everybody else my age, and spend some goddamn time outside. I want to laugh. I want to not start my day with three cups of coffee and a pound of makeup. I want to set all the high heels that I own on fire. I want a job that doesn’t make me think about jumping off the roof every hour.

Sometimes I think taking a hiatus from social media would be good for me, but at the same time, I like creating content. I like messing around with new photo filter apps and posting to instagram. I like plugging my writing. (Although there hasn’t been much this year to plug). Yet at the same time, I hate how fucking shallow it all is. Everything revolves around it. We’re all just keeping up with the Jones’. Betty posted about her engagement so Erica has to take pictures with her left hand in front of everything to remind the world that she too is engaged. Meanwhile there’s single people (like myself) rolling their eyes whenever another cheesy engagement posts pops up on their news feed. So excited to spend the rest of my life with my best friend and love of my life! I’m so blessed that this man found his way into my life!! If I had a dollar for every time I sigh heavily and tell my dog that I’m going to die alone, I wouldn’t be stressed about my budget for my upcoming Iceland trip. 

On an older, now deceased, version of this blog, I once wrote that my priorities changed after I attempted suicide. And they did. I still stand by that. As I slowly rose out of my depression,  I realized that there is a lot more to being alive than just what people think of you. It’s one of those cliche moments. It took a near-death experience to make me wake the fuck up, but it kind of did. I have a strong faith in the power of the universe and existence but I’m not big on believing in miracles, but the reason I’m still alive was almost an act of god. The person that showed up at my apartment had absolutely no reason to, he just had a feeling. I’m supposed to be here. I have no fucking clue why, but I am.

So I’m trusting my gut. Listening to my heart. Trying to spend more time with the people I find fascinating who set my soul on fire and want to travel the world with me. Meanwhile, I really need to start cleaning out my closets again so that when I finally pull the trigger on this move, I’m ready to go.

Wine Drunk on a Monday

So, to state the obvious, I haven’t written much recently. I mean, duh, I haven’t posted anything in for-fucking-ever, everyone who reads this blog knows I haven’t written anything long form recently. And even with my poetry, it’s not original. It is, it’s my work. But it’s from old emotions and shit I felt 1+ years ago, and it just doesn’t feel authentic.
I haven’t even really had writers block either, I’ve had ideas of things to write, things to discuss. I’m just at this point in my life where I don’t feel like what I think matters. It’s part of the reason why I don’t tweet that much anymore. I used to live-tweet situations. It was mildly obnoxious, but looking back on my timehop is hysterical because here are these quotes from moments I would have otherwise forgotten about. But now? When I want to bitch on twitter, I think, “Oh my god, nobody cares, just get over it,” and when I want to celebrate an accomplishment, I think, “Oh my god, nobody cares,” It’s this endless cycle of wanting to communicate but feeling like my voice doesn’t matter, and that nobody is listening. So why put in the effort?
I’ve grown up so much over the past couple of years, and I love it. I have my mini-meltdowns about how the hell I’m ever going to be able to afford to fully support myself and buy a new car, and live in a decent place, but overall, you couldn’t pay me to give this all up. I really feel like I have an actual life and that’s the most incredible thing. I look back on my younger self and I cringe. Not because of what I struggled with, but with how I dealt with it. I bragged of being “mature for my age,” yet coped with very serious issues in an extremely immature way. It’s hard to regret it though, because I grew through that and into the woman I am now, and I know I wouldn’t be this version of myself if I hadn’t gone through all of that in the way that I did.
I don’t know. I want to write. My dream since I was a little girl is to eventually have a hard copy of something with my name on it. I want to be published. But I suck at writing fiction, and I can’t help but think that my blog posts are just the voice of another white girl who used to drink too much and once attempted suicide. None of it feels original. None of it feels special. I don’t think I’m some literary genius whose words will touch people. I’m just a normal person, and after years of trying to convince myself that I was special and unique and going to live some incredible life, admitting to being normal feels somewhat comforting. Maybe that’s what this is all about?
Lately I’ve been finding a lot of joy in just being a good friend to people. Making people laugh is one of my favorite things. I like being real and genuine, and I think maybe that’s what’s always made me a decent writer. I’m very in touch with my emotions and I’m not afraid to just say what I feel. I’m very genuine, and have found it’s actually really fucking hard  for me to lie nowadays.
I changed positions at work recently, and walking away from sales was incredibly clarifying for me, and I think that if I had stayed in that position for much longer, I might have gotten totally wrapped up in materialism.  I even told my manager that if I didn’t get the promotion, then I would probably leave because I just didn’t see myself there anymore. While I’m a sucker for a good pair of shoes, at the end of the day, the name on the stuff in your closet doesn’t fucking matter. I’m now working in operations, doing a lot of tedious things, but it feels more like me.
I turned 26 last month and I’ve just been reflecting a lot and laughing at my younger self. It cracks me up. I remember being younger and thinking, “I’m NEVER going to get married and have kids! I want a fabulous life!” and literally the only fabulous life I can imagine myself having involves being the matriarch of a family. I couldn’t ever see myself being a mother, and now that’s one of my life goals. I have to be a mom at some point. I’m not in some crazy rush to make it happen tomorrow, I’m aiming for like, my thirties, but I really want to have kids. I should probably find someone to father them, but ya know, we can figure that out later. #singleaf.
Also, where the fuck did the past twenty-six years go? HOW AM I THIS OLD? I mean, I understand logically how I am this old, but HOW? Also, why are all of my friends married or engaged? Did I miss some memo that we all need to be hitched by now? Because I’m obviously failing miserably at that. Which, I would like to rant about for a bit, so buckle up.
The other day, someone mentioned to me that I used to date a lot. I basically had back-to-back relationships when I was younger. I was rarely single. I’ve been single for most of the past five years of my life. I’ve dated people, felt nothing, and walked away. I don’t think it’s necessarily that I’m avoiding dating, I think it’s more that I have higher self-esteem and higher standards for the men that I date. I want to have something in common with them. I keep going out with these guys who look at me like I’m some magical unicorn and it freaks me out. I’m not special, as I already said. Also I somehow wound up dating a guy who doesn’t listen to music recently and that’s one that really baffles me. My hobby is literally going to concerts and I was dating someone who didn’t listen to music. Wut.
I’m fine on my own. I wouldn’t MIND having someone but I’m so much happier on my own than in a mediocre relationship (isn’t everyone?) and I’m sick of listening to veiled jabs at my relationship status. I’m single, so what? I’m happy. Isn’t that what really matters here?
I realize this is such a rambling rollercoaster, but I haven’t written in SO LONG and this is just what’s been on my mind lately. Thank you for witnessing this clusterfuck of a blog post while I take out a bottle of wine.

