The Agnostic Struggle with Religion

I don't believe in God, and I'm not sure I ever really did. When I was younger I would pray. My prayers were for silly things like, "Hey God, if you're real can you help me find this thing I'm looking for?"

I never took religion seriously, and neither did my parents. I knew they had both grown up religious. My mom and aunt attended Catholic school, and the only stories I remember hearing were about the terrible things the nuns said and did (like telling my 7 year old aunt that she was going to hell). But we never really discussed religion and or talked about God.

When I started making friends, I noticed many of them would go to church. This seemed like a fun thing to do, and I wondered why we never went. I asked my mom about church and God, and her response was one of encouragement. She wanted me to discover my own religious identity. She told me to go to church with my friends, and gave me a bible to look through. I did end up going to church several times, both Catholic and various Christian denominations, but mostly I was just... bored.

Once I knew what "atheist" meant I decided I was one of those. I couldn't ever quite grasp the concept of God; some strange dude sitting in the sky controlling, and listening to, everyone and everything. The older I got, the more passionate I became with my atheism. Religion seemed horrifying to me. How can people believe these stories? How can they deny scientific evidence? I saw the negatives - the hatred and the wars. I couldn't get behind something that has killed so many people over such a long period of time.

I did try, very briefly, in high school to become Wiccan. This was short lived. I never really believed in spells and all of that. It was just fun, and I liked the idea of worshiping the earth. And perhaps a little part of calling myself Wiccan was for shock value. I was a goth-child after all. 

Long after high school (and college part 1), I started dabbling in some sort of spirituality. My aunt was interested Buddhism, so I decided to look into it. I loved everything I read. It seemed more of a way to deal with depression rather than a religion. However, the reading was dry, and I never fully committed myself to it. I decided to downgrade my atheist title to agnostic. I wanted to be more spiritual, and being spiritual did not mean I needed to believe in a Christian God.

About two years ago now I started college part 3. My university is a Catholic one, and this scared me a bit. It was required of me to take 2, TWO, religion classes. This seemed pretty terrible. I had this image of a nun, habit and all, standing at the front of the class with a ruler yelling at me for being a horrible, sinner, non-believer. I imagined the battles I would get in to with all the other religious people in my class. I dreaded my religion classes.

As a way to avoid any potentially heated Catholic/Agnostic debates, I tried to take the most liberal sounding religion classes. Someone in one of my psychology classes had recommended taking Death and Dying - as it is helpful for people learning the therapist/social worker trade - so I decided to take it.

As the time to start drew closer I found myself getting excited. I felt ready to learn. My mind started opening to the idea of it because of all the psychology and social work classes I had taken. Religion plays such a great role in many peoples lives, and can be a great coping mechanism. I decided in order for me to be a good therapist/social worker, I needed to learn all I could about religion so I can effectively help people with a variety of religious backgrounds.

Unfortunately, my teacher in Death and Dying was pretty awful. The class was 100% online, and she was not an active teacher. I'm almost positive she set up the course and never looked at it again. We were required to read passages in the Old Testament and then talk about them in a journal. I found this extremely difficult because I was not familiar with the language nor the stories. I would reach out to her to clarify things (many of my journal entries started with, "I did not understand the passage but..."), but she never answered. This was very frustrating because I really wanted to learn something.

My second religion class was absolutely amazing. It was called "Faith, Religion, Theology" which made me nervous at first. I figured this would be the aforementioned nun scenario for sure. But on the first day, I walked into a class with this wonderful older gentlemen who exuded an almost ex-hippie-like demeanor. He was not preachy, in fact we never cracked open a bible. The book we read was called The Power of Myth which is a transcript of a PBS special Joseph Campbell did with Bill Moyers. It covers all religions, how they started, and even likens the various stories between them. The book is cheap, and I highly recommend reading it - religious and non-religious people alike!

I had (have) nothing but admiration for my teacher. He is brilliant, and well traveled. He never told us exactly what he believed, but he did such a fantastic job explaining all the different religions to us. Any question we had, he knew the answer and had a story to share. This is what I was looking for in a religion class.

