... especially when you're going through life pretty much completely alone and don't really do a lot other than go to class, work, and study.
Seriously though, I'm sick of people telling me how negative I always am and stating that "things could always be worse." Yeah, no fucking shit. I could be paralyzed, or blind and deaf, or homeless, or a whole array of other things that I'm currently not and other people are. But you know what? Just because my life doesn't seem like it's the absolute worst it could be in your eyes doesn't mean that I should (or need) to be super peachy all the fucking time.
This blog is about change. And you know what? I'm trying my best. I'm sorry that my best isn't perfect and isn't good enough for you happy go lucky people out there.
Yes, I post a lot of negative things on facebook, but maybe that's because shit's not that easy for me right now. Seriously, I'd love to know how many of the people who are always telling me to not be so depressing and miserable and negative sounding are actually depressed or miserable themselves. I'm gonna say about -1%. The ironic part is that the majority of people who keep telling me not to be negative and that there's no reason for me to sound so miserable actually have their shit together and are leading decent lives. (Not to say that I'm not leading an overall decent life, but my shit is definitely not together.) The majority of them are in what are by now long term (or in some cases extremely long term) relationships, know what the fuck they wanna do with their lives, have friends that they see and hang out with on a very regular basis, and do shit other than go to class, work, and study. They have lives for Christ's sake. They do shit on the weekends with their friends. They get out and actually do things beside read all goddamn day. They have roommates who they actually hang out with. They have cable and other means of relaxing when all their work is done. They're not worried about how they'll pay bills. They have people that they can just randomly call up and talk to when they're having a bad day.
I don't have any of that shit. Maybe if I did, I'd sound more positive in my fb status updates. But I don't, because shit isn't going as peachy for me at the moment as it is for most of them.
Change doesn't happen over night. Telling me I need to be more positive isn't going to instantly make me into this super happy, outgoing, positive person that everyone wants me to be. People don't know half the shit I'm dealing with, and I'm pretty sure if they were actually in my situation, they wouldn't be screaming rainbows and sunshine either.
That's one of my problems with facebook. I actually have a lot of problems with it. Firstly, people take every single status update as if it's cold hard fact written in stone. I put up a status that ends in "someone shoot me, please, i'm beggign you" and the next thing you know I'm getting phone calls from my mom asking what it's about. My mother's not even fucking on facebook. They don't even have the goddamn internet at her house. She got a call from my older cousin who saw the post and then proceeded to tell me not to be so negative, that if I were more positive I'd be able to make friends, etc, then called my mum to tell her about it. Like for fuck's sake people, get over it! I don't post things on facebook so you can act like you know what's going on in my life. Ok, I do post things on facebook that have to do with the inner workings of my life that come out in coded fb updates but it pisses me off when people pretend to care. Evidently I used facebook in the wrong way. I use the status update essentially as a twitter feed, posting what I'm up to and how I'm feeling. Apparently no one gives a shit if someone is constantly miserable. So on one hand they take obviously sarcastic things literally and on the other hand they take the literal things to mean absolutely nothing. Way to go people of facebook. You're really doing well...
Really though, I hate that facebook gives people an easy way to pretend they care without actually having to give a shit and talk to someone in real life. Like if you really think I'm suicidal or that I'm depressed or that I need to be more positive, why not ask me directly why I'm posting these things, if I'm ok, or what they could do to help me not be so negative? Because people don't really give a shit about each other anymore. It's sad but true.
This blog is supposed to focus on change within me, but the larger realm of societal change works just as well. As much as I text and post of facebook, I still crave actual interaction with people. When I ask how someone is, I genuinely care about the answer. If someone wants to open up and tell me that they're actually shitty instead of "ok" or "good," then I'll take however long necessary in order to listen to them talk about what's wrong and what's been on their mind. No one does that any more. As a result of texting and facebook, people have the ability to be ridiculously indirect and show that they care without actually caring. They can pretend to be concerned, send you a text or fb message, then go about their business without actually having to deal with the repercussions of what that message said. People go to great lengths to avoid even voice to voice interaction over the phone. (I do do this sometimes; I won't deny it, but if I had the option to talk to someone straight up, I would, unless I were too terrified lol.) Like if you text me saying you're worried about me, I'm not really sure if I'm gonna completely believe you. If you genuinely were worried about me, you should probably pick up the phone and call me to talk about it, not just send me a text saying you're worried. And you should definitely avoid not responding to a text I sent you in response. That just proves you don't actually give a shit.
