insecurities

10/31/2015 – Day Thirty – Three.

I am just going to straight up say this, I don’t care about my birthday. I don’t. Past experiences have caused me to have such a bitterness about my birthday, that I wish I could skip the day completely. This isn’t some cry for help, not some sort of dramatic situation. Some time between childhood and early adulthood, I just stopped caring. I’ve tried doing elaborate birthday parties, tried doing fancy dinners, but everything didn’t seem right with me. I get really bad anxiety, which caused me to think of every bad scenario that could happen. I’ve had selfish friendships that have caused me to change my plans multiple times to the extent that I cancel everything.

If I had it my way, I would sit in a museum all day staring at art and people watching. I would sit at my favorite restaurant and eat everything I am afraid to eat. Take a solo trip somewhere and not answer to anyone, until the next day.  Whatever the reason, I usually keep my birthday extremely low key. In the past couple of months, I’ve seen my emotions come from the lowest of the low to an extreme high. Its my insecurities on overdrive, its my anxiety, depression, and everything in-between. I don’t know how to explain it to anyone. Birthdays are an excuse for people to pick me apart, when I should really feel they are celebrating the greatness that is me. I can’t help but think what could you celebrate me for? I haven’t done anything right in years. I haven’t been able to keep myself together in months. Why would you? Those are all my insecurities, paranoias, etc. I don’t know where I got the idea to do anything for my birthday, but after years I wanted to do something.

On 10/31/2015, I turned 33. Something inside of me considered it an accomplishment. I wanted to do something. Not something big, just something simple surrounded by people I cared the most about. I didn’t want to go on some extravagant trip. I didn’t want to get all fussed about in some stuffy restaurant. I didn’t want to go to a bar and get completely shit faced (which I have done countless times). I wanted to feel comfortable in a place I sometimes don’t feel comfortable in. I guess to an average person doing a dinner at home, isn’t some big deal. But when you don’t do anything for your birthday, it means the world to someone. Even if that someone happens to be me. I didn’t expect much, just a few of my close friends, in a small intimate setting, eating, drinking and having a good time. I just wanted to celebrate life surrounded by the people I cared about the most. I wanted to do everything myself. I wanted to decorate, plan, have a menu, have drinks, everything. I wanted to prove to myself that my emotions will not get the best of me and that I can do things. I realized that cooking has a very soothing effect on me. That having myself following a task that I set myself, challenges all my insecurities. Of course I wanted people to have fun, to enjoy themselves, but I wanted to make sure I could do things. That I could host a magnitude of people and still feel okay.

I keep myself guarded after years of being let down by prior friendships. I have a hard time admitting to close friends when I am upset or hurt or sad. I don’t let people in, when I should be trusting with people. Most of my friends have never been to my home. I don’t like inviting people over because this doesn’t feel like my house. Because it isn’t, I didn’t earn this home. Something always caught my attention that at a certain age we are suppose to leave and make our own ways. Which has been a huge insecurity of mine. I realized now that, I needed to be home. I needed to heal and grow, and get stronger. I needed to realize my past mistakes were all growing experiences. People may consider it weird that a person my age still lives at home, but I realized I can’t let people dictate how I feel. I came home to get better because living every where was making me sick. I had been sick for a long time and never told anyone. Then life happened. My mom got sick and I choose to stay. Its hard for me to admit its been hard, because it has. Now I am just piecing everything together and can finally start doing things on my own. I am okay, my mom is okay, and soon I will go on my own way. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed by my experiences but sometimes when the wind gets knocked out of you, you can’t help but feel that way.

It has nothing to do with my birthday but then it has everything. We are expected to be a brand new person every year that hits our birthday. Feel grown from the birthday prior. The past few years, I’ve just grown more sick in a downward spiral. 33, is important to me that, I wasn’t going to put up with my own bullshit. I wasn’t going to let my sickness dictate my life, I wasn’t going to let the past come back and haunt me. For me to be honest about this, makes me realize that I know I am going to be okay. Its taken me a long time to realize that I am not just passing through this home, this place is home. Having people I cared about over to my home, meant the world to me. Its silly to say that it meant the absolute world to me. I didn’t expect much, I drove myself crazy days prior to my birthday. Then I realized that the people I see before me are the people that have helped me in more ways then they can imagine. They have loved me unconditionally when I haven’t been the best person to them or myself. I have had people cut me out of their life, I have cut people out of my life, and still standing before me are the people that stayed no matter what. I knew it would take years to work up the courage to ever do this again, but for 6 hours, I truly felt love, light, and every mushy positivity vibe shine through. I realized that I may not be everyone’s favorite person. On average, I could be the worst person. I say things without thinking of the consequences. I haven’t been kind to people who only deserve my kindness. But I am not the same person I was a year ago. I am not the same person I was 3 months ago. Sometimes it takes something to scare you, to help you grow into who you need to be. I am still growing up, whether I want to or not.