So last spring, I needed to pick my final classes. After finding my required classes, I had one elective left. I scanned the schedule for interesting classes (read: easy classes). I needed something that wouldn't be too much work, but would still hold my interest. The pickings were slim, but I was happy to find World Religions on the list (with the very same teacher as Faith, Religion, Theology). Now, had this been 10 years ago, I would have cringed at the idea of taking a religion class, never mind an extra religion class. But this is what I picked. And this is the class I'm currently in, and it is fascinating!

I've learned a great deal in just 8 weeks. We studied: Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and two small units on Daoism and Confucianism. Many of the religions just flow together. Judaism lead to Christianity, Christianity lead to Islam (believe it or not!), and Hinduism lead to Buddhism. Hinduism is insanely confusing, but interesting. Islam is actually a lot like Judaism and Christianity (it's the extremists that give it a bad name much like any other religion).  Buddhism has a billion different sects, does not believe in a God, and pulls a bit from Daoism and Confucianism depending on the region. And, unfortunately, not one of them put women in high regard (even though women play a large role in most of them) - not even my beloved Buddhism.

As you can gather from my opening line, I have not necessarily been swayed, even with all my newly acquired knowledge. However, my thirst for learning religion grows. Instead of looking at religion in a negative way, I'm seeing it in a much more positive light. I see the good it does for so many people. The hatred and the wars are a horrible and unfortunate side effect, but I can finally see and understand why people believe the things they believe. I've even become envious of those who do. I would love to believe, but I can't. It's just not written in my DNA. All I can do is learn, and that is more than enough for me. The fact I'm even wanting to learn is a feat in and of itself.

Another "side effect" of all this knowledge is I've found myself getting angry with Atheists. I've always mostly sided with them, as my beliefs are closer to theirs than they are to religious individuals. However, I've seen atheists be downright mean to people. They berate religious people for believing in what they believe. I can understand this to a point, particularly when a religious person is being pushy, hateful, or ignorant. But in most other scenarios I think it's counterproductive, and frankly hypocritical, for an atheist to make people feel bad for believing what they believe. Yes, some of the stories are completely ridiculous, but if believing those stories isn't hurting anyone then what's the harm? There's no reason to make anyone, regardless of religion, feel bad for believing, and there is also no reason for anyone to push their own personal views on anyone else.

So through all this spiritual discovery, I've created my own ideas. "God" (to me) is the universe... which I suppose makes science my Jesus. I do not believe there is some physical being who decides my fate and the fate of the world. The universe creates us, it kills us, and while some sort of afterlife sounds lovely, I don't believe there is anything after we die. Our energy leaves our body and becomes part of the universe again. I do sometimes "pray" which means I try to send out messages of positivity in hopes good things will happen, but I'm not positive there is any point to doing so other than making myself feel better.

We all want to know why we're here. We want to think we are here for a reason, that our lives have a purpose. Death is terrifying, and we struggle to find a meaning for it, and what lies beyond. Is the Christian God the actual God? Is Islam the right religion? Or is there really nothing and Atheists are the ones on the right track? The fact of the matter is we will never know who is right and who is wrong. There will never be anything definitive telling us what to believe.

If this is the only chance we get, if there is no God and no afterlife, then what we do now is of the utmost importance. Do what makes you happy, but not at the expense of others. Believe in whatever you want to believe in, but never judge another for what they believe. Promote peace and love, and work to extinguish hate. All these things, more so than religion, are the most important practice.

“When you find yourself in one of those mystical/devotional frames of mind or in an emergency and you feel you want to pray, then pray. Don’t ever be ashamed to pray or feel prevented by thinking yourself unworthy in any way. Fact is whatever terrible thing you may have done, praying will always turn your energy around for the better.
Pray to whomever, whatever, and whenever you choose. Pray to the mountain, pray to the ancestors, pray to the Earth, pray to the Tao (but it won’t listen!), pray to the Great Mother, pray to Jehovah, Allah, Buddha, Jesus, Lakshmi, Siva, pray to the Great Spirit, it makes no difference. Praying is merely a device for realigning the mind, energy, and passion of your local self with the mind, energy and passion of your universal self. When you pray, you are praying to the god or goddess within you. This has an effect on your energy field, which in turn translates into a positive charge that makes something good happen.”