Anyway. I'm done ranting for today.
Main points:
1) Technology has changed people into uncaring creatures who just fake it all the time
2) If you don't actually know (or care) what's going on in my life, don't tell me to be positive
3) I'm working on becoming more positive and bettering myself, but change is a fucking slow ass process, so don't expect me to run around the world in a single day.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Big Step
I don't believe in God. Instead, I believe in people.
I know that the original story behind To Write Love On Her Arms is full of religious remarks; I've read it enough times (actually just reread it), as well as other writings by and about him to know that Jamie Tworkowski is a very religious person. I do not believe, however, that TWLOHA is a religiously based movement. Sure, God can play some part for those who need a god, but the main point behind TWLOHA is community. Community, no matter which way you spin it, revolves around people. Part of TWLOHA's mission is to encourage people to help other people, to listen, to love, to support, to give hope to.
Hope is a funny thing. In reality, it's completely illogical. Hope is like playing make believe, like making a wish and always having a part of you that thinks some day it might come true. I equate hope with dreams: both involve some element of a fantasy that we search for truth in. Maybe they'll come true, maybe they won't; but we can never be certain of the future, so hopes and dreams are really all we have.
I feel like I sound like one of those bible thumping, hardcore, youth group attending Christians who touts the bible as the only thing to live by and God as the only mode of saving souls. I promise you I'm not. To tell the complete truth, I don't really believe in anything "higher," nor do I really believe that anything exists after death. I used to (and maybe still sort of due, though I have nothing really swaying me in this direction any more) believe that when you died your body went into the ground and your soul wandered the earth, hence the reason for ghosts. However, I've never seen a ghost, or had any type of spiritual encounter, so I'm pretty sure that you just die, and that's it. Sorry if that's depressing for anyone, but I honestly believe that once I'm better, this believe will allow me to live my life to the fullest (because with my theory, I don't get a second chance).
Speaking of getting better...
Today I was unofficially diagnosed with depression. My therapist's exact quote: "I really do believe you have a mood disorder: depression."
That statement, the reality of hearing that said out loud and accepting it for what it was, brought me to tears. It was the second time I've heard a version of those words from her, but this time she said "I really do believe" instead of the simple "I think." And maybe last time I didn't actually accept it. I admit I was in denial, and still am, about a lot of things. I don't even know if I'm actually ready to start this whole recovery process all over again, this time with absolutely no one to support me through it. I realized that I need to make a ton of changes, little ones as well as bigger, more life altering ones, and that idea terrifies me.
Going back to counseling, even though I have no one supporting me, giving me a reason to go and continue going, is probably the biggest step of my life. It took admitting to myself that I really do need help, and that I will have to go it alone in order to learn to live again (and to learn to live for myself for the first time). This was the most difficult thing I've ever done; and, as I told my therapist, I'm not even sure if I'm ready to take this step right now; I'm not sure if I want to start on the path to recovery and "normalcy." I'm literally terrified; I actually felt nauseous and light headed an hour before my appointment. Those feelings only got more intense while I sat in the waiting room. Big steps like this are very difficult to take, but they are necessary in order to actually live life (so I've learned).
Anyway, this all brings me back around to my initial opening of believing in people and TWLOHA. The organization that I hold so dear to my heart revolves around some stuff that I don't agree with (the God thing), but the bulk of it contains so much that applies to everyone, no matter what your religious affiliation, or lack there of. The idea behind To Write Love is that people can come together and help each other get through the tough times in life, simply by being there for each other. Lending an ear, offering a shoulder to cry on, just supporting a person's dreams and goals, or simply being there to hang out with someone when they need a friend--all of these are little acts that don't have anything to do with a religion; they have to do with people helping people, people genuinely caring about those around them.
