Battle de Sammi: Ode to My Friends with Weight Loss Blogs

In high school I looked like this:

15 year old Sammi!

 ... and just like every teenage girl I thought I was an obese whale. It wasn't until later on, especially when I was at my heaviest, that I realized how completely insane I was. When that picture was taken, I want to say I was between 112-115, I've been 5'3 since I hit high school... so I was 5'3, and was about 15 years old.

I used to hate wearing tight clothes and wince at the thought of being in a bikini, but what I really should have been doing was showing off that crazy figure while I had it! I should have been prancing through the halls of school naked instead of beating myself up. I thought because I didn't have a flat stomach or washboard abs I wasn't skinny enough but when in all reality... I was.

I didn't really start to gain weight until my senior year. I suppose the salt and vinegar chip & cream cheese bagel sandwiches I used to consume on a daily basis were finally starting to catch up to me. By the time I graduated I was about 120 where I stayed for most of college.... Save for the time my former boyfriend and I broke up, I became really sick for a month, then miraculously went back down to 112 lbs. Though as soon as I started eating normally again, I was back at 120.

Now, post college, enter the real world... this is when things started to change. Before this cushy, stagnant cubicle job, I worked at Sam's Club where I spent 30ish hours a week lifting 50 lbs jars of mayonnaise and 1 ton bags of cat liter, so I was still getting some sort of a cardio workout. But when I made that jump into the horrors of an office job, I ended up gaining quite a bit of weight. At my heaviest I was 137 (though it was probably more, but I stopped weighing myself for a while after that), and I looked like this:

Only you can prevent forest fires...

And closer so you can see the face...

In the top picture I was about 20, and the bottom about 22. I feel like the combination of the 40 hours a week I'm required to sit on my ass for, mixed with alcohol, then mixed with a mixture of medications (anti anxieties, birth control, etc.) is what lead me to that point. I was super against working out and tried countless times to just count calories and diet, which never led me anywhere.

But literally a week after the bottom picture was taken, a pivotal moment of my life happened. It's much too long of a story to get into, but the short version is that was the point in time I stopped seeing my ex boyfriend. We were on again off again for a year, I ended up going to NYC with a friend, he stopped responding to my calls, I thought for a brief amount of time he had died, and in a fit on anxiety I had stopped eating. Some people stress eat, I just can't eat, but when I got back home I was pleased to see that I had actually lost around 8 lbs. I knew how unhealthy it is to lose weight that way, so for the next few weeks I lived off of a diet of yellow Vitamin Water and Cliff Bars. So for the next few years I floated between 120-130. And looked a little bit like this:

Oh heyyy Harvest Fest!

It wasn't until 2 years ago that I decided to go to the gym and to just start being active in general. I started out just going once or twice a week, then by the summer of last year I really buckled down on the exercise. My boyfriend and I went out and bought shitty little mountain bikes from Wal Mart, and that ended up being the best idea we could have ever had. I started riding almost every day, and when I couldn't/didn't I would "Gihad" as my boyfriend and I call it... Gihad is actually Total Body Fit with Gilad and it's a half an hour work out show I DVR from FitTV. That show kicks... my... ass! But with the combination of both those things I ended up getting down to 114 lbs. Which, if we can recap for a second, was my weight when I was 15 years old.

Looking down and seeing that number was one of the highlights of my life. My main goal with the exercise, particularly the bike riding, was to actually get in some sort of shape so the weight loss was a happy surprise. From that moment on I vowed to stick with it. Unfortunately, I've had a hard time being as disciplined as I was during the summer, but I'm hoping with the warmer months here again (hopefully, I do live in New England... 80 one day, snowing the next) I'll get back into the bike riding.

Another thing that helped me out was when I stopped drinking sugary drinks and started drinking TONS of water. The only time I allowed myself sugar was in my coffee which aided in the tail end of my weight loss (I was stuck at 118 for a little while and only made it to 114 with the water/exercise combo). Much like the exercise, I've lost a lot of discipline when it comes to this, but I'm hoping to get back on track with it too very soon.

A few months ago I had gone back up to 118, but after some correcting of my eating habits, I'm now back at 115. And I look like this:

Why yes, I am a Sim! (Taken at AB, don't judge)

And closer to see the face difference....

 So to all my weight loss blog friends, keep with it! I'm so proud of you all! My advice is to try to make a life change and not just go on a diet. I still eat whatever I want because I KNOW I don't have the will power for a diet, but to compensate for that I practice portion control. I go to the gym usually for only a half an hour to do the circuit, or I do a half an hour of yoga or Gilad because I KNOW I will stick to it. I figure, it's only a half an hour of my entire day, and after it's over I will be proud of myself. I got a bike because I always enjoyed riding, and if I'm enjoying my form of exercise it doesn't quite feel like exercise. It took a lot of trial and error, but I finally found a happy balance between diet and exercise I can actually stick with. And every time I see a "skinny" picture of myself I'm reminded of all the hard work it took to get here.