― Stephen Russell, Barefoot Doctor's Guide to the Tao: A Spiritual Handbook for the Urban Warrior

Diagnosis Unknown

On December 31st I came down with the flu. Fantastic timing really, being the first year I had actually found a New Years Eve party to go to that wasn't at my home. It was only natural my body would decide then was the best time to be the sickest I have ever been as an adult. So, needless to say, I was pretty stoked when my fever quickly climbed from 99 to 102.

I had hoped a nap would make me feel slightly better so I could join my friends and boyfriend at the other party, but no, it became pretty clear to me that would not be an option. Luckily, I have the best friends, family, and boyfriend anyone could ask for...They moved the party to my house so I could be a part of their celebration even if I couldn't leave my room.

On January 2nd I broke down and went to the doctor. I had yet to receive my new (awesome) health insurance card, so I had hoped I could beat this without an office visit. They made me wear a mask, and was diagnosed with the flu. Many prescriptions were written and I was sent on my way.

That evening I was sitting in my living room when I noticed a flashing light in my right eye. "Great," I thought, "Now I'm getting a migraine." I already had a fever, so might as well have a migraine too! I braced myself for the inevitable onset of pain, but it never came. In fact, when I woke up in the morning the next day the light was still there. I called my mom for about the millionth time since I came down with the flu (because seriously, all you want is your mom to take care of you when you're sick, even when you're an adult) to complain about the light. She suggested that maybe it was the medication I was taking and that it would hopefully go away in the next few days. I thought that sounded about right, and patiently waited for the light to go away.

But it didn't. So after my insurance card came (about February-ish) I decided since I have awesome health insurance that I should maybe see a doctor. My first visit was to a new eye doctor (who is great, by the way). He put those crazy dilating drops in my eyes and looked inside.

Which I thought was HILARIOUS.

He told me I had stretchmarks in the back of my right eye, lattice dystrophy, and a vitreoretinal tuft. He told me not to do things where I could hit my head (specifically, no boxing), and that the flashing light should go away in a month. I scheduled an appointment for a month and waited.

Well, it didn't go away. So when I went back to the eye doctor he gave me two potential diagnoses: the first would be an atypical migraine, and the second "way down at the bottom of the symptoms list" would be MS. My heart dropped a little when he said the latter. He said "not to worry," but he was ordering an MRI just to rule it out.

So my next step was the MRI. I met with my primary care doctor (who seemed less than pleased at the possible MS diagnosis) so she could help get the MRI process going. She also scheduled my an appointment with a neurologist (so many doctors).

While I waited for the MRI to be approved by my insurance, I completed (and aced) a visual field test at my eye doctor and was told that it "definitely wasn't an eye thing, and was probably a brain thing."

I had the MRI (was not thrilled about it), and got the results a few days later. The newest diagnosis was a slight chiari malformation (aka a saggy brain as I liked to call it), but NOT MS. So I went to the neurologist who assured me the chiari malformation is SO minimal I would never show any symptoms, and the light was definitely not caused by it. BUT he found something else behind my right eye - possibly a benign tumor (fantastic!). So he ordered another MRI (ALSO FANTASTIC!) to investigate.

So I had the second MRI (And got this cool picture of my brain that refuses to post here for some reason). Oh, yeah, I also got every blood test known to mankind done. And the results? Normal. Everything normal; blood and MRI (with the exception of a slight vitamin D deficiency). I have an asymmetrical something-bone in my skull which they believed was the mass the neurologist found behind my eye.

I am relieved and confused. Because while everything has come back fine and normal, I still have this light, flashing away, in my right eye. Luckily, it doesn't really bother me. I barely notice it if I'm using both my eyes. I started this whole process just to have an answer as to why it would be happening, and here I am months later not being any closer to an answer. Although, on the positive side, I do know I'm tumor and MS free!