The amazing part of TWLOHA is that so many strangers are helped by other strangers through something as simple as kind words, a message telling them to hold on for one more day. One of TWLOHA's mottos is "Hope is real, help is real." The business of hope and help doesn't have to do with God. People can help others and give them hope in so many different ways. This is what makes To Write Love so great: we all know pain, hurt, and loss, even those of us who don't directly (or even know someone) who deals with the issues TWLOHA is about. Everyone has had their heart broken, has lost a family member or pet, everyone has struggled with something. This is fact because no one is perfect; we all have problems, we all are flawed. Hope is what brings us together, hope that things will get better when we're having an off day, when things aren't exactly going our way. We can never be certain that things will begin to look up, but we have hope that they will.
The funny part about the religious aspect of TWLOHA, and religion in general, is that I believe all religions are based on hope--hope is not created by religion, it is the foundation of it. People need something to remind them to have hope, they need a reason to continue living every day, they need a reason to help others and help themselves. By devoting themselves to a religion, people receive the guidance they need to remain hopefully and helpful people.
I do believe that if no one believed in God, the world would be a truly peaceful place. There would be no reason for people not to help others. Helping others allows you, as well as the person next door, to get what you want and need in and out of life. I know this statement will be cut down by people who believe that if there was no moral code then we'd all be stealing and raping and killing each other. And I don't doubt that that is one possibility. However, I would hope that in a world that solely revolves around people, they realize that the only way anyone will enjoy life is if they all get along and help each other.
People may not be stable, or reliable, but they are physical. A person can actually hold you while you cry, respond to your questions about life with possible answers, and hug you when you need one most (and even just because). God can't do any of those things. I think that people need to stop putting their faith into an unseen, unheard, untouchable, unknown figure and start putting faith into each other, as well as themselves.
Talk. Learn about people who are different than you. Learn about their good times as well as their bad moments. Listen. Hear people out and accept their opinions and believes; don't force your ideas on them and they won't force theirs on you. Respect each other. You don't have to like that someone is different than you, but don't make them change themselves (especially if they're happy) to fit your preconceived molds (especially since you're unwilling to fit theirs).
I wish that people will learn to love each other regardless of anything. Everyone needs to be loved. Everyone needs people. You cannot tell me that anyone on this planet enjoys being lonely. Regardless of what someone might say, everyone wants a friend. (Friends are actually necessary for human survival. Studies [that I'm not gonna take the time to look up and cite] have actually found that a person growing up in complete isolation is more likely to have mental health problems as well as die younger. Yes, you can die of lonliness.)
All this being said, I hope that the very least that you take from this is a new perspective of your fellow man and a new appreciation for loving and spreading hope to a stranger.
*We will be the hopeful.* - To Write Love On Her Arms
PSA:
PS. I know this entire thing was more of a PSA and not exactly an elaboration on change, but I felt as though it fit well in this blog compared to my others.
I know that the original story behind To Write Love On Her Arms is full of religious remarks; I've read it enough times (actually just reread it), as well as other writings by and about him to know that Jamie Tworkowski is a very religious person. I do not believe, however, that TWLOHA is a religiously based movement. Sure, God can play some part for those who need a god, but the main point behind TWLOHA is community. Community, no matter which way you spin it, revolves around people. Part of TWLOHA's mission is to encourage people to help other people, to listen, to love, to support, to give hope to.
Hope is a funny thing. In reality, it's completely illogical. Hope is like playing make believe, like making a wish and always having a part of you that thinks some day it might come true. I equate hope with dreams: both involve some element of a fantasy that we search for truth in. Maybe they'll come true, maybe they won't; but we can never be certain of the future, so hopes and dreams are really all we have.