So keep on keepin' on ladies! Reading your blogs and seeing your motivation helps me every day :)

You're Not Alone

"I guess it's because we all want to believe that what we do is very important.
That people hang on to our every word, that they care what we think.
The truth is, you should consider yourself lucky if you even occasionally get to make someone, anyone feel a little bit better." - Scrubs


I have a love/hate relationship with Scrubs. If someone were to ask me if I liked the show I couldn't give a definite yes or no answer. I think it's stupid 90% of the time, but every single time it's on I'll watch it. And then every so often the writers show their diversity and write something amazing like the quote above. I believe it's one of the closing lines from the season finale. I remember watching it for the first time and hearing this quote, and immediately identifying with it. I quickly jumped on youtube so I could play the video over and over again in order to write it down. 


I think this is true for most people, but especially for me. I have a natural urge to be a nurturer, I want to be that person people can come to with their problems. I want them to see me as someone that can make them feel better, whether that be because I was their shoulder to cry on or because I offered them some sort of comforting advice. I don't do it because I expect something in return, I do it because I want people to know that I genuinely care, and that their happiness genuinely matters to me. 


For a long time, and even still, I thought my true calling was to be a therapist. Growing up with a therapist for an aunt probably aided in this. She's taught me coping tools, offered her psychoanalysis, and has been subconsciously training me for my entire life. I've been that person (some) people could turn to for a long time, and I've been told me that I'm "just so easy to talk to" so I assumed a therapist was a natural choice for me. My psychology class in high school was one of my favorite classes, and in college my psychology book was the only book I would read more than I was supposed to. I even pulled it out to read on my own on a few occasions. 

But it wasn't until my early 20s when that dream died. I became friends with a girl who had some emotional baggage (whom I am no longer on speaking terms with). Of course, I wanted to be there for her. I felt that innate urge to fix her life, but after a while it became evident that I could do nothing for her. She would call, I would listen, she would ask what to do, I would give her advice and she would ignore all of it. Soon it just became emotionally draining to be "that person" for her. Despite my best attempts to help her she only sunk deeper and deeper into depression. It started to effect me. I started to become annoyed by her lack of motivation to change herself, and ended up just having to cut her out of my life completely. It was then when I came to the realization that I couldn't be a therapist. I'm sure most clientele are people like her, people who refuse to change what they are doing despite it being the path that leads to recovery and a happier, healthier life. There will be people I cannot help, and with her being the first friend I really couldn't reach at all, and seeing how much that took a toll on my own sanity I decided to just give up the dream. 


But I still have that urge to help, and along with that, I have this desire to just make a difference in the world. I feel like I'm meant to be rich just so I can give money to charities, give my family and friends all the material things they could possibly desire, build homes for people in need, pay for health care for those who really need it, and start an entire slew of animal shelters and rescues. I want to go to third world countries and volunteer my services to help anyone, human or animal, in need. 

Every time there is a natural disaster I just want to do something, anything to help. When the BP oil spill happened I immediately looked up ways to volunteer to help the animals. When the earthquake in Haiti happened I gathered up canned goods and clothing that someone was supposed to come a collect so it could be sent down there (the girl flaked and it never happened). And now with the horrible things that happened (and are still happening) over in Japan, I'm ready with a bag of clothes to send over as soon as I get the word that that's what they need. Before I moved out on my own, I would always do those "Christmas Angels" thing in the mall, and I would buy everything that was asked for even though they don't expect you to. And even though I never got to see the children open what I bought, I always imagined how happy they must have been to have received everything they asked for. I knew I would never get a "thank you," but I did it because I wanted to share that happiness with someone else. 


This is also why I want to write a book, and why I wanted to be a singer. When I retire, I fully plan on writing a memoir. I've thought about doing it now, but I want to live and experience a little more before I put it into full swing. I'm going to call it, "Everything Will Be Okay" and it will basically be a collection of stories about how I overcame my anxiety and depression (and boyfriends, and adulthood, and life in general). I want to write a book as a person who lived through it, someone who isn't a therapist, just to show people that they aren't alone. To show them that there is at least one other person who feels/felt the way they do. This is also somewhat of the reason why I have this blog. I write about my pains, my fears, my struggles to show others that I'm human and I'm probably going through the same mental struggles they are. Everyone just wants to know they are not alone, and I like being that person to show that you're not... you're never alone.