I had planned to post this entry since I've kept this whole process on the down-low, but my plan was to post it after they had found out what the problem was. Now that I'm thinking I wont really get an answer, I figured now was as good a time as any to write this. I have a few more things to wait for, as my neurologist seems pretty determined to help get me an answer, but I'm not real confident I will get anything definitive at the point. I'm frustrated and grateful all at the same time, but we shall see what the future holds!

Ha-Ha-Haunted

In the spirit of Halloween I thought I would share with you a few of the experiences I have had with the unexplained. I thought of this idea while watching Ghost Adventures (I'm more of a Ghost Hunters kind of girl, but I needed to watch something scary that wasn't a bad 80s horror movie). It occurred to me that I have a fantastic "unexplained" picture! I thought it would be cool to post the picture along with the story and several other stories of spooky things that have happened to me. However, after about an hour and a half of searching almost every corner of my house - I gave up. I'm pretty disappointed because the picture would add so much to my story, but alas, I must continue without it.

So I will begin with the story of the picture. 

It was the early 2000's. My friends and I had become pretty obsessed with "ghost hunting." We wanted to explore and investigate as many of the haunted places as we could. A few of my friends had mentioned Blood Cemetary in Hollis. Supposedly, it's one of the most haunted cemeteries in New Hampshire, so things seemed promising. Armed with a video camera and several other cameras my boyfriend at the time, sister, friend, and I all took a trip out to Hollis. We decided to go during the day since we tried to go at night once before and were too terrified to even stop the car.

It was a very hot summer day, and at first we were all a little disappointed. Nothing was happening. It wasn't even creepy during the day, but we hoped to maybe get something on film. We tried to provoke any of the energies floating around - telling them to push us over, but nothing was happening. Until, we came to a specific grave. All of us were drawn to one with the name of (if I'm remembering correctly) "Rebecca.". It was strange because all around this grave were these patches of cold air, like air conditioning. There was no breeze, and all four of us felt the exact same thing. We stayed and talked to the grave - even sitting beside it. It was at this point one of us snapped a picture. A little while later, we left.

We dropped off the film to get developed (remember those days?!), and looked at the footage for anything cool. We found nothing - until we got the pictures back. None of the other pictures showed anything except for the picture of us talking to "Rebecca." In the picture there are three of us sitting on the ground. You can see us feeling the cold spot, and right above my friend's shoulder was this bright white orb (dammit I wish I found the stupid picture). It was the coolest thing I've ever seen. It was too big and prominent to be a bug (and if it was a bug, why didn't they show up on anything else). We also weren't using a flash, so I don't have any other explanation as to what it would be.

My other stories all involve my childhood home.

My sister and I had separate rooms, but my room just so happened to have a spare bed. One day, my sister came into my room (she couldn't have been any older than 5) and said to me, "Can I sleep in your room? There are people talking in mine." This was pretty terrifying, so I said yes. She stayed in my room for close to a year after that.

Another incident happened early in the morning. My sister and I were in my room; she was asleep, but I was awake lying in my bed. My mom was taking a shower in the bathroom down the hall. I heard her open the door suddenly and say, "Hello? ... Hello!" I thought it was strange so I yelled back to her. She said, "Did you knock on the bathroom door?" I said no, that I had been laying in bed the whole time. She said, "It had to have been you. You were probably sleepwalking." I did sleepwalk, but I knew it couldn't have been me - I was laying in bed the whole time! She wouldn't accept my answer, so I just let her believe what she wanted to believe.

The strange things in my house got more intense in my teen years. There would be so many times where you would feel like someone was watching you. We had three dogs and sometimes all three of them would stare in the same corner and start barking. I watched things fall down the stairs (which could be explained as things just falling, not supernatural, to look at it objectively), and many of my friends felt very uncomfortable in my house (one had never heard any of our stories).

The best example of my dogs noticing strange things happened pretty late at night. I was on the internet in our computer room. To my right was our kitchen, and past that was our living room. My large, vicious dog was laying in the kitchen when there was a noise in the living room - like a quick bang. We both heard it - he picked his head up and stared exactly where I heard the noise. Then immediately after, there was another bang - this time right behind my dog in the kitchen. He took off and ran upstairs. That scared me, and as I started to get up there was another bang behind me. At that point I ran upstairs into my room probably the fastest any human being could have traveled.