I feel like I sound like one of those bible thumping, hardcore, youth group attending Christians who touts the bible as the only thing to live by and God as the only mode of saving souls. I promise you I'm not. To tell the complete truth, I don't really believe in anything "higher," nor do I really believe that anything exists after death. I used to (and maybe still sort of due, though I have nothing really swaying me in this direction any more) believe that when you died your body went into the ground and your soul wandered the earth, hence the reason for ghosts. However, I've never seen a ghost, or had any type of spiritual encounter, so I'm pretty sure that you just die, and that's it. Sorry if that's depressing for anyone, but I honestly believe that once I'm better, this believe will allow me to live my life to the fullest (because with my theory, I don't get a second chance).
Speaking of getting better...
Today I was unofficially diagnosed with depression. My therapist's exact quote: "I really do believe you have a mood disorder: depression."
That statement, the reality of hearing that said out loud and accepting it for what it was, brought me to tears. It was the second time I've heard a version of those words from her, but this time she said "I really do believe" instead of the simple "I think." And maybe last time I didn't actually accept it. I admit I was in denial, and still am, about a lot of things. I don't even know if I'm actually ready to start this whole recovery process all over again, this time with absolutely no one to support me through it. I realized that I need to make a ton of changes, little ones as well as bigger, more life altering ones, and that idea terrifies me.
Going back to counseling, even though I have no one supporting me, giving me a reason to go and continue going, is probably the biggest step of my life. It took admitting to myself that I really do need help, and that I will have to go it alone in order to learn to live again (and to learn to live for myself for the first time). This was the most difficult thing I've ever done; and, as I told my therapist, I'm not even sure if I'm ready to take this step right now; I'm not sure if I want to start on the path to recovery and "normalcy." I'm literally terrified; I actually felt nauseous and light headed an hour before my appointment. Those feelings only got more intense while I sat in the waiting room. Big steps like this are very difficult to take, but they are necessary in order to actually live life (so I've learned).
Anyway, this all brings me back around to my initial opening of believing in people and TWLOHA. The organization that I hold so dear to my heart revolves around some stuff that I don't agree with (the God thing), but the bulk of it contains so much that applies to everyone, no matter what your religious affiliation, or lack there of. The idea behind To Write Love is that people can come together and help each other get through the tough times in life, simply by being there for each other. Lending an ear, offering a shoulder to cry on, just supporting a person's dreams and goals, or simply being there to hang out with someone when they need a friend--all of these are little acts that don't have anything to do with a religion; they have to do with people helping people, people genuinely caring about those around them.
The amazing part of TWLOHA is that so many strangers are helped by other strangers through something as simple as kind words, a message telling them to hold on for one more day. One of TWLOHA's mottos is "Hope is real, help is real." The business of hope and help doesn't have to do with God. People can help others and give them hope in so many different ways. This is what makes To Write Love so great: we all know pain, hurt, and loss, even those of us who don't directly (or even know someone) who deals with the issues TWLOHA is about. Everyone has had their heart broken, has lost a family member or pet, everyone has struggled with something. This is fact because no one is perfect; we all have problems, we all are flawed. Hope is what brings us together, hope that things will get better when we're having an off day, when things aren't exactly going our way. We can never be certain that things will begin to look up, but we have hope that they will.
The funny part about the religious aspect of TWLOHA, and religion in general, is that I believe all religions are based on hope--hope is not created by religion, it is the foundation of it. People need something to remind them to have hope, they need a reason to continue living every day, they need a reason to help others and help themselves. By devoting themselves to a religion, people receive the guidance they need to remain hopefully and helpful people.
I do believe that if no one believed in God, the world would be a truly peaceful place. There would be no reason for people not to help others. Helping others allows you, as well as the person next door, to get what you want and need in and out of life. I know this statement will be cut down by people who believe that if there was no moral code then we'd all be stealing and raping and killing each other. And I don't doubt that that is one possibility. However, I would hope that in a world that solely revolves around people, they realize that the only way anyone will enjoy life is if they all get along and help each other.
