present

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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In the lonely hour.

I lie awake between when the hours turn from PM to AM, thinking, wondering, pondering, inviting. All these thoughts in all their splendored glory. These images of reality mixed in with make believe. Heroes, saints, villains and sinners, everywhere and in-between. When you feel that hope has lost, you reach out for a connection. Reach out to feel something, anything from this wretched feeling that you have consumed yourself with. It aches in your soul straight through to your heart. From the moment you tap your fingertips against your chest, waiting for something to revive you from this feeling.

I need someone, That I’ll look to,
In the lonely hour, That we all go through

There are things you do when you’re lonely that you would never do with a sane mind. Your mind and judgement turn off, you roam the world as an insane person would. You enclose yourself to all this loneliness. Believing the wrong people, trusting the sinners, and knowing very well that every last bit of this is wrong. Its this hurt that is eating up your insides. This sickening pain that you want to drown out to feel whole again. You trust these people because you have nothing left to give. At any given moment, someone will come save your from yourself. Save you from these feelings that you’ve become so clouded with. These illusions that letting the right one in would be your salvation. Bring forth the one person that will save me from this loneliness. Bring forth the person that will in turn save me from myself.

I need someone, That I’ll look to,
In the lonely hour, I need you

All it takes is one person to save us from ourselves. One person to turn all the dark clouds into sunlight that illuminates our path to salvation. We all need a little help sometimes. One person to dry the tears and sweep us off our feet. We believe in words before we believe in actions. All it takes is 3 words and 8 letters to bring you back to life. 3 words and 8 letters to show that you mean something to someone. You could take everything away from my life. Take away all the material things. Take away all the glamour of this life. The only thing that I want in this life is someone to take away all this loneliness. All I need is you, not someone like you.

When there’s a wistful silence, In an empty room,
These other voice’s, They don’t cut through,
In the lonely hour, I need you

I’ve spent nights believing in this knight that would come and save me from myself. That would wipe away the tears from the lovers prior and erase all the scars from my own self destruction. I’ve waited and in return let these legions of broken people consume my time and affection. It’s not love because love wouldn’t hurt this much. Love wouldn’t allow this feeling to continue to last. I just need this pain to stop this hurt inside my heart. Stop this ache that I feel in my chest, deep down to my soul. I can’t keep reaching out to a person that doesn’t exist. Realizing that I don’t need anyone to save me from myself. I just need to rely on me. In this lonely hour, I can’t help myself. In the lonely hour, I need you.

I need you.

6/14/2011

We all self concious, I’m just the first to admit it.

Life has a funny way of turning you into the one thing you don’t want to be.

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Its funny.

It’s just easier to make a joke out of something then coming out and stating how you really feel. How you put yourself out into the world is how you want to feel on the inside. However it’s nothing close to how you’re feeling. It doesn’t even compare. For the sake of the story you make up the person you want to present to the world. You line up all your armor and you put it on, one by one. Hoping that nothing will stop you in your quest for perfection. This armor protects you from the outside world and keeps you safe from every sort of harm.  For a moment you believe that’s real. That everything you put forth to the world is exactly who you’ve always been and everything you hide, no one will ever see. You lie to everyone. Even the people who think they know you best, don’t know you at all. That has always been my problem. It was easy to pretend to be someone else then the person I really am.

We have this sick perception of what we believe to be perfect. What we believe to be beautiful. You become succumb to the notion that this is how everything is suppose to be. You spend every last dime, sacrifice so much of who you are to be exactly how everyone else wants you to be. The countless hours I spent in front of the mirror and never truly being satisfied with who I saw. You make a caricature of yourself and for years you play this part of someone you were never familiar with to begin with. The thicker your armor becomes the more or less you start disappearing inside. The make up, the clothes, the amount of money you spend to be someone completely different from the person you grew up with. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to realize the monster you have become. Other times you just come to terms with this is who you will be for the rest of your life. We forget that we were all once loved and had a thirst and hunger for life. New beginnings and clean slates were how we came to this world. Now we’re just a sad representation of a bad Xerox copy of everyone else.