Another strange situation happened again when I was sitting on my computer late at night. I was downstairs in the same computer room when I heard my dad yell, "SAM!" from the top of the stairs. I yelled back, "What?!" Then there was nothing, so I yelled again, "What, Dad?!" I got annoyed and headed to the stairs. When I got there no one was there. I assumed my dad got annoyed and went back to his room, so I went up to their room. Both my mom and my dad were asleep - TV off (they fell asleep with it on) and my dad snoring away. So who the hell called my name?

The last incident before everything seemed to stop was the weirdest one. I hesitate to tell people this because it's pretty weird (and you may judge me), but here we go. I felt like the ghost or energy or whatever was occupying my house liked to mess with me - specifically me. My neighborhood had a theory it was the ghost of one of our neighbors who had committed suicide (my neighbors had similar kinds of ghost stories - one I will share later), and that he would just walk around house to house and freak us out. So on this night - I had, had it. I was in our living room watching TV. It was at night and everyone was upstairs. My mom was the only one awake, and she was watching TV in her room. I started getting the feeling that someone was watching me. Most of the time I would try to brush it off, but this time it was giving me goosebumps. I decided to go upstairs and it felt like it was following me. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I started washing my face when it felt like something poked me. I looked up, wiped my face with a towel, and then I saw it. A mother-effing tissue was being PULLED out of the tissue box. Every so gently I saw it tug once, twice, and by the third time I was so confused and freaked out I started screaming at it. "Stop! Just stop! Leave me the fuck alone!" And it was over. The feeling like someone was staring at me was gone, and I ran to my mom's room to tell her what had happened.

Everything else up until that point could have a reasonable explanation. However, the tissue takes the cake. I didn't touch the tissue box before it started happening, so it's not like maybe it was my fault. It happened completely on its own. I know it sounds out there, but you need to just take my word for it that it happened. Nothing "paranormal" has happened to me since then that even comes close so being as strange.

The last story I will share with you happened while I was babysitting for my neighbors. The parents had gone out for the night, so I allowed all three of the kids to hang out in the den with me to watch a movie (and stay up a little later past their bed time). The kids all had their own stories of strange things happening. The youngest was so scared that I made up a story about how I was friends with the ghosts to comfort him. I told him that since we were friends the ghosts wouldn't hurt him. So, on this particular night, all four of us got into a tickle fight. We were laughing and having a good time until we heard a scream come from the other room. The girls heard it at the exact same time I did. Their faces dropped and the oldest said, "Did you hear that? What was that?!" I lied and said it was me. The oldest was too smart and called me out, but I insisted it was me so the little ones wouldn't be scared. After that, they asked if they could sleep next to me on the couch, and I had absolutely no objection.

So there you have it! My "unexplainable" stories. I don't know with 100% certainty that ghosts are real, but I do know some weird things have happened. However, if we are all made of energy... and energy is neither created nor destroyed, then is it really all that far fetched to believe ghosts could be little collections of energy?

... And I still wish I found that picture.

If you have any ghost storied of your own I would love to hear them!

Being Human.

Twenties have been interesting. And hard. And stressful. But after reading a few other blogs and articles it seems as though this might be normal. I had this image of what a 20-something was supposed to be like. Even entering my 20s I expected a great many things from my future self. Older me was going to have her shit together. All my mental and physical struggles were going to be fixed and figured out! I was going to be awesome! However, I put too much faith into time. In time I would fix it - just give it some time and things will work themselves out. I put some half-assed effort into fixing myself, though that turned out to not be good enough. But a strange thing starts to happen in your 20s - time suddenly doubles in speed. Then after 25 it quadruples. And before you know it you're staring 30 in the face while wondering, "What the hell happened!?"


But seriously, what the hell has happened? I am no where near the person younger me thought I would be - which is simultaneously depressing and relieving (younger me had some stupid ass ideas). I know I've talked about this before on here, I may have even talked this to death, but the journey through 20 has been eye opening. I gain a new perspective with every passing year (or week or minute for that matter). So I feel the need to document and pass on this information.