People may not be stable, or reliable, but they are physical. A person can actually hold you while you cry, respond to your questions about life with possible answers, and hug you when you need one most (and even just because). God can't do any of those things. I think that people need to stop putting their faith into an unseen, unheard, untouchable, unknown figure and start putting faith into each other, as well as themselves.
Talk. Learn about people who are different than you. Learn about their good times as well as their bad moments. Listen. Hear people out and accept their opinions and believes; don't force your ideas on them and they won't force theirs on you. Respect each other. You don't have to like that someone is different than you, but don't make them change themselves (especially if they're happy) to fit your preconceived molds (especially since you're unwilling to fit theirs).
I wish that people will learn to love each other regardless of anything. Everyone needs to be loved. Everyone needs people. You cannot tell me that anyone on this planet enjoys being lonely. Regardless of what someone might say, everyone wants a friend. (Friends are actually necessary for human survival. Studies [that I'm not gonna take the time to look up and cite] have actually found that a person growing up in complete isolation is more likely to have mental health problems as well as die younger. Yes, you can die of lonliness.)
All this being said, I hope that the very least that you take from this is a new perspective of your fellow man and a new appreciation for loving and spreading hope to a stranger.
*We will be the hopeful.* - To Write Love On Her Arms
PSA:
- TWLOHA is a non-profit organization that strives to create an open community for people to talk about the issues of depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide (as well as other topics such as anxiety, eating disorders, sexual abuse, and the like), as well as invest directly into treatment. The idea is that through creating an open, friendly community, more people will start seeking treatment for their problems and recover to live full, healthy, and worthwhile lives. Through instilling hope in those struggling, TWLOHA hopes to show people that their story is important, their lives are important, that holding on for one more day is worth it, that the future will be brighter, and that they deserve to see that future the whole way through, regardless of their past or present states. To learn more visit http://www.twloha.com
PS. I know this entire thing was more of a PSA and not exactly an elaboration on change, but I felt as though it fit well in this blog compared to my others.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
One step forward, a million steps back
Where to even begin? I suppose it makes more sense to go in chronological order, which follows the title as it were...
This week has probably been the worst first week of class I've ever had ever. This year is shaping up to be just like sophomore year (which was the worst of my college career), only much more worse. (Oh joy.) Let's start with the rest of my weekend...
Sunday I decided to go shopping. I needed a few things from Target and wanted to look for some school/work clothes at TJMax and Marshalls. I found about $60 worth of tops that I loved; most were work shirts, and a few cheap movies I wanted and was all set to check out, having a great day so far, when I suddenly realize that I don't have my debit card. Of course, I freaked out, though I wasn't embarrassed at all (upon reflecting on the checkout mishap, I realized normally I would've turned red when I couldn't find my card but didn't). Thankfully, the lady at the register understood and allowed me to put the clothes on hold, with the assumption I would come back and get them the next day. So I called my mom and freaked out. She assured me it was probably somewhere in my room, possibly in the purse thing I took with me on my solo date, but it wasn't, so I had to call and report it lost. Yay no debit card for a while. (Luckily my one roommate paid me in cash for the bills, so I had about $250 of accessible money.) So Monday before class (my first class wasn't until like 1pm), I went to the waterfront and bought only the work shirts, which amounted to around $40.
And now, my mid-schooling/career decision crisis...
It turned out that this week I absolutely, 110% had to make a concrete decision about my future, ie what I want to teach. It was a toss up between Elementary and secondary English. My entire semester's schedule hinged on this decision. At the time, I was all set up for Elementary. At Monday's end I had even been to my first ed class, Foundations of Special Education (with a kind of cute prof. More on this later). However, I was having serious doubts about elementary. The more I thought about it (and the more I called my mom to talk myself through it), the more and more I felt like I should go with English. It just made more sense to me. I did love the kids at summer camp, but could I really handle them for 8 hours a day for 180 days? I wasn't so sure about that... I don't think I had many classes, if more than just SpecEd, on Monday, so that day passed rather uneventfully (at least as far as I can remember. Oh wait no, I had Russian Fairy Tales too. Dropped that. It sucked.). I had a stress/hunger headache, of course, but that was sort of expected (more on this later as well).
