A New Chapter

On October 28th, after about a month of waiting, I received a phone call that was about 4 years overdue. I had interviewed with a label printing company, twice, and was fairly certain up until that point that I did not get the job. But much to my surprise, I was offered the position on that Friday morning. After a brief celebration with my dog, I embarked on the longest drive to work ever. The second I walked in the door, I b-lined right for my bosses office to say those 7 little words I had been dying to say, "Kathy, I have to give my notice." And just like that, my life (or at least 40 hours a week of it) changed.

At first I was extremely excited. I sat in my cubicle with a stupid smile plastered on my face for what probably turned out to be an inappropriate amount of time. The news traveled around fast and many people stopped by to see if it were true. Yes, yes I had escaped. I heard a lot of I'm-so-happy-for-you's and take-me-with-you's... and some you-can't-leave-us, one person in particular called me a traitor a few hundred times. But it didn't totally hit me until the last few days that maybe I would actually miss The Telegraph. It suddenly occurred to me that I felt at home there. I had spent the past almost 6 years in the same place, with the same people, doing the same things, and now I had no idea what to expect. I knew before I even interviewed anywhere that once I left the safe confines of The Teege I would be giving up a significant amount of freedom. I basically did whatever I wanted there. I had the most awesome boss who was not super strict about hours and didn't care what I did as long as I made the deadlines. But at a new job, who knows. 

My last day was bittersweet. My department had a going away party with cake and a card, and the sales ladies I worked with directly bought me a gift card and a card of their own, two of them gave me separate presents. I had no idea it would be so emotional to leave. I literally had to choke back tears as I said my last goodbyes. While saying goodbye to my boss I almost broke down and had to say, "Okay, I really need to go before I get overly emotional." Then I sat in my car, took one last look as an employee and said goodbye to that chapter of my life... Which was immediately followed by a 15 minute cry-sesh. 

So now I'm with a new, fancy label printing company. I've been there for about 3 weeks. There have already been several on-the-verge-of-tears phone calls to my boyfriend complaining about how I can't grasp anything and how I never should have left The TG. But I've never been very good with change, so deep down in my subconscious I knew I was just adjusting. The position turned out to be much more involved than I thought, there's a crazy amount of information to take in and remember, but I am slowly understanding everything... and wanting to shoot myself in the face less.

It's unfortunate that money is such a deal breaker. I came to the conclusion in my final weeks that had it not been for the fact that I was grossly underpaid and had the worst insurance known to mankind, I probably would have stayed at The Telegraph for as long as time would allow... Which at this rate wouldn't have been very long, but that's besides the point. I may have been bored out of my god damn mind 90% of the time, but the freedom, that alone was enough to keep me from hanging myself in my cube. So I guess what I'm trying to say here is, I actually miss it. Still. Even after all the bitching and moaning about wanting to leave, here I am silently (or maybe not so silently now) wishing to be sitting in that awful, blue box I affectionately referred to as "hell." 

Instead of rolling in about 10, I promptly arrive at 8:30 am, still half asleep and pissed off by the work commute from hell, complete with 80 thousand spiteful stoplights that love to change at the exact same time just so you have to stop at every... single... one for the next 50 miles. And instead of an honor code time card, I actually have to to punch in and out. And the absolute worst part, instead of knowing everyone and feeling completely comfortable, I suddenly regress into having the social skills of my 15 year old self, and am some sort of awful mix of shy and awkward. I know all this will eventually go away, but this whole in between period... it needs to go by a bit faster. 

There are pretty significant perks to the new place though. My paycheck actually made me smile and the day FLIES by. At The TG 7 hours could have been 3 days for all I knew, they both felt the same. Actually having decent health insurance again will also be nice come January. So I guess it's still early to judge whether or not I can actually feel THAT way over a company again (like this is some sort of messed up relationship). I suppose only time will tell! 

Hello again.