I know I had said I was no longer going to write in here. I've been going back and forth with this thing for a while. I've been afraid of being judged for putting my depression struggle on display. But I thought about it and decided - I don't care. I almost want people to know because explaining this is real life can be difficult. Especially now when I feel like I'm losing friends because of it.

For a very, very long time now, I've been stuck in a hole. I think I'm looking at 2 years of being in a pretty steady state of unhappiness. I'm not completely sure why - as I've tried changing my environmental stressors quite a few times. Ridding myself of things which cause me an excess of negativity. And for brief periods of time it's caused me some relief - but I still live in this fog. I have this terrible monster looming over me, and a separate one tucked away inside my soul. I can't shake them, and I'm not sure what it's going to take to rid my life of them. To some degree, I think I will always carry them with me - one of the lovely new realizations my 20s have brought me (much to the dismay of my past self who thought it would be over by now). I just need to know how to live like a normal human being while they try to suck the life from my body.

That's what I think I've been failing at - being human. Living like a normal person. I've started avoiding things. Stupid, normal things stress me out. I started coping with this in unhealthy ways - successfully bringing myself a whole new cart of baggage to deal with and sort through.

I don't think it's any secret to most people I've become extremely antisocial. I host parties, yes, but I don't think many people realize this is where I see a pretty large majority of my friends. I've become very good at being a hermit. In some ways, I'm pretty proud of myself - in my early 20s and teens I never wanted to be alone. Now, I am totally stoked to sit at home alone. To go shopping alone. To drive long distances alone (with the exception of my dog's company for most of these things). When the hell did this happen?

However, I attribute some of this to the depression. Everything exhausts me - being human totally exhausts me. Socializing? Oh man. I'm incredibly introverted and shy, and now with the increased depression, using my limited social skills has become quite the task. Sometimes when people ask me to do things, and I've had a particularly exhausting day of battling my monsters, I literally don't have the energy to force myself to be around people. There's a small group who I can just say that to and they understand, but I know after a while of the same excuse people start to question whether or not I'm telling the truth - maybe even start to think I don't like them. This is not the case at all. I'm just exhausted - and have been exhausted for a very, very long time.

I keep doubting myself and have been incredibly mentally self-abusive. The inside monster likes to tell me how awful I am. She likes to remind me on a regular basis that I'm nothing, tells me everyone hates me, and remind me about everyone else who has their shit together. This same monster has made drinking become an issue - as I use it as a social crutch. It has recently come to my attention that I become this monster from time to time. She loves to manifest herself after a few shots. After foolishly thinking I could some how figure out a way to enjoy alcohol and still keep her at bay - I'm finally admitting defeat. I'm failing at being a human - what made me think I could drink like one?

I'm now starting to have to think about school again. I've had a nice long break - which flew by and was barely long enough. I have to keep reminding myself it's almost over. I'm so close to a bachelors. On a positive note, school can be a nice distraction. AND since I'm a human development major (psychology) the coursework can be a fantastic way to learn how to cope with myself (and the monsters).

I enjoy learning - especially this subject - but I often have doubts. I'm terrified of the debt I will have to pay. I'm scared I won't be able to handle the workload in the Masters program that I'll eventually have to enter into - never mind the rest of the workload to get my bachelors. I'm scared I wont like my field just like how I didn't like graphic design (though in my defense I never liked it). I get too caught up in "what-ifs." Sometimes I have to be reminded (mostly by Corey) not to get too caught up in them - but the monsters don't like optimism.

Even though I'm trapped in my own mind, blinded by the fog, and dragged down by my hypothetical monsters - I still feel happy from time to time. Sometimes I just need to be alone with myself for a bit to recoup - to re-energize myself into normal human functioning - which is sometimes why my hermiting is a beneficial thing. I'm trying not to be so reclusive that I lose all my friends, but explaining all this to people (some of whom don't totally understand depression) makes me feel a bit pathetic. And that's how this struggle has made me feel - completely pathetic.

Drown.

Drowning. Drowning in debt, in schoolwork, in emotions. I've just been drowning. The optimism from my last post still floats around in my head; bringing me much needed strength in my time of need. And while I am happier with this new path, I still struggle with the day to day.