The guy teaching the SpecEd class was on crutches but kinda of cute. I asked him a question that began with "I'm gonna try not to complicate your life" and after answering my question, he replied with "and you won't complicate my life." He got my name right and everything. I creeped him on facebook after class and it turns out he lives literally a street above me and 4 blocks into Shadyside. He's single and according to his myspace link, he's 29 (yes, I'm a creeper. Don't care.). I was trying to take his class at all costs, but it's part of the Eng grad program, and if I take it now, I'll just have to take a random 3 credits during grad. Sadly, I dropped it. Currently debating if it's weird if I send him a friend request on facebook... He probably doesn't remember me. (And why should he? He had me in class for like an hour and a half haha). So yeah, love lost. :( haha
Tuesday was different, I suppose. I was trying to get into a Mythologies in the Ancient World class to fulfill my last IFC course so I sat in on a section that fit my schedule. The class seemed ok, the prof was a bit too weird for me (crazy hair, soft spoken, obviously could've been a philosophy prof but wasn't smart enough). My history class was next, and oh my god did I hate that professor. He was so dull and boring I would've killed myself if I had to keep that class. It seemed like it'd be an easy enough course, but the guy made absolutely no sense. (I took him because his ratemyprof pic was of him in a wetsuit and he looked cool. Aaron also said he was a pretty cool prof.) There was a second section of the same history class taught by the prof I didn't pick at first because ratemyprof said he was hard and too intense. I am in love with this man. Literally, he had me in awe the entire class, and all he was doing was presenting an argument as to why we should take this class. (He later told me, today actually, that he was going to let me add the class anyway because I seemed so engaged on the first day. That was all his doing. And I loved it.) This man, Rob Ruck, could seriously inspire me to teach history, he's that ridiculously good at what he does. I never hated history in high school; I actually sort of liked it; but my Western Civ 2 class at Pitt made me hate the subject. My Soviet Russia class wasn't much better, although the prof was def more engaging. I will love this course. He asks all the questions I've always wanted to know about history: how if affects us now, the economic, political, and social reasons for why things happened, etc. He is brilliant and this is the one course that I'm legitimately excited to take. He didn't even make us take notes today--said he'd prefer if we just listen and absorbed what the main points of the course. He is awesome. End of story.
So Tuesday ended with me frantically using my ipod to check to see if a seat in his class opened up. (One finally did around 1030 last night and I was the most excited I've ever been about adding a class.) I may have had another class, but don't really remember.
Actually, Tuesday also consisted of me searching for classes to add to my schedule because, I believe it was Tuesday anyway, I woke up that day with a good feeling about English ed; I think I may have had a dream (it felt like I did) in which I had a premonition about teaching secondary English. It just felt like the best choice for me. The more I hashed it out (over many phone calls to my mom and Cassie) the more it made sense: I've always been good at English; in fact I've often excelled in the subject in high school. My papers in college have always received good grades, etc. My main thing that got me though was the relation to students aspect of teaching. I can related to little kids if I have to, but I prefer to have a conversation about a topic with someone who gets it. As I've frequently put it this week, I want to teach someone how to write a good essay, not how to spell the word 'essay.'
So Tuesday consisted of a revelation and was followed by my attempt to completely redo my schedule. This happened often between Tuesday and Wednesday night, adding and dropping a half dozen classes. Tuesday and Wednesday involved me getting special permission numbers, emails, etc in order to get the classes I needed to get half of my Eng prereqs done. Tuesday also ended with another headache.
