being an adult

This is 33.

On October 31, I’ll be 33.

I’ll have a few more strands of grey hair. I’ll have another wrinkle between my eyebrows. Another year under my belt. Another year of adventures, experiences and memories. Another year that I survived from this mental hell that I feel daily. I could have died a thousand times, but here I remain among the living. I didn’t think I would live this long. I never expected life to turn out in the way that it did, but in a way life has a way of surprising us.

I will be 33. Further away from my 20’s, even further away from my teen years. Further away from my past and midway into my present. Yet, still I sit here feeling that I have cut myself wide open, exposing all this pain I feel before me. It’s hard for people to read it, it’s hard to people to hear it, and it’s hard for anyone to understand it. Still its hard to say that one day I won’t be here, and one day all I’ll be just a memory to my peers and to my friends. One day I will cut myself deep enough that it will let the light in. At 33, I feel too old to feel this way. Too old to continue feeling each and every single strand of these emotions. Every single pain, every single happiness, every single bit in the emotional spectrum. After 33 years, I am tired.

I spent my 20’s conforming to everyone else’s expectations of me. Doing everything that everyone else wanted and paying no attention to how I was feeling and how it made me feel. I closed myself off from the world and pretended that everything was fine. Getting into my late twenties, I spent those years making up and apologizing. Making it up to everyone that I’ve hurt in the process, apologizing for my actions and the way I am. Once again accommodating my life to everyone else’s expectations and needs. Because to people I am not allowed to be human. I am not allowed to make mistakes and to make attempts to redeem myself from these same mistakes. I am suppose to be happy all the time. I am suppose to make everyone else’s life easier and watch myself fall beneath and in-between the cracks. I have to apologize for being too vocal, too emotional, too contradicting, too human.  Nobody wants to hear when you’re hurting or upset. Nobody wants you to express your emotions in the only way you can. I’ve watched people fade into and out of my life, more times than I can count. I have seen people act differently around me or just ignore me.  I am tired.

All I do is find ways to apologize for who I am. That’s all I can muster up these days. I am sorry for being this way, sorry for who I am, sorry if I have hurt you in any way. I am sorry for my past and sorry for what spills into my present. I feel guilty for feeling all this pain. On average I feel like I am the worst person in the world and everything I do is wrong. I can’t help but feel like the worst daughter/sister/friend and everything I do is wrong. I apologize constantly and people may think it’s insincere but the reality is it’s the most genuine I can be.  It’s this paralyzing fear of letting everyone down and knowing I can’t do anything about it. Yet, all I do is spend the next year doing everything in my power to make up for my actions. All I can do is spill my guts out, out into the open for everyone to see. Truth is I am not okay. I am not even close to being okay. I am going to make mistakes until I can make everything okay. I am going to contradict myself. I am going to make plans and fail on them. I am going to hurt, cry, and fight myself through all of this emotional bullshit. I am going to be honest about how I feel. I am going to admit to myself that it’s okay to be selfish. It’s okay to say “No” every now and again. It’s okay to feel this hurt when the whole world is telling me it doesn’t exist. I can’t hide these scars anymore than I can hide my feelings. Long sleeves can’t hide scars, when all we have left are our hearts on our sleeves. I can’t sit and pretend it doesn’t hurt when people pretend that how I feel or what I am feeling doesn’t exist. Because it’s a part of me that I can’t escape.

At 33, I just want to be selfish. Say “No” to a lot of things that do not fit in with my life. Start accommodating myself to my own life. Stop apologizing for who I am and just find my own ways to be happy. At 33, I am not going to feel guilty about my emotions. I am not going to feel bad about who I am, when I know deep down there is good inside of me. At 33, I am going to do things that are going to make people upset but they are not living my life, I am. At 33, I am going to be okay with people leaving because I can’t make everyone happy. And at 33, I am going to do everything in my power to find happiness in everything that I do, even if it kills me, even if it scares me, even if it gets me out of my comfort zone. At 33, I am going to be okay, I won’t be perfect but I know I’ll be fine.

This is 33 and I’ll gladly accept the charges.

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8/7/2015 – Day One.

If we have to be honest, nobody likes admitting defeat. Nobody likes to admit they are wrong. Nobody in their right mind can admit to feeling any ounce of pain, when the rest of the world is feeling otherwise. Which is why in many instances we hide how we feel in the fear of seeming crazy or vulnerable. Because we were taught at a young age that showing a tiny fraction of vulnerability would be your ultimate downfall. We all want to be strong, we all want to be right, we all want to be just fine. As you grow up, the world changes. Now a days everyone wants to express their feelings. Everyone wants to admit they’re wrong and show their faces through feelings of weakness. How do you give up a lifetime of hiding your feelings, into tiny moments of vulnerability? How do you change the fear of feeling hurt when everyone wants you to embrace your pain? I wonder why it takes longer to forgive when we’re faced with everything we are trying to forget. I just haven’t gotten to that point yet.

The past few days I’ve felt more emotional than usual. I have cried more, complained more, fought this inner turmoil of the devil and god that continues to rage inside of me. As of recently I have begun to develop a paranoia of telling anyone my problems. As of lately I have been keeping a lot of my worries to myself. Its stupid, I shouldn’t do it, and it only makes me feel worse inside. However, I just don’t care to deal with the “What you should do”, “When that happens to me”, usual verbiage. I guess in a weird way, I want to confess how I feel without judgement. Without the shame, without someone stopping me to tell me their story. I feel suffocated with words but to express them would be my greatest downfall. I am not prepared to hear the outcome of my worries. I am not ready to express my feelings without worry or doubt. I am not ready for people to come in and nitpick my feelings and tell me how to change them.  Today of all days, I don’t feel very much like myself. Today of all days I want to shout to the heavens to hear me out. Today of all days I want to get out of this suffocated feeling and get out of myself. Even if it’s just for a few hours.