I've thought about posting here; especially those nights when I have stressed myself out to the point of just barely suppressing the urge to rip off my own skin. I've gone back and read past entries in an attempt to work up the motivation to create a post, but this has only caused me to question this entire thing all together. Blogging... who does that? Why have I created this public place to expose my fragile emotions? It's almost embarrassing (no, it IS embarrassing).

Yet here I am again, exposing my unstable mind. Admitting to complete strangers, friends, acquaintances, enemies and any random passersby that I'm strange; like my life and thoughts actually matter to anyone other than myself. I confidently boast about goals I have never accomplished, trips I will never take, and for what? To embarrass myself in public? To disappoint my future self? So badly I want to say to you the only reason I write in this is to keep my mind fresh and to practice for the book I dream about writing... But am I lying to you? Intentionally or unintentionally?

School has been both a blessing and a curse. It's still hard to believe I've actually (semi)accomplished a goal I had set for myself since this blog is proof of how many things I let slip into obscurity, but I still question what the fuck I'm doing to myself.

In my 13 weeks of school I've completed two classes, and in two and a half weeks I will be done with two more. Everyone should be required to take at least one social work and (more) psychology class(es). They have been simultaneously eye opening and depressing. I've learned a lot about the world, and people, and depression, and families, and hormones, and all that happy (and not so happy) shit.... and it's made me a bit angry and disheartened with the world and the future.

Most of my school work has been self-reflective and I've discovered a lot of things about myself and my life I have never really let myself accept; one of those things being I am much too open about myself and my feelings... and this usually gets me into trouble. This realization was another reason I chose to look at past entries. It's nice to see what I was thinking. It's nice to see the progression of my writing and mind... but why have I done this in public? I am one of the only people I know who so willingly puts themselves out there for all the world to see, so maybe I should just stop. Maybe I should practice keeping these things to myself.

I want to say this will be my last post, but I've never been good at keeping my word, so I wont lie to you. All I can do is apologize to everyone for my terrible public displays of emotions... and apologize to myself for appearing so... naive... or terrible... or some other adjective I can't articulate.

Reset.

Once you start yourself on a certain path, it can be hard to deviate from that direction. You trudge along day after day, repeating the cycle, doing what you need to do because that's what you've always done. That's exactly what I had been doing since February of 2006. I was fresh out of college, took the next adult step and started on what I thought was going to be my career. I had my associates degree in graphic design, and even though I had decided very early on in school that graphic design was NOT for me, I landed myself a sweet little office job designing advertisements for a newspaper. I took this job because after 2 months of receiving rejection letters I had become very desperate to get the hell out of Sam's Club. So with the offer of a full time position, with benefits, a cubicle, a phone and even business cards (!), I officially became an adult.

The Telegraph was an amazing first job. I made a handful of great friends, some of whom I'm still in contact with, and they put up with my complete lack of punctuality and constant internet usage. But once the lay-offs started my love of the job took a dramatic turn. So I did what every normal adult does, I started applying to other full time graphic design jobs.

Just about four years and thousands of resumes later (I'm probably not exaggerating with that figure), I finally, finally was offered a new job. In November of 2011 I started at what I thought would be my new career path, working in a prepress department at a label printing company. I was so sure this would be a long term thing, but instead of being excited about the position after the first week like I was at The Telegraph, I felt so completely overwhelmed and out of place. It took so much longer to grasp what was expected of me and the atmosphere was completely different. And like I said in my previous post, I quickly decided that job was not for me.

So I did what any normal adult would do (?), I sulked. I fell into the biggest depression of my adult life. I gave serious consideration into running my car off the road, jumping off a bridge, running away, becoming a gypsy, living in a log cabin in the woods, and other various self-destructive, self loathing, unrealistic things. Until one day I thought to myself, Why do I need to keep going on the path I'm on? I decided the only way to change the direction of my sad little life, was to actually change my life.