Even with my rockstar dreams quickly fading, my desire to be a message of comfort is one of the reasons that keeps me going with music. I've been told that most of the things I write are sad and depressing. My guitarist once told me that one of my songs made him want to kill himself (said in as positive a way that it possibly could have), and I once attempted to write a love song that quickly turned into something that sounded more like a "please don't leave me" song instead. But that's just how I write. I can't write mindless happy drool that I don't feel connected to, I write with meaning. There is passion behind every word I place on the page, and that's the only way I can do things. I want people to be able to identify with my words. I want my songs to be those songs you play to make you feel something. I've always loved when people tell their favorite singer that their songs "saved their life." I couldn't imagine a bigger form of flattery... and that's something I've always been striving for. I want to be there for people that I've never even met. To mean that much to a stranger, or to anyone for that matter, is quite possibly one of the best feelings in the world I imagine. 


I guess what it comes down to is that I want to matter. I want to be remembered as someone with a big heart, someone full of compassion. Hopefully someday I can figure out how to "save the world" in my own little way. I don't need to be world famous, but I want people to know they cared about, whether I know them or not. Making people happy, that's what keeps me happy.

I am not an adult.

First of all, I'd just like to announce that I am officially on every social networking site ever. Now, don't call me a social networking whore... I'm more of a polygamist, just gatta spread my love around. My newest endeavor is a photo blog I've started up on tumblr. It's more for me than anyone else, just something fun I can look back on years from now. My goal is to post one picture a day that represents the mood of that particular day. So, here it is... if that's something you'd like to check out.


With my birthday quickly approaching, I'm beginning to realize that I am in fact getting older, despite what I like to think in my mind. It feels like just yesterday I was 15 years old and full of angst. But that was just about 10 years ago now, and that realization kind of scares the shit out of me.

Sometimes I feel like an adult. I have a job that I go to for 40 hours a week. I have a 401k (not that I have any idea what I'm doing with it). And every time I have to attend a bridal or baby shower, wedding or child's birthday my age becomes shockingly evident. I'm not trying to say that I'm old or anything, but the fact that I'm old enough to actually attend those things is... horrible.

I don't even look adult. I just bought my first pair of (generic) converse shoes, which I like to pair with my ever-so-trendy plaid shirt and jeans. As I was walking into work after wearing this outfit for the first time, I came to the conclusion that I look like a 16 year old hipster... which then sent me into a slight paranoia thinking that someone is going to call "What Not to Wear" on me for not dressing age appropriate.

I can even fool the general public! I've been carded for rated R movies twice in the past two years (meaning I look younger than 17), and my favorite story: The time I was told I was too young to buy coffee. Ahh, the look of shock on the man's face when I told him I was in fact twenty four years old. In his defense, I am pretty short. I'm only 5'3, which is apparently not adult height. I also still have some trouble with acne, and I rarely wear make up during the week... which must make me look even younger.

And I haven't even mentioned my favorite shows! South Park, Family Guy, American Dad, Robot Chicken, King of the Hill... See the trend? Why yes! They are all cartoons. With the exception of the Travel Channel and Comedy Central, 90% of the things I watch are cartoons. I've also made it a point to see almost every children's movie that comes out into theaters (I just saw How to Train Your Dragon this past weekend). Oh and I'm a pretty big fan of Teen Mom (the original, none of that Teen Mom 2 shit). I am, quite obviously, not an adult.

Yet, I am technically an adult... I'm merely five years away from being 30, where all the things I do, like partying and watching cartoons, stops being okay and starts getting sad with each passing year. And at some point I'll actually have to stop being selfish so I can start that family I want so badly.

When I was barely 18 I had thought that I would be married by 23, and would start having children then. But the closer I got, the less ready for it I was (not to mention the person I thought I was going to marry was out of the picture a few years before I turned 23), and now I'm starting to experience the same thing. Thirty is my cutoff. Thirty is when I start acting like an adult, when I start my family and get married... Settle down if you will. Though with that number getting ever so steadily closer, and my brain still thinking we're in our teens, I'm beginning to realize that I may never actually feel adult. I think subconsciously I must be waiting for this crazy realization, or some profound adult feeling to happen, but I think... I think that's wrong.

I feel the same way about marriage. I'm waiting for some crazy sign to show me that yes, this is the right person... But I also think that's wrong. Someone I had once dated randomly got in contact with me one day and told me he had got married. So obviously I had to ask him the question I ask all my married friends, "How did you know?" His answer is by far my favorite, and went something like this, "I don't think I did. But I knew that I couldn't picture my life without her, and I figured if I was going to take that kind of chance with someone, I wanted it to be with her." I think that may be one of the best pieces of wisdom I've ever received.

While I enjoy acting like a child from time to time, living my life for myself (for the most part), a little part of me longs for the days when I can say I'm a fiance, a wife, a mother. And every time I see on facebook (ahhh social networking) that yet another one of my friends are engaged, someone from high school is married, or someone else is pregnant or has a child, a very small part of me is slightly jealous. Maybe jealous isn't the correct word, because I'm not resentful in the least bit of those people, but it does make me think of what I would do in those situations. It makes me excited for when I too can change my relationship status, post my wedding pictures, and brag about the funny things my child does.

