being okay

9/25/2015 – Day Twenty – Eight

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If I don’t write this down, I will forget something. All I want is to remember everything exactly how it happened, how it felt. Not miss any single piece of it. Either way posting feelings in my head and down on paper, I am bound to forget something. I will forget feelings, placement, settings, smells, every little detail that make up moments that I am desperately trying to remember.

It’s hard to explain it to people. To people that didn’t live the life I did. That didn’t follow a band or a piece of music because they loved it. Nobody will understand that. How it felt to stomp your feet, clap your hands, and sing every line from your favorite song out loud for all to hear. You start remembering basement venues in sketchy parts of towns, filled with cigarette smoke. Remembering salutations and how fearless you felt at 17. Night thats went on forever, until the lights came on. I can’t talk to a single soul about it. I can’t ask someone how it felt to meet people or see places or conversations I kept in my head. Every day I want to forget but the melody brings it all back. It’s never how far I’ve come but it’s where I’ve been. How I got this far and why I keep coming back for more.

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Going on airplanes in route to home, brings back memories of things that have happened briefly, but really was just yesterday. You can’t go back, you can only move forward. Yet things that happened so recently tend to come back like a distant memory. You think about everything and everyone. Moments, feelings, and how perfectly they wrap themselves up in a soundtrack of songs I used to love. A different variety of things but as you grow up, your heart forgets, moves on and dies just a little. I don’t remember why I hate the things of my past but yet I can’t help but succumb to the nostalgia of it all. I hated this band, I hated the people, I hated the music, because they brought back with these memories of a person I don’t recognize anymore. I get it. We all have to grow up sometimes. We all have to get jobs, pay bills and grow up from the fucked up kid from yesterday. But can’t we just pretend we are back there? Back to the 18 year olds wearing dark eyeliner and black hoodies. Back to this notion that we can stay 18 forever?

Peter Pan has his Neverland, where he stays childlike forever. Where do I go to be with the feelings of my younger self, with the wisdom of my adult self? I miss that. I can sing loud and along with the best of them. But still I miss that even as we get older we lose track of who we used to be. I don’t want to be 18 forever, but I want the feeling of pretending I want to. If I could take it all back I would. Take back the sounds, the wounds, the life in the memories. How easily melodies become soundtracks pierced together in our lives. How feelings go as season leave and yet we can’t forget them. Was I missing out or always there? The fear of missing something that wasn’t always there. The photographs you take and the feelings trapped inside of them. Am I missing out?

Stay 18 forever, so we can stay like this forever.

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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.

8/9/2015 – Day Three.

Emotions have a way of turning you upside down and inside out. For the past few days, I’ve felt what emotions can do to you physically and emotionally. Personally, I can’t take it anymore. This push/pull feeling of being okay and then later being in pain. I started realizing that my days seemed numbered. That I was struggling to feel anything aside from this numbing pain of being hurt. Which is crazy, I shouldn’t be feeling this pain. I had nothing to provoke this pain and yet this heartbreaking feeling manages to wash over me.

There’s always this feeling of emptiness that harbors inside. That no matter how much I could possible eat or how much I drink, I just can’t get that satisfying feeling of being full. Of course emptiness is a feeling that can transcend different emotions, but hunger was a pain I couldn’t get rid of. I always find myself feeling hungry when I am upset. After the way I was feeling the day before, hunger felt like the only emotion I could control. Somewhere between the dismantling of my closet and the rearrangement, I decided I should treat myself to something to eat. Lately the problem with eating is my limited options and new found eating habits to consider. Usually when I am upset I gravitate toward the greasiest, saltiest, gluttonous food, but after a illness scare, I have been fairly strict with my eating habits. To say that it doesn’t frustrate me, would be lying. It does frustrate me, severely. Just the thought that I can’t be happy with what I eat, even knowing that my past habits are not healthy for me. I am so used to eating the way that I want and to take me away from that is completely foreign to me. However, there are cheat days and when I am not feeling 100%, I give into my old eating ways. I can’t be strict all the time, ya know?