Wednesday was a bit less of a disaster, though still very stressful and resulted in another small career freak out. (Ok, so I guess it wasn't less disastrous at all.) I sat in on an Intro Shakespeare class and the prof, although nice, seemed too boring for my short in-class attention span. The plays we were reading I had never heard of and the class just generally seemed unfun, which I don't handle too well. So, for some crazy reason, I decided to get permission to join the Intro Shakespeare course for Honors students. This added more coursework than the other intro class would've entailed, but it's being taught by Prof. David Brumble, who is pretty cool. Aaron talked me into taking him for Bible Lit last semester and, although his quizzes and tests were a bit challenging, I did quite enjoy the class and got a B or B- in it. I usually can handle the work if I like the prof and understand why the workload is so heavy and/or complex.
Also on Wednesday, I had my first Early Field Experience for Secondary Education class. I had added this about an hour before it started because I was denied permission to take the comm grad student Teaching Practicum and wanted secondary experience. (There was an Inquiry to Secondary English Education course but it would've required me to drop 2 of the courses I needed for the actual Eng prereqs. I plan on taking that course spring semester.) That prof got me semi freaked out during class. She said that secondary teachers knew they wanted to teach since around 6th grade and that Elementary teachers didn't figure out they wanted to teach until later in life. I was very worried about this, because I don't remember wanting to teach when I was younger (I might have; my memory is terrible; but it obviously hasn't been my lifetime passion). She also mentioned that most secondary teachers are very focused on content and teaching the material, that they don't care much or pay much attention to the students. I was shocked by this because, in my mind, I always believed that the students come first. I would probably be guilty of caring more about students than about content. But eventually I calmed myself down enough to realized that what she says doesn't matter.
I also bought my books on Wednesday, which totaled around $300. I like Brumble as a prof, but damn him for making us always lug around large, heavy books to every class. I'm pretty sure the complete works of Shakespeare, hardback, that he has us carrying, weighs at least 8-10 pounds... That's murder to your back and chest when you're biking with a messenger bag. (I may have to purchase that backpack for Tuesday/Thursday classes because of that damn book.) I have more books than can fit on my desk bookshelf (freaking lit classes). The kid at Campus Bookstore commented on my large stack with a "lots of lit this semester?" remark. Ahh well. I suppose it's part of the territory now. Wednesday night consisted of me freaking out over readings I had to do. 75 pages total that needed to be done before 930am (my intro psych ed class) and between 11 and 12. That sort of happened, not really though. Turns out I finished the readings I absolutely needed to finish though. (Hist and Shakspr were lenient with not having them done yet.)
I wanted to murder Cassie Wednesday night. I was still in Oakland doing some of my reading when she called to ask if I could run her over one of my old phones because hers was broken. I was already an emotional mess because I had gotten my period that morning, so the fact that she was asking me to sacrafice an hour of my reading time really set me off. I couldn't leave her without an alarm clock though, so I biked home, grabbed my phone, and caught a bus to Oakland then transferred to one going downtown. All the while fighting back tears of frustration. I eventually got home and tried to finish up some of my readings. I fell asleep above my covers with my History book next to me, light and tv still on in fear that I would oversleep my morning class. Woke up at 430 then again around 730. Not terribly tired, but could've been more rested.
Thursday was a bit better class-wise, a bit worse emotionally. I made it to Intro Ed Psych, and the prof is freaking awesome. He's so legit and knows his stuff and just so much fun it's awesome. I'd like to be able to teach my hs kids like he teaches us. Next up, I had 19th C Brit Lit, followed by History, then Intro Shakspr. After Shakespeare, which was awesome as well (cute boy in the class too), I went to a computer lab to work on the paper for that class which is due Tuesday. I hadn't really understood the play (having read over most of it quickly) so I used spark notes to get the gist of it. After restarting the paper for the third time, I think I was decently on topic with what Brumble wanted (though I really have no idea). That was done around 4pm. From the computer lab, I called Cassie to ask if I could use her debit or credit card to purchase a $50 cheaper version of my Shakespeare book. She said yes, so hopefully it gets here by Tuesday (if not, maybe I'll have to ask the cute boy to share his with me :) [even though he doesn't sit by me]). I got some Taiwan Cafe for dinner, which thankfully leaked into the plastic bag and not on my Shakespeare book (I'm hoping to return it for full price to the book store tomorrow). Also had a headache today. Yay fun.