Yet at the same time, when I start thinking about all those things more seriously, I start to question. Am I ready to get married? No. Am I sane enough to have a child? No. Am I content with spending my Friday and Saturday's intoxicated? Yes. Am I okay with not having that huge commitment hanging around my finger? Yes. I guess I'm okay with not being an adult for now. And I guess I'm okay with the notion that I may never completely feel ready to be an adult, even when I am one. So, for now, I will enjoy my relaxing Saturday mornings watching cartoons, and just patiently wait to enter those next chapters of my life.

Pixie Playland (END OF THE CHALLENGE!)

Day 24 - A picture of you when you were younger.

My dad and I, circa... sometime in the late 80s or early 90s I'm sure.

Day 25 - A picture of your all time favorite band

I discovered them in my 7th grade music class. In that particular class, I don't remember doing much of anything, but a lot of people would bring in their own music to listen to. One of the "popular" boys had asked to put in his new cd, Candyass by Orgy, and from that point on I was sold. I ran out as soon as I could to buy a copy of my own, and to this day I have probably listened to it about a million and a half times. It was the only thing playing in my cd player during my entire field trip to Washington DC (a year later... DC happened for me in 8th grade), and I think by high school I became full blown obsessed with them.

They were the first band I had gone out of my way to research the hell out of. I know a completely ridiculous amount of useless Orgy information (facts I used to torture my friend with all... the... time), things like allergies, birthdays, spouses names and occupations, where they were from, where they were living, etc. I even went as far as making a fan site, and from that fan site I met a handful of online "friends" who shared my love of the band. I would make fan pictures, I downloaded their fonts, I owned every cd, counted down the days to the next one, and I knew every word to every single song... I have yet to love a band the way that I loved them.

Their music, while not completely mind blowing, always spoke to me. And of course I was absolutely in love with their style. I loved that they were weird, futuristic, make up wearing men. Loved it. I tried to style my own wardrobe and hair after them. And let me tell you how stoked I was when I discovered that a few of the members had started their own clothing line, Replicant.

Unfortunately, I was only able to see them as Orgy once. I was in the 9th grade and the show was at the Worcester Palladium. My dad took my friend and I to see them. I had done my research on what the best way to meet them was, and just in case I succeeded I drew them a beautiful picture of themselves (oh yes, I was THAT fan) because I knew they kept things fans made them (specifically Ryan, the guitarist, he had a box full of fan made stuff). And again, to this day I have NEVER been so excited to see a band. They sounded awful, but that didn't matter to me. All that mattered was that I was there in the same room as 5 guys I idolized so very much. And after the show my friend and I waited for at least an hour in the snow, and just as we were starting to leave, Ryan Shuck walked out the door. I was too far away for him to actually speak to me, but I was able to leave him with the picture I had made.

They stopped making music as Orgy around my senior year, and I missed the last show they played in this area. But a few years later I learned Ryan (the guitarist) and Amir (the other guitarist) had made a separate band called Julien-K. Now, I'm not really into the new band, but because I love them so much I try to go see them any chance I can. And the last time I saw them, in 2007, I was able to actually meet Ryan and Amir (and the rest of the band).

I was too nervous to say exactly what I wanted to say to them... How I had been so in love with them in my teen years, and how they both inspired me to start playing guitar/making my own music. But I did get to meet and talk to them... which is absolutely amazing. It's not every day you get to meet members from your favorite band ever. Now... if only I could find the rest of them...

My body is my temple.

Woah, there. Took a little bit of a blogging break... a bleak (pronounced, blake) if you will... but now I'm back and ready to... type. I only have three days left of this damn challenge, a 25 day challenge that has taken me, oh, just shy of 3 months, but don't judge me. I'm trying to put some thought into this bitch.

Day 23 - Your biggest regret.

Originally, I was going to go in a completely different direction for this challenge and write about something that goes hand-in-hand with my last post about college... Regretting not going to a "real" 4 year college. That is one of a few things I regret, but it's definitely towards the top of the list. However, after having a conversation with my sister about body image, and visiting this tumblr, I've decided on a completely different topic...

My biggest regret is giving in to societies view of what a beautiful woman is.

If you're a girl, any girl, chances are you've given in too, and the outcome has been a life long struggle to love and accept yourself. Quite possibly the hardest battle to fight, and one that is often never won.