I have eaten millions of meals with people. Meals with fascinating, amazing people. All of my friends, family, friends of friends, etc. Interesting characters all unique in their own individual way. I have how ever never eaten a meal alone. I have eaten at home dozens of times, eaten in my car more times than I can count. But to sit in a restaurant by myself, I’ve never done. It’s that paranoia that people are watching me, judging me. Which is why eating alone is always close to impossible. It’s not that I can’t do it, it’s that feeling of really feeling alone. I could order a meal, pick it up, and eat it at home, I mean I could. But even being at home, I don’t feel alone. I just wanted a moment to collect my thoughts, write them down, and be completely and utterly alone. Maybe I could make sense of how I was feeling and put it down on paper. I didn’t want to go to a place that was completely crowded, I also didn’t want to go to a place that was completely empty, so the logical choice was Denny’s. Mainly that it has a load of options and even on the worst possible days, even they can’t mess up my food.

Denny’s has been the center point to many instances in my life. It sometimes gets to the point that I crave Denny’s. There isn’t a memory that doesn’t incorporate Denny’s in it. I know a good fair share of people that don’t care for Denny’s, I personally seek happiness in Denny’s. It’s comfort food. I know what to order and I know it’s always going to be good (I do not work for Denny’s, so this is pretty much coming from the goodness of my heart). I honestly hadn’t been to a Denny’s in over a year or maybe even more. There’s something about going somewhere that you seek comfort in that calms you. Today of all days, I just wanted to pack my bag full of notebooks, drive, and eat some Denny’s. Normally I would call any one of my family members or friends, but today I just didn’t feel like entertaining. I didn’t feel like telling stories, telling jokes, over exaggerating situations, I just wanted to be alone. By myself with my thoughts, feelings, and sadness, and eat food that I know is bad for me.

It’s no secret that I have been avoiding social media. After deleting all my social platforms off my phone, I have been out of touch with the world. I just don’t care anymore, I truly don’t. After having a meltdown on twitter about a month ago, I just didn’t feel up to putting my emotions on social media. I also realized what a distraction social media was, to the point of obsession. I was checking countless social media outlets several times a day that it was interfering with my life. I shouldn’t care what people say but sometimes people say the tiniest thing and it makes you paranoid about your own life. Makes you feel guilty about what you say or do. My only way to combat my fears was to take away what was causing my paranoia and anxiety. After taking that away, I started to see life differently. It always takes me a while to get myself together to do things by myself and today was no different. I realized how much of a crutch I used social media for, just something to occupy my time and calm my nerves. Something to fidget with before I got up the nerve to start. I sat in my car for a few minutes, maybe I could still invite someone to go with me. I still had time to change my mind. Maybe all I really needed was to just sit and talk to someone. The minutes seemed to pass and before I knew it I was out of the car and headed toward the entrance.

You begin to realize how much more aware you are of your surroundings, when you don’t have your phone glued to your hands. More aware of people, sounds, and conversations. More aware of your own personal being, thoughts, and even your own shadows. You observe more, you wait to see if people see you, the way you are seeing them. I am used to shielding myself with technology that I often forget whats in front of me. Sometimes there are things that you don’t see within the camera lens. Things you forget that are staring back at you in the background. I wish I could photograph and record everything, but it doesn’t give you that same feeling. It doesn’t give you the music you hear, the chill in your spine, and that spring in your step. I miss hearing life in between “Like” and “Reblog”. I found myself hiding behind my own insecurities. I didn’t realize how much I missed the sounds of life. Even Denny’s bred a life form of silverware chattering, people bickering, plates slamming, hustling. Everyone I could see sitting in booths and chairs may have been surrounded by people, even if I was alone I didn’t feel alone. I didn’t feel my heart race with fear or anxiety. I didn’t feel people judging me and pointing fingers at my flaws. For the first time in days I felt okay. I felt safe. It’s a feeling I wouldn’t have felt had I been with someone else. It was something I had to learn being on my own in a chain restaurant in the middle of nowhere.

When your heart is hurting you don’t feel like anyone sees you. You could be right in front of someone but you’ll feel they see right through you. Maybe no one really sees you for who you are but today I saw myself. Scared, vulnerable, alone and for the first time in a long time I was okay with that.