Sometimes it’s the things that scare you the most, are the things you have to do for yourself.

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Sorry for the things I said when I was drunk.

I don’t know why I say the things I do. Or if I mean them to begin with. The little green monster comes out to throw everything upside down. Throw salt on all the wounds, to feel bitterness through the sweet. Sometimes I just want to say sorry for the words that slur out wrong. The words that come out in anger instead of love. I wouldn’t be so bold if it wasn’t for things beyond my control. Wouldn’t be so bold if it wasn’t for every last sip of this never ending cup. Its the liquid courage that makes me so courageous. The magic feather of bravery inside every bottle, can, or glass.

How much of what I say is really how I feel inside. How much of what I think is based off of ignorant bliss, hidden inside every tall can or glass. I cannot be this crazy. I cannot be this truly hurt. I cannot be so brave in my skin when I am frightened by my actions. If I mean what I say, what does it mean when I’ve had a helping hand at this.

I don’t mean everything I say, do I?
Not every word of it.
Maybe I do.

I can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by my actions. A simple drink can turn to three or four, and you find yourself telling secrets to people you shouldn’t. Sometimes I don’t want to keep so many secrets. Sometimes I just want to write them all down for everyone to see. I want to say “I miss you” when I can’t bring myself that sense of honesty. With this drink I feel a powerless power. A sense of normalcy amongst all the crazy conservative feelings. I could do anything, say anything, and yet, I find myself wishing that I hadn’t. I don’t like the way my drink tastes so bitter with my own sour thoughts. Yet, I polish off this drink and beg for more just like it.

You don’t realize how much you drink until you stop.  You don’t realize what you’ve said until the flashbacks come back to haunt you. Nostalgia has a funny way of coming back to remind you of things you’ve long forgotten. In a familiar song, in a familiar scent, in a familiar drink, as you watch yourself continue to drink to forget. But I never forget. Everything always comes back, right after I said it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I watch my demeanor change from bad to worse. Watching how my speech changes and watch how easier the words go from my tongue to my lips. Its my actions I want to reconsider, its my words I want to forget. Its everything I’ve said that I can’t help but apologize for. We all want to be accountable for our actions. We all wish we could take back all the nasty things we’ve said.

Maybe I truly am sorry for all the things I have said when I was drunk. In the end what I have said will finally set me free. Allow me to be less bitter, allow me to be less hateful, allow me to stop being such a fucking bitch. Liquor doesn’t make monsters, it just helps the monsters be more vicious. I am tired of being a monster. I dedicate this last drink to you. This last moment, this last taste, everything. I am sorry if I have ever hurt you. I am sorry if I said any nasty things about you. Above all, I am sorry if I was never sorry to begin with.

I am sorry. I truly am.

12.13.2009

 

9/10/2015 – Day Twenty – Four

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The weather has been changing. Before you know it, it’ll go from sunny days to overcasts skies. From summer skin to winter coats and layers. I hate the summer and it’s over exposure of skin, that I never feel comfortable showing. I am in no way a prude but my insecurities seem to make me more conservative. It’s a piece of myself I never like to show. Its this never ending process of learning to love your body, when you’re still in the process of accepting this skin.

I could lose all the weight and still feel self conscious of my skin, and the abnormalities of my body. I’ve watched my body go from big to medium to large again. I’ve watched my skin stretch and rest on different parts of my body. And all I’ve wanted is to cover up never show the world. Hide under layers of clothes to distract myself from what’s underneath. I wonder if I will ever get over this feeling. If being so body conscious changes over the years. They say it changes when you get older, but what if it doesn’t. I have to pretend to be comfortable and accepting, when I just want to rip my skin off. Take this image I see of myself that I know no one else can see, and pretend it doesn’t exist. I want to hide behind trees and behind overcast skies. Where shadows can mask my body and its abnormalities. We are praised for our bones and our skin that stretches over our skeletons. Sometimes when the weather changes you can’t help but remember this is a process. Bodies have this ability to change but I don’t feel like that.