If you're anything like me you may spend a ridiculous amount of time staring at yourself in the mirror pinching and nit picking at every single imperfection on your body, all the while the little voice in the back of your head utters, "Oh, when did Shamu show up?" Then you start imagining every anorexic celebrity people have deemed as "hot" and start comparing yourself to them. "Ugh, if only I had Angelina's boobs..." or, "If I stop eating I can totally look like Natalie Portman!" Then, defeated, you eventually force yourself to stop looking in the mirror and walk away while you continue to subconsciously cry and feel exceptionally self loathing. "Stupid bitches... ruin it for the rest of us. How can I possibly compare to them!"

I've been trying to stop this horrible pattern of self destruction. If I think I look particularly nice in an outfit I will try to tell myself how pretty I look. Or, like today, when I'm second guessing what I've put on I'll simply repeat, "I'm beautiful. I'm beautiful. I'm beautiful," until I force myself to leave it on and continue with my life. But if I could just learn how to accept myself, flaws and all, if I could just learn to like myself, to possibly see what others have seen in me, my life would be so much easier.

I regret becoming the stereotypical, "does this dress make me look fat," girl. Have I really become so vain that my life depends on how I look to others? None of that should matter. I don't even begin to judge my friends as harshly as I judge myself. I even disagree with most of the negative stuff my girl friends have said about themselves. Each and every one of us has our own unique beauty, and just because you're not 75 lbs and barbie tan that doesn't make you ugly. Not one bit.

But most of us can't see past the outside, and some men only make it worse. I've listened to my male friends talk about how gross fat girls are, I've listened to the fat jokes, the ugly jokes, the flat chested jokes and I've absolutely taken notice of who they call hot. Who hasn't? It all stays locked inside your mind and it makes you terrified of what they say about you. It makes you wonder if the ugly or fat jokes have ever been directed towards you, and it makes you crazy. It makes you strive to be rail thin with a plastic surgery face... It makes you scared to get into a bathing suit where everyone can clearly see your cellulite and stretch marks. It's a horrible hell most women live in, one we've put ourselves into by caring what the rest of the world thinks.

I want to be content with myself, but I'm also terrified of being viewed as conceited. I've had people compliment me before. I've been told I was "hot" or "beautiful." Guys have had crushes on me, and girls have openly told me the things they are jealous of me for. Yet somehow, I still can't come to terms with myself and my image. And it's not even that I'm brushing off the compliments. I get excited like a 6 year old every single time I get a compliment or someone hits on me. There's a boost of confidence every single time, but like a drug it wears off and I'm left thinking, "Well they liked how I looked then not necessarily how I look now," even if it happened earlier in the day.

My boyfriend is wonderful for my self esteem, and it means the world to me that he tries to help me get through this. I love that to him I am beautiful, I am what he wants, but it hurts him every time I put myself down. I make sarcastic comments all the time about my appearance. I even rely on him to tell me whether or not an outfit looks okay because I don't trust my own judgment. He has helped me very significantly these past 2 and half years, whether I show it or not, but I still have that awful voice inside my head that's putting me down every... single... second of the day.

So my goal for myself before I die, is to someday be able to look at myself and love what I see. I want to try not to take what others say to heart, and I want to be able to ignore what society is telling me is beautiful. I mean, hell, in the past it was desirable to be a heavier, pale woman. Even in the 50s it was okay to have curves. Now, everyone wants xylophone ribs, a noticeable spine, zero percent body fat with a DD cup size. But unless you starve yourself, or have a crazy metabolism and some fantastic genes, that's not going to happen.

Like I said before, we are all beautiful in one way or another. Even if I'm not the most physically attractive girl in the world I still have a pretty decent personality. I have a brain, that I use, I'm musical and artistic... and I'm a pretty decent mix of girly-girl and tom-boy. I could design you a bad ass logo, write and perform a song, debate with you on politics and ethics, wear 6 inch heals, keep up with you on a snowboard, verse you at a video game, change a tire, and wear a dress ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Well, maybe not... but you get what I'm saying here. I have to learn that thinking I'm a good, beautiful person is not necessarily me being narcissistic, it's me trying not to sabotage my own mental health with my pessimistic self image.

Someday, I will like myself. And someday I wont have to regret succumbing to the views of society. But for now... I'll just take it one day at a time.

(Insert Emo Sounding Title Here)

Day 22 - A time you felt like ending your own life.

I've opened up quite a bit in this blog. Sometimes I freak myself out just by thinking about all the personal babble I've put on the internet... And how I've willingly admitted to any random or not-so-random passerby of this thing that I can be a tich psychotic at times, or all the time... You can pick whichever one you'd like, I don't mind. Some people have told me that it takes a lot of "courage" to do what I do, to open myself up to complete strangers, but to me it's not really a huge deal. The way I look at it, we're all flawed. Every... single... one of us.... Whether you choose to admit it or not. Deep down there's a different person inside us all, someone no one or very few get to see, and while I keep some aspects of my personal life hidden, I'm not afraid to expose most of my flaws to the general public.