As I had mentioned in my previous post, I have a hard time doing things alone. I have this anxiety in regards to my peers that paralyzes my social interactions. I can’t explain it and even writing it down, I have a hard time believing it. I am fine when I do social activities with my friends. I make jokes, I amuse myself and others, I over exaggerate situations, but to do anything on my own I am frightened. At any moment something could jump out and take me out of the safe bubble I am in. When I am on my own, I plot my strategies and plan my exit routes. Everything I do alone is perfectly calculated and memorized. You don’t know how frightening life can be when you can’t do things alone. I can’t tell you how this started, I can’t tell you why it continues but I can say that I can’t do this anymore. This never ending waiting for people to come in and help me realize my frustrations. Today of all days, I just need a moment to collect myself and get out of my current frustrations. If I had it my way, I’d run away to the highest hills. Into the deepest forests and away from civilization. However, I also have a huge fear of the great outdoors which limits my hiding places. On the days when I need to get lost within myself, I hide in plot lines and other peoples stories. I hide between melodies of film scores and conversations of other individuals written words. I have been in love with film for as long as I can remember. As long as I can pretend to be someone else on someone else’s time. I only as of recently started going to the movies by myself, as a way of entertaining the idea that I can do things on my own. But how many of us are really alone when we are attached to our cellphones and social media? For the past few days I have deleted all social media on my phone (which the exception of Snapchat). Since I haven’t been feeling like talking to many people, I haven’t been social with very many people either. It is no fault of anyone and under no fault of my own, I just feel this need to be on my own and alone.

Since giving up on social media, I have limited my outlets to be social. I have always been distracted with taking photographs and immediately posting my whereabouts on social media. The last couple of days, I just haven’t felt like showing people how I feel. Showing people what I’m doing, who I am with, or even giving people a glimpse into my life. I don’t care if anyone reads what I have to say, but to see what I am doing is causing a huge paranoia that I don’t need in my life. Everyone is quick to judge my hypocrisy but never want to comment about what I am going through. I really don’t know who I am without my phone in my hand or a camera in front of my face. I have almost lost my identity just pushing objects in front of my face to hide who I am. Getting lost in someone else’s idea of reality gives me a chance to breathe. A chance to pretend that someone else’s life is connected with my own. I’ll be honest, I don’t like the movie theater in my hometown. The snacks are lousy, the popcorn sucks, and they don’t have any fancy soda fountains that the other theaters do. If I had my way I would watch every film at The State Theatre in Modesto or The Vine in Livermore or Archlight in Hollywood. However, I live quite a bit away from all of those places, so the AMC Theater in Manteca will just have to do. I have my movements calculated that going to that theater is almost routine. I follow the same roads, I park in the same spots, and I just know what I am doing before I am doing it. It’s a routine I follow every time, mainly insuring that I always have a parking spot, another that I avoid every human contact possible until I reach the theater. It’s just little things I do to give myself a moment before I have to be faced with interactions of any sort.

I don’t know what I am doing anymore. That’s a fact. I find myself rubbing my hands together in frustration just trying to calm my nerves down. This anxiety of being alone and with no one to comfort these fears. This fear of being completely open without saying a word. I didn’t realize how much I depended on my phone. How much I depended on communications from the social media world. How jaded I have become from the faces I see in front of me, just by staring down on a tiny phone screen. I almost don’t know what to do with myself. What do you do when you can’t occupy yourself and your fears with a tiny digital underworld. I arrived to the movie theater early and after deciding to see the film “Southpaw”, (mainly the curiosity of the film being Kurt Sutter’s (Sons of Anarchy) first film script and second being the beautiful beast of Jake Gyllenhaal), I had time to kill before the movie started. You don’t realize how much you separate yourself from the real world when you’re focused on the digital world. You have a habit of forgetting how you got through life without a phone attached to your hand. I found myself sitting on a bench waiting to be let into the theater. Sitting, thinking, analyzing, wondering, people watching. Life has a way of wanting you to photograph everything. Every passing moment that happens right in front of you. I found myself fixated on these phantom photographs of people that passed in front of me. Men, women, and children, their variety of reasons for being in the same place that I was. For different reasons or this comfort of being surrounded by the people they cared about most, intertwined with someone else’s idea of reality. My hands still twitched, feeling this need to tell someone how I felt. Show people everything that I was seeing. Instead I rubbed my hands together and kept everything to myself.

Southpaw

I love films that give you this mystified way of feeling tragically heartbroken and happily moved. For my current state, I thought the film was great. I thought it truly emphasized this need to overcome demons and prove that people can be better than their past. I loved that it allowed me this need to escape from what I was feeling and transport myself into someone else. I know I am not okay. I know I have fears of doing things alone and being able to do something like this takes everything I have inside of me. To give this false illusion of being somewhere else in my mind, allows me to breathe again just for a little while. I have 99 more days to go and I wonder how much longer I can take it. How much longer I can continue before I completely break. Then again, maybe I am suppose to break in order to be put back together again.

Only time will tell.