I have become so comfortable with hiding at home and avoiding the outside world. Avoiding a million different emotions, in favor of hiding in this misery and self pity. It’s the heat that drives me crazy. That makes me believe I can’t be myself.  I can’t hide from the heat, I only expose myself more to keep from being hot. But in the cold, I hide behind layers of fabric to hide what I don’t love about myself.  I’ll never be perfect and I’ll never be pretty. I’ll be stuck under this skin that stretches for as long as I can see. One day I’ll be more accepting, but in this unforgiving heat, I can’t see myself pretending.

Shadow & Light

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The older I become, I watch my insecurities become less intense. All my insecurities that I’ve kept deep inside, finds a way of slowly disappearing. All the fears I once had slowly start to vanish. I find myself drawn to the light, from decades of being in love with the darkness. I find myself slowly appreciate my body instead of hiding away my skin through insecurity. If you only knew how much I hate the daylight, how I hated the sun and it’s over exposure on my skin. How much the sun reminds me of summer and reminds me that I hate the shape of my legs.  It’s not to say that insecurities change over night.  I still have a hard time with daylight but afternoon lighting makes everything dreamy.

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A little light changes the course of everything. How it finds a way to reach you even when you want to be forgotten. The light that reaches straight through the cracks of the blinds to illuminate everything you want to remain invisible. Invisible is how I want to be. To hide in the darkest corners of the room, where no one will find me. No one will see me in all my imperfections and flaws. No one will see my skin filled with scars or the insecurities I harbor because of the design of my body. But in this golden hour of the afternoon, it makes me feel invincible. That I can do anything. Even in my imperfections, if the light hits me just right, I can be beautiful. I slowly watch these insecurities break away in the afternoon light. Slowly piece by piece disappear into the rays of the sun.

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Our bodies are always a work in progress. Some days are easier than others. Some days I’ll embrace every flaw my body has to offer, and other days I’ll curse the sacred ground from which I stand upon. As time goes by I start falling in love with different aspects of myself. As I once loved the darkness and the ability to make myself disappear, its the light I can’t help but surround myself with. Light brings everything into perspective that the darkness seems to forget. Light helps me remember to love the parts of myself I often hide from the world. While I’ll always be insecure about different aspects of myself, my body shouldn’t ever be one of them. Slowly as the darkness fades into the light, slowly I become a little more accepting of my body.

It’s taken a long time to love the light, as long as it’s taken to love my body. I know eventually I will get there. Sooner better than later.

6/08/2015

Haters gonna hate.

Negative influences tend to produce negative judgments. As much as we want to be immune to the world, influences find a way to us. It’s in everything we do. Everything that we like. Everything that we strive for ourselves. Life has a funny way of showing us who we really are when we need to see it. Showing our true colors to the world that we seldom see in ourselves. None of us is perfect. None of us have the power to change people. More importantly we can’t continue to blame other people for our mistakes. A lot of us need to own up to our imperfections and find our own way to be happy.

Hate is a strong world. But I can’t help but say it often. There’s no mistaken that I am a hater. I have hated on various people, places and things. I have projected my own anger into hate all for the sake of making myself feel better about my actions. I am not innocent in the ways that I go about my hate, I am not slick and I am not silent. Does it make me feel better? Of course not. Does it make me better than the next person? Not at all. Justifying my hate is pushing the blame on outside forces instead of putting the blame on myself. Because saying exactly how I feel doesn’t hurt anyone, it just allows my insecurities to work in over drive. I have been my own crown of thorns, so to speak. I have found way to hate so many aspects of myself and project them to people. Blaming other people for my own short comings and believing it was the cards that I was being dealt. Because Life has a way of giving me a shitty deal of cards. Giving me all the hard roads, life lessons, and watching people come and go as they please. All of my hardships, all of my misfortunes, all of my short comings, and the only thing I can do is hate everything. I could blame everything under the sun for the way I am. I could blame every last person that has hurt me. I could but at the end of the day I am the one that ends up miserable and alone. It’s when you find yourself growing up that you realize that there are things inside of you that needs to change.