Oh hello blogger blog! I'm sorry I abandoned you. I left you for a younger, more hip blog hosting site, but I must admit... I felt compelled to come back to you. I'm a sucker for your old ways and familiar... typing... space? Thank you for welcoming me back into your loving, google arms.

Much has happened since I last posted here. I still have and update my tumblr blogs (my photo and "personal" blog, which has basically become just a place for reblogging pictures and quotes) so if anyone is actually still reading this and you feel compelled to check out my other shit... feel free. But I will actually be updating this blog again. I want to say regularly, but we all know it probably wont be.

I am currently still adjusting to normal life. I took a much needed 2 week vacation, and today marks day 4 of normal work/real world humdrum bullshit. A week ago from today I was sitting in an airplane making my way to Baltimore. Two weeks ago today I was probably getting ready to head to the San Diego Zoo to embark on a 9 and a half hour quest to see the park in its entirety. But today, I am sitting in my cubicle, staring at an ad that I may or may not start at some point before I leave today.

Obviously, I miss vacation. In just 10 days my sister, friend, boyfriend and I saw almost the entire state of California. I wont bore you with every little detail, but I can tell you of the things we saw in just one sentence: The Golden Nugget, Las Vegas, Fremont Street, Escondido, the San Diego Zoo, a whole lot of nothing and farms in mid California, the Pacific Ocean, Walnut Creek, San Fransisco, a Stone Temple Pilots show (briefly from a hill in San Fran), The Winchester Mystery House, Sequoia National Park, The General Sherman Tree, Morrow Rock, Fresno, Calico Ghost Town, Barstow, Route 66, vampire boobs, The Stratosphere, and many west coast sunsets. It was an amazing adventure. One that I am so happy to have been a part of.

However, I would be lying if I told you that I wasn't a little relieved to be home. The trip was amazing, but also very stressful at times. Flying, flying was the worst. Not even the actual act of flying, but not knowing which plane you're going to make it on or whether or not you'll even get home in a timely manner is probably one of the most anxiety inducing things I've ever done. Landing in Manchester was extremely bittersweet. It meant the end of my carefree vacation days, but it also meant I was home.

It's funny that everywhere we went I was always searching for that "home feeling." While in the midst of the desert that feeling was nowhere to be found, but as we headed north and the trees became more green and abundant I definitely felt it. San Fransisco, while still foreign to me, still felt the most like home. The weather changed from warm, sunny and happy to gray, cold and dreary in almost an instant, something most New Englander's can relate to. We stayed in Walnut Creek which was about a 15 minute drive from the city, and the whole time the feelings were similar to those I feel when I'm around the Boston area. It was nice to feel that little bit of home.

I always talk about how sick I am of the same old place, the same old things, but a strange thing overcame me as I spent my first night back on the east coast. I felt appreciative for things I had never before appreciated. It was nice to get into my own car, drive down familiar roads to stores I know the layout to, and to actually cook my own meal. It was like I needed those few weeks of unfamiliar chaos to really appreciate this place I call home.

I am not, however, excited to be back at work. Making money is wonderful and extremely needed right now (recovering from this trip is going to take a little while), but the whole real world cubicle thing... I would never miss. I felt somewhat refreshed my first day back, did lots of work, but it took all of two days for me to remember how much I hate everything that has to do with this job.

So, that being said, I'm currently all enrolled and (almost) ready to go for college part III. In January I will be going back to finish up my Elementary Education degree. I'm extremely excited and nervous all at the same time. I am not looking forward to tests and homework and papers, but I am very, VERY much looking forward to my impending career change. Graphic design, it's been... interesting, but there is no way in HELL I will be doing you for the rest of my life (giggity).

 And that is basically what has been happening since I last blogged here. I don't usually do the whole "updates on me" thing, so don't you worry, I'll go back to the "updates on feeling and rants" as soon as possible.

It's good to be home... but I do rather miss you west coast.

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.