That being said, this particular day of the challenge seems almost too personal. I could be vague or I could just flat out lie and tell you that I've never thought about ending my own life, but the whole point of this damn thing is to get to know me... the real me. So with the title of this entry being a disclaimer, I'll share with you the darkest of places my mind has gone.

I come from a line of "mental illnesses," so it's only fitting that I continue with the family tradition. I've said before my life has been a long battle with anxiety and depression, so if I were to tell you I haven't considered suicide at some point or another you'd probably think I was lying. I don't think I can quite recall the first time I felt like I wanted out, but I know that every so often that thought still finds itself clinging to the fibers in the back of my mind. My life is far from horrible, but I can easily get overwhelmed.  The realization of working, the real world and responsibility alone can bring a grown man to tears from time to time, and when you're feeling really overwhelmed, really stuck, ending it all can sometimes seem like the best way out.

But I think the time I was most seriously considering not existing anymore was probably in college. I've mentioned on here before that the relationship I was in before the one I'm in now was dysfunctional, but I feel like even that word couldn't do what it actually felt like justice. It's not that he was a bad person, because he wasn't, we were just two people that did not, I repeat, DID NOT belong in a relationship together. We were best friends before that, and that's all we should have remained.

He and I were together on and off for almost 6 years, and during that time I became this horrible monster of a person. Jealousy is one of those things that can turn even the most beautiful of people into the most ugly thing you have ever seen, and I was no exception. He would do little things to violate my trust and the jealousy would build... and it would build... and soon it overtook me and our entire relationship. Being with him became more of a possessive thing than something I actually wanted to do. I hated who I was, I hated the things I said, the way I felt, how much I depended on him... but I couldn't bring myself to leave. And when we both went off to college things got much, much worse.

He started a month before I did. His dorms were only a twenty minute drive from my house at the time, so I didn't think it was going to be that big of a change. But once he got there he started making friends, started fitting in, you know all the normal things you're supposed to do when you start college, and it made me furious. I started to feel like he'd rather be with all his NEW friends, around all those art school college sluts, instead of me, and it made me insane. The mega-fighting began there, and was made worse when I left for school, an hour away, a month later. My college experience was different from his. He made so many friends really quickly, and I made basically none (save for the two friends from high school that came with me and I was rooming with). So I became jealous of his experience. He was, after all, at the school I really wanted to go to, but ultimately decided against.

Things got worse from there, and a few months in he broke up with me. We tried to stay friends, but it killed me to see how okay with the break up he was and I wasn't. Eventually I decided to just get over it and I met someone new. Long story short, my ex found out, didn't like it, and we ended up back together a little more than three weeks later. Horrible idea.

From there the jealousy got worse. His friends didn't like me because I was too controlling. I acted like a crazy person almost every time I was at his dorms. He would even sneak out of his room to hang out with everyone while I was sleeping... which didn't help the whole jealousy thing when I found out that's what he was doing. At first, I would only come down on the weekends, but after a little while I started coming back during the week. In the middle of my college experience my best friend and I ended up moving into student apartments together. At first everything was great, but after a little while she started becoming more distant. We hung out less, she went home almost everyday to work at her job, and I felt incredibly alone. Like I said, I didn't make a whole lot of friends there, and the ones I did make tended to just keep to themselves, which meant if I wasn't in class, I was alone. And I did not do well with being alone. That was around the time when I started going to see him during the week too. Every time we met it felt like he was only doing it because I wanted it, not because he missed me too... and that started eating away at me. Then soon it turned into us just seeing each other once during the week and on the weekends.

So there I was. Stuck at school, not even a real school, a fake, wannabe of a school, studying something I was quickly losing interest in, barely made any real friends, my best friend, the person I thought I could count on for anything, slowly starting to hate me, and my own boyfriend not wanting to spend time with me. I had never felt more alone in my entire life. All I could think about was how I drove everyone away... How I must not have any sort of personality because no one tries to hang out with me. I quickly came to the conclusion that I was a horrible person that no one wanted to be around. I felt like I would have been better off dead. No one would care that I was gone. I was obviously just a burden to everyone else... Too crazy to be a girlfriend, too needy to be a best friend, too shy to make new friends, my parents would have one less child to pay for. Everyone would have been better off without me. I tried to do things to distract me from my own thoughts. I spent countless hours staring at the computer screen playing The Sims. I even got so lonely that I would just sit at the tech center and hope someone would come talk to me, or that maybe, just maybe I could make a good friend.