The years pass and you find yourself hurting. The dents start showing in your armor. The more you think you’re fooling everyone, in reality you’re only fooling yourself. The countless times you believe its what you wanted was really what everyone else wanted. You become a punching bag to the worst people, your own worst enemy for rolling with the punches. The quest for perfection stopped being a quest and more of a nightmare of survival. The cutting, the bleeding, the starvation, the nights you tell yourself this is what they wanted and all you want is an out. The countless times you covered yourself up to hide how you felt inside. You realize how much you wanted a life of your own instead of the sad existence that you have before you. You can’t give up. You can’t fail. Instead you do what you do best, you hide how you feel. You fall, you get up and then you start all over again.

Piece by piece, you take away the armor. Cut out the toxic people that made you miserable. Cut out the people that hurt you to believe that their perception of beauty was who you needed to be. You slowly start appreciating the good in impurities instead of finding perfection in everything. You grow up wanting more than just what everyone else wants. Little by little the armor comes off. You live. Your scars heal, your body changes and eventually it’s not a fight with yourself for happiness. You surround yourself with good people and in turn find the good in everybody again. The fears you once held eventually fade with time but only after you let go of the dark to make way for the light. It’s not easy. Its not something that changes you over night. Some nights are unbearable and some days its just a fight to feel okay.
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It’s not easy. You don’t just wake up and want to change. It takes a lifetime of dealing with bullshit people and their equally bullshit standards. In the end you just realize that it’s up to you to find your own happiness. Change the course of your life into something that will in turn make you who you truly want to be. Your past can’t hurt you, your past doesn’t define you. Your past is there to show you how you survived, and all you’ve accomplished. In the end that’s all that matters in life.

You are amazing.

You are beautiful.

One day, you’ll actually believe that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s take this back to the start.

We all have to crawl before we can walk again.

I get it.

Most people consider relapsing failing. I just consider it a tiny little hiccup in the recovery. The recovery is just as hard as the rehab. Its putting ourselves in real life situations and seeing how well we transition in public. I will admit it’s hard. When everyone else is going a mile a minute, you’re trying desperately to catch up.

This is my white flag.

I surrender. Surrender to the past, the present and even the future. Surrender in knowing that while my past does not define me, it doesn’t help with trying to understand my present.

I have to admit failure in my actions to come to terms with my reactions. As much as I can say I am okay, I don’t necessarily feel okay. I have a hard time understanding that my present is no longer associated with my past. Things that have haunted my dreams can not shake my reality. There are times we are tested in our present that make us believe the past is coming back to haunt us. It’s not. It’s just showing us how far we have come from the people we used to be. Yet no matter how many times we tell ourselves that, we react differently.

I have such an anxiety for the present that it makes me think of the past. That at any given moment everything will change and all that I have worked for will disappear. Instead of being strong, I find myself going back to my old ways. To curb the hunger of anxiety I eat, to calm the shakes of my paranoia I spend. Just something to take the edge off and help me calm down my fears. Its only when I’m a few pounds heavier and my bank account is drained that I realize I have failed. I have failed my present with the problems of my past. Its no ones fault. As much as I want to blame outside forces, I can’t. I just have a problem with overcoming my obstacles because I’m so used to failure.

Why is it so easy to invest our time in failing?

Why are we so forgiving to failing and so fearful of succeeding?

Failing is whats excepted. Failing is what comes naturally. Now its just the expectation that happens. You put so much energy for things to go bad, you surprise yourself when it runs smoothly. It’s being unhappy, going back to old habits and trying to make sense of it all. You can’t help but sabotage your new journeys with the problems of your past. You think that just giving in a little isn’t going to matter in the long run. Then you wake up and are left with the regret. You tell yourself you couldn’t help yourself. when in reality you knew better. You always know better. You know fully well what’s going on but still you expect it. You wait for it. This negative being of failure that follows you around like a black fucking cloud.