When you reach that point in your life where “enough is enough”, you just have to let it happen. I am tired. I am exhausted. More importantly I am emotionally drained from keeping all this hate inside. Who cares if people have it better than I do. Why should I care if the grass is greener on the other side. Who am I to judge a person based on my own insecurities. I have no right to pick apart a person and point out their flaws. I wouldn’t want the same to happen to me, why should I be the person to do that to other people? Growing up means having to give up our childish juvenile ways. Give up the ways of believing that we are better than everyone and have a right to say exactly how we feel. Truth is nobody is better than anyone, and saying exactly how we feel often hurts people we truly care about. I have said many things out of anger and most of those things I wish I could take back. Nobody said growing up was easy and at times I can’t help but say things I know I shouldn’t. However, at this point in my life I am through hating. I can’t keep these tarnished ways inside of my heart any longer. I can’t keep blaming people for my own foolish mistakes. I have to forgive people and the actions that have hurt me in order to grow up.

Life isn’t suppose to be fair. Life isn’t suppose to be easy. Life is just suppose to be life, give or take what we put into it. Life puts us through the wringer and makes us stronger. We are the masters of our own life vessels. We are what we put into the world. If we continue to put out negativity, negativity is what we are going to receive. I am tired of hating people for my own short comings. Tired of treating people based on my own insecurities. We are all scared, we are all insecure in our ways, why should I treat anyone differently? At the end of the day I just want to be happy with my life decisions not upset about the way I reacted. I want to be able to go to my grave peacefully without an ounce of hate in my heart. People are not always going to be how I want them to be. People are going to let you down but at the end of the day you have to be able to let it go. Letting go of the past is the only way we can move on in our present, its the only way we can be happy in our future. My past can’t hurt me anymore but the longer I keep this hate the longer it marinates in my present.

Growing up isn’t easy. Everything I thought I knew before becomes life lessons I never expected. Life has a funny way of showing you errors in your ways. For me it was showing me that as much as I kept all this hate, it wasn’t making me feel better. I just hope by the time I feel like a grown up this growing up thing starts to make sense. As much as I don’t feel like a grown up, maybe this is what growing up really is. I guess in a way this is me growing up and feeling more like a grown up.

The Oregon Trail.

When you embark on a journey, you always set out to find yourself. In your wonderland expectations of personality and living. You run to the highest mountains and sink in the deepest seas. Crave the adventure of new experiences and wish for completely new beginnings. When I packed my bags, I wished it was for forever. I wished that I could be a lost soul and roam the coast until I found myself again. That I could run away to the mountains and be lost amongst the greenery settings. All the years I hid behind the shadows, I never realized how much I missed the sun.

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There is a picturesque magic of the western coast. Something people seldom see. Sometimes even we that reside on the west coast, become so jaded by our own thoughts that we forget how beautiful we have it. If I could photograph every line of the journey, I would. Even photographs wouldn’t do it justice. The magic of the greens from the trees, the beauty of the waters so clear, and how the air just fills your lungs with this joyous pure emotion. If this was forever, I would take it. Take every last bite of this green earth and return to the trails of Oregon. I am living in a dream and only reality could bring me down to earth.

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I spent a lifetime hiding in the shadows of my misery, missing opportunities of the sun. The roads that lead to nowhere seem to guide you home. Most days, I don’t even know where home is. Home is a combination of here to there and a little bit of everywhere. Passenger seats and confessing my deepest hopes to the dashboard of road companions. Where do we go from here? To the deep blue seas and the frigid waters of the lakes hidden in the trees. To the people that make you feel alive and the strangers that hit you with the reality of coming home. I am never ready to go home. Never ready to even entertain the idea of returning back to reality. All I could ever want is to hide amongst the trees and lose myself in the picturesque scenery.

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The greener the city, the prettier the sunset. Seeing stars for the first time with clear eyes, that have been lost amongst the concrete buildings. At any minute this would be over and I will run back home. Home seems like a distant memory and some days, I am afraid to go home. Afraid of conforming to everyone else’s standards. Afraid of being stuck under the same four walls of my insecurities. The journey is almost over and through the smiling and the laughter, I feel home. Something I haven’t felt in the years of journeys of my youth. Something that was always lost in the translation. It doesn’t matter how far I go in my lifetime, I am always going to go home. Even if most days, home is just a distant memory.

One day I’ll return to the cities too beautiful to explain with words. One day I will find a way to leave home and find out where I really belong. Until that moment I regroup and return to my same four walls, to plan my next escape. All life is just another chance to escape, and one day I won’t come home. I’ll find my way back to you, I’ll find where I belong.

One day.

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