Things didn't improve with my best friend and I, and it almost got to the point where we barely spoke. I still felt psychotic with my boyfriend and the distance made it worse. So I started trying to plan out how I would end it. Would I just drift off the highway while on my way to meet my boyfriend? Would I just take a handful of pills? Or would I go the typical girl way by slitting my wrists in the bathtub? I thought about the note I would write to everyone. I wondered how many people would be at my funeral. I wondered if anyone would care. I wondered if I was even significant enough for anyone to notice that I wasn't around. Then, when the thoughts of everything became too much, I would sometimes try to just drift off the road. Close my eyes and let go... But something always held me back. Something always made me open my eyes. I didn't want to live, but I was much too afraid to die.

After a little while, I decided I needed to do something. It wasn't healthy to constantly want to die, so I ended up breaking down to my mom about a month before college was over. I told her everything that was happening with my best friend, with my lack of friends, with my boyfriend, and I admitted to her that, "If I have to stay here by myself any longer I'm going to kill myself." With that, she allowed me to move home, and I commuted for the rest of my time there.

Things did end up getting better with my best friend. We had a few heart to hearts and ultimately decided that we had communication issues... and that it was probably best we didn't live together. And while I may have thought everything was easier with my boyfriend after I moved home... it didn't really help anything. We continued to be dysfunctional, and after we moved in together I think we got to our peak. The feeling of being a monster never went away, it only got worse, and I can recall a few different times where I had locked myself in our bathroom and just stared at the blade of a knife... Wishing for the strength to just do it. To just end it. I just couldn't take feeling that way anymore. But I never did get that "strength," or give in to that weakness, and eventually he and I broke up, for good... and I felt like a sane person again.

In my most contemplative states I try to think of everything I would have missed out on had I succeeded in my attempts. I think about how much it would have devastated my family, and how selfish of me it was to even think about ending it all. Of course I still think about it from time to time, but since those above times I have never been that serious about it. I've since decided that I can't miss out on what life has in store for me. No matter how stuck you feel, how completely miserable you are, you are GOING to be okay at some point. You are GOING to experience that insane happiness again. You're going to FEEL something at some point. You never know what's going to happen and there could be something amazing waiting for you just around the corner. Your life is never over unless YOU make it that way.

Struggles come with being an adult... or a human. You have to feel like you've hit rock bottom to really appreciate the times where you feel like you're on top of the world. We have the ability to persevere through anything. Break ups, death, jobs, college, relationships, sickness. We have the ability to come through it all, you just have to know that you wont always feel that way. As much as it may feel like it at the time, that feeling wont last forever. You will laugh again, you will cry again, you will be in that pit of self pity again, but that's how it goes. This life is just a cycle of tests and shit and happiness. It's just one big crazy ass roller coaster, and once you realize that it helps you get through the day.

You may be sitting in a blue cubicle right now... slaving away, writing emails, answering phones, feeling like a robot... but you always get a break. You may be mourning the loss of a break up, feeling like there is no way you'll ever love again.... but you will. You may feel like you've lost control of your life... but it won't ALWAYS be like that... if you don't LET IT. We have to take responsibility for our own lives. We have the power to make OURSELVES happy. It doesn't happen overnight, but it does happen. And knowing this is what helps me get through the day. Knowing that I have so much more to see and experience helps me to push out the darkness that overcomes every one of us from time to time. And I know it seems cliche and over used, but this phrase has always held true and is one of my favorites...

"After all, tomorrow is another day."

He loves me, he loves me not.

Day 21 - A picture of your first boyfriend/girlfriend.

You know what, challenge? I'm not gunna do that. Why? Well, because it's kind of weird. Instead I shall describe to you what that person was like. As I've said before, I don't count any non-serious boyfriends as an actual "boyfriend," but for the sake of this challenge I'll just bring up each one of my firsts.

If we're going WAY back, my first "boyfriend" was in preschool. The only thing I remember about him was that his name was Chad. I've found one picture of us since then, and if I had it in my possession I would definitely post it here, but alas... it's somewhere in the many boxes of childhood photos hidden somewhere in my parents home. In this picture, I am dressed as a clown, he as a dinosaur, and we stood looking a bit surprised at the photographer while holding hands.

My next "first boyfriend" was in 6th grade, and it was one of those typical early middle school relationships that lasted very briefly and consisted of virtually no contact at all. I believe it was one of those situations where his friend asked me if I wanted to go out with him, and despite my head saying, "Say no..." I still said yes, and thus began an awkward, maybe four month relationship. I felt too bad saying no to people. I thought it would be mean to reject the person. So despite whether or not I actually WANTED to be with that particular person, I usually ended up saying yes. Now there was nothing wrong with him. He was very nice and all that, I was just not particularly interested in him as anything more than a friend. I think we only spoke a few times, once was a conversation of me telling him not to tell anyone that we were going out (something even meaner than actually saying NO in the first place... I realize this now... Don't judge me, I was like 12 or something). I remember we gave each other Valentines Day presents, and I believe we ended up breaking up in either a note I wrote to him, or my friend telling him I didn't want to go out with him anymore.