TL;DR: I feel like I am a fraud of a writer, but life is going pretty decently otherwise. So, yay?

Just keep smiling.

“He’s kicking your ass and you just keep smiling and laughing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a client smile so much during a training session before.”

Das me. I’m a smiler. I work very hard to keep my mind positive even in the face of adversity. I smile when I’m cleaning, when I’m gaming, when I’m working out, even when I’m sore as hell.

I started with a personal trainer today because I’m diving head first into lifting. It’s been so long since I’ve felt comfortable in a weight room, and this summer I decided to put my health first and throw some of my well earned savings account money into a new gym and a few training sessions.

Despite the fact that once upon a time, football players and wrestlers used to refer to me as ‘The Beast,’ I am currently very weak. That’s not an exaggeration. I’m weak. It’s annoying. But! I’ve put my body through hell over the past few years by partying and by measuring my health by the number on the scale instead of strength and energy levels. I was thin, but I wasn’t healthy. Then I wasn’t thin, but I was much healthier. Now I’ve leaned out a bit, and I’m trying to get my muscle mass back. It won’t happen overnight, but I’m already so glad I decided to commit to lifting again. I missed it so much.

It’s frustrating, and I’m vocal about it to my trainer and the other guys who were chatting us up in between reps and exercises. I used to have a decent bench and squat, and now I struggle with just finishing a set. Yes, it pisses me off. But muscle doesn’t grow in five seconds, and I’m doing what I can just by being back in a gym again. I’m not going to spend the whole time scowling and being angry. More often than not, anger is a total waste of energy.

So I joke about it. I poke fun at myself. I smile and laugh and keep my head up. Someone once told me that when I smile, I become a giant ball of sunshine. I want to be that constantly. I’m happy. There are things in my life that I want to improve and still need to work on, but for the most part, I’m a happy person. Which is hilarious because I used to be a pessimist who thought that I couldn’t ever be happy while single. Well hey, look at me over here proving myself wrong. It’s great.

It sounds so cliché, but when you fall in love with yourself, it’s really hard for the trivial shit to get you down.

I’ll get stronger. I’m already making progress.

I’m going to get a job. I JUST graduated a little over a week ago. I’m allowed some time to chill out before jumping back into a hectic schedule.

Eventually I’ll meet someone I click with that doesn’t think I’m too weird or too nerdy or too much and who wants me in their life.

Until then, I’m just gonna keep laughing and smiling.

Quit the bullshit.

I think one of the most interesting things that has happened to me as I’ve gotten older is my shift in perception. I feel like I view everything so differently than I used to. And yes, obviously some of that is just typical growing up and forming your own opinions, but it’s also a product of the things that happen to you. Nobody makes it to twenty-five without something that changed them. Mine is obvious, it’s something I’ve written countless pieces about and still makes me look at the world a little differently: my war with mental illness. I’m still getting used to living in the sunshine that only exists in a mentality that doesn’t suffer from clinical depression.