Obviously, I am in need of a serious career change. The only way to really do that is to go back to school. I tried going back 3 times, only being successful ONCE in 2007 and quickly giving up after the first semester. I religiously stalked the Rivier website. I printed out information, looked at every program that remotely interested me, and after maybe a month of doing this, I came up with a plan. I was going to quit my job and go back to school full time. The only real reason (aside from the money aspect) I've been keeping a full time job is to have health insurance, and when I saw that you could get insurance through the school as long as you went full time, this opened up a new world of possibilities to me.

I played around with the idea for a little while. I brought it up to friends and family, and after getting some support, I decided to contact the school. I set up an appointment, chose a major that I hadn't even thought of as a possibility (I wanted to be an education major, now I'm a psychology major), and waited. All the initial things happened in April, and since then I've been carefully constructing my new life.

I was offered a part-time position at a wedding DJ company as an office assistant, secured my spot back at a part-time job I work on and off at, and up until this point none of this has felt real. Now that I have my books, student ID, folders, pens, highlighters, all the normal school things, it's starting to set in. I did it. I really made it happen. I'm starting my new life.

Tomorrow will complete my first week of a part-time work schedule. Monday is my official first day of school. Am I scared? Yes, absolutely. I've read what's expected of me for these upcoming classes and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't already feeling overwhelmed. But even with the impending stress of school and the gigantic pay cut, I can honestly tell you that in this very moment I am the happiest I have been in a very, very long time.

The Depression Monster

Like an unwanted friend, it lingers. It clings to every inch of your body, weighing you down like a lead blanket until you're nothing but a pile of useless. You wait for it to leave, but it constantly overstays its welcome and you start to wonder if it will ever leave you alone. So the only thing left is to fight it off, to wage a battle of the mind until finally the horrible weight is lifted. Though you know, deep down, that it will return soon enough.

So if you've been wondering where I've been, or why I've been so distant, or why I seem so... apathetic, it's because I've been here, shrouded in my veil of lead, feeling guilty and frustrated that I've been trapped beneath the weight for so long, and for seemingly no reason.

After my last post, I had quickly come to the conclusion that this new job is pretty terrible. And with that realization the depression really seemed to start settling in. Then, when going back to school was not a plausible possibility, things started spiraling from there.

I felt guilty and stupid for falling in as deep as I did. The depression became so bad that the sheer thought of being in public gave me panic attacks. My daily routine consisted of going to work, coming home, sitting on my couch with my dog, and watching TV until it was time to go to sleep. I drifted from a good majority of my friends, skipped out on parties and group outings, and the one time I tried to drag myself out of the house to go ice skating with a group of my boyfriend's acquaintances I had such huge a meltdown we immediately left and I spent the entire ride home crying uncontrollably.

That instance only added to the frustration of feeling so out of control of my own emotions, and since December I have tried very, very hard to get back into a position of power. I'm significantly more social than I was, and the panic attacks have been subdued, but I can still feel the weight of the monster pressing down upon me.

So what the hell is my problem? I've been asking myself this the entire time, and any real answer I come up with just sounds too selfish or self loathing. I hate, HATE this job. Yes, but most people hate their jobs, some don't have any at all, and didn't I desperately want to get out of The TG? I'm so incredibly broke. But, again, some people literally have no money at all, and the fact that I am in the position I am is no ones fault but my own. I'm 26 and not even remotely close to accomplishing anything I thought I would have by this age. Which, yet again, is no ones fault but my own. Life is meaningless, there is no greater purpose, and we are forced to live lives we hate because society tells us so. Well now that's a little dramatic, and there's really nothing I can do about that other than just dealing with it...

But even though I know I'm being dramatic and self loathing, and that I can't stand to be around myself when I get like this, and all I want to do is to just shut the hell up and get over it.... I'm having a really hard time shaking this state of mind. I have a lot of good things in my life, and despite the negativity that consumes me, I'm still able to see and appreciate that. I'm just sick of always ending up in this same dark place, weighted down by the same blanket of lead, and always having to fight to get myself to be a normal, productive member of society. I want to badly to just BE that person, I just want my life to be easy... But nothing ever is. So the fight will inevitably be continued... possibly forever... and I just need to get used to that before I completely lose myself.

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.

(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."