I am sick of it.

Done.

You can’t expect a change when you do everything in your power to keep it from happening. You can only blame yourself for your own unhappiness. Again you start over and just like before go with the hopefulness that everything will be better. Tomorrow is just another day to change it all around. Failure is not a word in your vocabulary when you’re starting over. It’s just the fire that ignites the will to keep going when you’ve lost it all.

One more step.

Back to the start. Rewind. Eventually everything in it’s right place.

 

 

 

City of Angels.

I’ve never been good with letting go.

The whole nostalgia of the past to let go in the present. Things weren’t always so bad and miserable. Sometimes they were pretty great. Dreams fade and you’re left with the dust of a harsh reality. Maybe I just like to make believe that everything was once perfect. Just go back to the 4 year old that put her hands in Marilyn Monroe’s handprints, dreaming that one day that would be her reality. The flashing lights never stop shining brightly when you’re a dreamer. The people of your past change and you become a different person when you’re older. Some how in your memories everyone remains the same. Just freeze framed into people that held the same dreams you did at one point. Every day was one big new beginning and every experience was a life changing event.

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L.A. had always been a huge impact of my life. It was where my Dad came to call his adolescence home. Where no matter how crazy the drive was, it was always bigger, brighter, shinier than any city I had ever been to growing up. After a while the trips became less frequent and yet I still loved it. I yearned for a city, I knew nothing about and dreamed every day to return to it. I found myself telling everyone that “one day, I am going to move there and everything will happen for me”. That’s the thing with dreams, we dream so vividly we forget to gasp for air. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, I just knew I had to be somewhere that things happened. Where people from all walks of life migrated for just one tiny beckon of hope of a new beginning. Maybe that’s what I had always wanted. A new beginning. Anything better than the 4 years of being someone I didn’t like or the 5 years after processing a lifetime of heartbreak. Somewhere inside you knew that there was a place where you can start over and everything would be okay.

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The countless times I fled to LA were always magical. Whether waiting countless hours in front a venue to see a band or sitting directly in front of the latest crush of the moment, I knew things were happening. The countless nights I toasted to dreams with my friends or the days I dreamed knowing that every moment this was my best choice. Every time I made a mistake, it didn’t matter because tomorrow was just another day to turn it all around. I loved it. I loved being surrounded by dreamers that all wanted the same dreams I did. They wanted to be better and brighter than their past, no matter how much they struggled they knew one day it would all be different. You continued dreaming and continued to have hope for a better beginning. It was just the magically mysticism of  a city that made you believe that everything was possible. That everything you dreamed of will one day come true and everything else that happened in the past was just one sick twisted memory.

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The reality of dreams is that one day reality comes crashing down. One day the dreams you held so closely eventually disappear when you wake up. Maybe LA will always be my Neverland, where I will forever be stuck in the mistakes of my youth. We were all just lost boys and girls looking for a way to keep the dreams of our youth alive. While I have seen my life change drastically through the years, its always that memory of being in love with a city so magical that I’ve never forgotten. The only city that I’ve ever wanted to run away to, that helped me grow up in ways I never understood at the time.

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Its wrong to say I don’t miss it. Every night I catch myself missing it more than usual. I know in my heart that reality makes for a challenging adulthood and eventually our childish ways have to grow up. Just sometimes I can’t help but dream about the streets, the lights, and the sounds. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I still believe I’m back there. Back in my youth where everything was possible. Where dreams would one day become reality and every struggle was worth it.

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Now that I’m older my dreams have changed. Yet I find myself saying sorry that I let you down LA but sometimes we have to break before we can become whole again. I had to leave you to realize that I could love myself before I could love you again. You were the city that was there for me when I needed you most and sometimes I forget that. I will forever be grateful to you. Grateful to the city of dreamers who all wanted exactly what I once did. Your beauty, your history, and the light of hope that never once let me down.

I love you, LA. Always have, always will. ❤