One thing that tagged along with my depression was some severe body image issues.  This has been something that’s affected me for a long time, and part of that is being female, and the other part is being a perfectionist who always wants to be the best.  Newsflash: perfect doesn’t exist.

If you’ve known me for longer than about three years, you would know that I gained some weight. Sixty pounds over the course of a year, to be exact. There are reasons this happened, but none of them matter for the purpose of what I want to talk about, or really at all. People gain weight, shit happens.  I had personally never weighed that much, and it freaked me the fuck out.  I went into denial about my weight.  I avoided scales, mirrors, and fitted clothes.  I was so ashamed that I had gained so much, and I truly began to hate my body.  This also lined up with the time that I swore off men, which shouldn’t be a shocker: I was terrified of being naked in front of someone.

I didn’t really start to lose the weight until I got to a much healthier mental state.  It took a while, and that weight lingered and some came off just naturally.  I transferred to a school with a big ass campus that made me walk exponentially more than I was used to walking, and I lost some of the weight just by walking to class.

Eventually I got to a place where I accepted myself. I let go of the demons of my past and I began to let myself start over.  I’ve lost 40 pounds since then. This isn’t really about my *transformation,* it’s just hard to get to my point without giving some background.

I bought shorts last week for the first time in… six years?

I’m not even kidding.  The funny thing is that at one point during those six years where I was refusing to wear shorts, I was the thinnest I have ever been in my life.  Not healthy whatsoever, but thin as fuck.  I remember thinking I looked so fabulous and sexy, and I look back on full body photos of myself from being unhealthily thin, and I am lanky as fuck.  The thing is, I’m not really tall enough to ever be lanky, but that’s just how thin I was.

I’ve gotten to this point where I’m so happy with myself and with my life and what is going on right now that somehow, I have managed to love my body.  It took me twenty-five years, but I did it. I’m not sure I’ve ever been authentically myself until recently, and it’s so liberating and refreshing.

I still want to be stronger.  I want to be able to run farther without stopping and be able to lift higher weights and throw harder punches. But I’m so sick of being hot in the summer from wearing jeans when everyone else is in shorts.  I’m sick of comparing my body, my athletic af, 5’9″ frame that has, what I like to call, linebacker shoulders, to the bodies of my 5’0″ friends who barely hit 110 pounds.  You know when the last time I weighed 110 was? 5th grade.

I was hardcore bullied throughout school for being so pale that I blinded people.  I’m a natural redhead, ya’ll. I’m really white. I get it. But I should still be allowed to wear shorts during a midwestern summer.  I manage to get a little tan, but I never try too hard because it usually comes after burning a few times.  So I didn’t wear shorts because I was too white, and then I didn’t wear shorts because I thought I had thunder thighs. No matter the reason, I was still sweating my ass off during summer.

It’s just bullshit.

I’ve been writing some poetry-esque stuff on my tumblr, and I wrote this thing the other day that I really connected with as it poured out of me.  It was basically about giving up bullshit, and I realized that THAT was the difference between the new and the old me.

I’m over it. All of it.

I’m a very blunt, sarcastic person who likes to poke holes in people’s logic and is a boss at Zelda and tbh, like most people, I’m really fucking weird.  Because that’s what makes us unique as individuals.  I dance, a lot.  I almost always have music playing and I’m always dancing.  I have conversations with my dog, and I’m pretty sure she knows what I’m saying.

Around March or so, maybe early April? I stopped hiding.  I started talking to people who I felt like I had something in common with. I started being more honest about who I am.  I started really getting into my workouts and appreciating the things my body is capable of.  I started loving myself unapologetically.

Fun fact: there was a point in time where I regretted my tattoos because I wasn’t sure that I could actually pull them off, and I felt like I looked stupid.  MY TATTOOS.  You know, the things that I got to mark significant events in my life and things about myself and who I am.  The fact that I have tattoos means I can pull them off.  Plain and simple.

Embrace who you are. Love your body, whether you’ve lost weight or you still want to. This isn’t about some transformation where I now love my body.  That transformation happened because I started to accept myself. Wear what you want, what makes you feel sexy, what makes you feel good. For me, that typically means wearing vans when everyone around me is wearing heels.  It doesn’t make me less feminine or beautiful. It just makes me, well, me.

Love yourself and the world will follow.  You don’t have to have it all perfectly together and know exactly what you’re doing. Embrace the unknown.  Figuring out what happens next is the fun part, because it can be whatever the fuck you want.

I thought I was out of vices to quit, turns out I had one left: bullshit.

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