The next "first boyfriend that was more like a boyfriend" happened shortly after my break up with the other boy. We had been friends throughout the 6th grade, and we had a mutual crush on each other. Neither one of us had really addressed it (I don't think) until after he heard about my break up with the other boy. That conversation went a little like this:

Him - "So you broke up with (otherboysname)?"
Me - "Uhm, yes..."
Him - "Yessss!" *runs away to the bus*

That made me extremely excited, and my little 12 year old mind almost exploded by the very cuteness of the situation. I then had actual proof he liked me too. So, a little while later this happened. Then maybe a few weeks later he asked me out, which happened almost like the above conversation...

Every year my middle school walked from the school to a park in the name of cancer research. It's called the "Terry Fox Walk."According to google maps, it's a little less than a 2 mile walk. That year was the first time I participated.  Once we had all made it to the park we began to run around in a frenzy finding our friends to sign our yearbooks (it was June). I was with my friend Sara at the time when my crush came running over...

Him - "Sam?"
Me - "Yes?"
Him - "Will you go out with me?"
Sara - "HAHAHAHAHA!"
Me - "SHUT UP SARA! ... Yes."
Him - "Okay!" *runs away*

And thus began my "first relationship that kind of counted." We would speak on a regular basis, we hung out all summer and had a great time! He even told me he loved me once over the phone... a conversation my father heard and was not too pleased about. But when 7th grade started things began to go downhill. He started hanging out with the "popular" kids, and since I was not in that particular crowd they convinced him to dump me... Via email... to which I responded with, "I NEVER LIKED YOU ANYWAY!"

And now, to the first boyfriend that I consider my actual first boyfriend (there were a few others between the two, but not serious enough to mention). I met him at the mall during the beginning of my Sophomore year. He saw me walking with a group of mutual friends and, according to him, I "looked like Christina Aguilera" so he had to meet me. We started out playfully making fun of each other and I quickly developed a crush (I told you I was a sucker for people who can make me laugh). The next day I discovered he emailed me and asked if I wanted to go to an arcade with our mutual friend. I was 15 at the time, he was 17... which meant... he like totally had a car! OH EM GEE! I neglected to tell this to my parents in fear they wouldn't let me go, so when he and my friend arrived to pick me up I ran out the door as fast I could, hoping my parents wouldn't notice me driving away.... in a red, 2 seater Geo Metro. A few days after our first little "date" he ended up asking me to be his girlfriend and I fell for him... hard. He would write me letters, give me flowers, he claims he even wrote me a song and he once put a note to me into our local newspaper. I was in love.

I began to rebel against my parents at this point, which only pushed me closer to him. I also ended up losing my virginity to him which might have played a part in me growing so attached. We had a great system going... he would call me every day, sometimes he would surprise me at school, and every weekend he would pick me up to go to the mall and drive around. I thought our relationship was perfect... until I got caught skipping school. Needless to say, my parents were not pleased and I was grounded for a month. I feel like this is when things started to go downhill for him and I. We started getting more distant. The phone calls would slow down, and the absolute turning point was my 16th birthday. He showed up at my school with his friend, gave me a stuffed animal... and drove away. I ended up spending a good chunk of that birthday bawling my eyes out to one of my best friends at the time on my front stoop. A few weeks later I went to his school (he went to the school in the town next to mine) for a battle of the bands with my friend knowing I'd see him there. He had been ignoring me for the most part, but I thought that maybe when I saw him he'd have a reasonable explanation. Eventually I tracked him down, and after a few different times of him avoiding me I finally got him to talk to me. Honestly, I can't remember what he said. I know I have this story written down somewhere, but I know whatever he said to me was devastating. We didn't officially break up, but I remember spending the rest of THAT night in tears with my best male friend.

After that I tried calling him, even my other best friend, Jackie, tried calling him, but he ignored me. Eventually we convinced her mom to drive us to where he worked. I saw his car and waited for him. He saw me and it almost looked like he panicked for a minute. I went up to him and said something along the lines of "I just want to say it in person... We're over." And he said something along the lines of, "Okay." And that was it. I spent the next ridiculous amount of months in a horrible, post break up, teenage angst filled depression... Which was made worse after I had found out that he had been cheating on me for a good chunk time (with some nasty slut, not exaggerating). Every so often he popped back into my life with promises of us getting back together, but at some point I saw through it and him... Though much later than I should have.

We've actually kept in contact over the years, and I've looked to him for musical guidance on quite a few occasions. Once I lost that whole, "he's my ex boyfriend" stigma about him (I lost this in my junior year of high school) we were able to have a nice little "friendship"... though it's more of an acquaintanceship now. I'm usually pretty good at that whole "forgive but don't forget" thing.

So there you have it blog people... a long winded answer to who my first boyfriend was. Until next time...