Speaking of the headaches...
Bad Habits
The bad habits I developed sophomore year have resurfaced. Ever since I stopped going to counseling, things have been getting much worse than they ever have been. I'm not sure if I even want to go back to counseling any more (though I probably should) because I don't feel like I have a reason to. Before, Aaron was my reason. He wanted me to go, wanted me to get better, so we could have a functional relationship. Now that he's gone, I don't really see the point; no one else cares.
The headaches, much like during sophomore year, are probably a result from my improper eating. I've been having a small breakfast, if any, skipping lunch, and eating a larger late dinner. Not cool. I've also been sleeping a bit less than I usually do during the school year, but that's probably because the exhaustion hasn't caught up to me yet.
___
So there we go. My shitty week. The beginning of my 17credit semester. And the first week of the next two hellish years of my life. I was kind of upset the other day because I realized how unfair life is. Aaron got to have a significant other (me) to help him with his lessons, rub his head/neck while he was planning them so as to keep his stress level down, and had someone to talk to about his kids and his day. I have absolutely none of that. Not only do I not have a significant other to share that with, I don't even have a friend to talk about it with.
I don't think people realize how much it completely sucks to be absolutely alone. There is no one with whom I can discuss my day, face to face, and get a decent response from. I specify that so because I could probably talk to Cassie about it face to face, but she wouldn't respond much, if at all. Seriously, I've been joking with myself about joining a sorority just so I can have a large group of people who at the very least pretend to like me. I can go out to dinner by myself but can't make friends. I'm so goddamn lame.
But at the moment, I'm too tired to be depressed. (I had this big long rant planned out about being alone earlier, but the depression has been replaced with exhaustion, so I shall sleep.
Until another day, goodnight all.
One Step Forward
So on the last weekend before my senior year began, I decided to be adventurous and display a bit of confidence by taking myself out on a date--typical dinner and a movie. I figured that it takes a bit of courage to go see a movie alone and lot of guts and poise to sit at a table alone and have dinner by yourself. This is precisely what I did.
Figuring if I was gonna do this, I'd better do it right, I put on a fairly dressy sundress, a bit of makeup, and hopped a bus to Southside. I stopped into the Cheesecake Factory and put my name down for a table for one. The hostess told me that'd be fine, but also that if I saw an open high table in the bar area, to go ahead and grab it, because they were full service. As it turns out, I decided to go shop around a bit and ended up being seated at an actual table in the back. For some reason, and I'm not quite sure why, I expected to be placed in a booth. I suppose my inner self was still a bit timid and thought a booth a safe place to hide and save myself the embarrassment of eating alone at 9pm in a decently upscale restaurant. However, I was seated at a four person table near the middle of the room. The hostess removed the other three place settings, and I was left alone to contemplate my order.
As it turns out, dinner on your own, in a very open space, isn't as bad as it may seem. The only awkward part was having nothing to do while I waited for the waitress to return with various things. If you ever venture out to dinner solo, I suggest bringing a book to read, which is sort of what I did. Thankfully, I had a few books on my ipod and I read a bit of Wurthering Heights while I waited. I'm sure I would've looked cooler with an e-reader or actual book, but by this point I was comfortable enough to not care. My only real concerns of the night were whether or not I was sitting up straight and the thought that people may think I'm eating too much if I consumed the entire basket of bread on my own. Not too bad, considering a few hours earlier I wasn't sure if I'd even make it this far.
I ordered a glass of wine (whatever kind of white zinfandel they had--it's my new addiction), the chicken medallions with mashed potatoes instead of rice, and a water. Of course, I ordered dessert (because the main point in going to Cheesecake Factory is to get cheesecake. I don't care who you are, that is the primary reason you go) and settled on the Reeces Peanut Butter Cup cheesecake, which wasn't on the menu (as the waitress informed and recommended to me). It was delicious.
My meal took about an hour, and by this time I was sort of in a hurry to get across the street to the theater, so I quickly asked for my check and some boxes and was off. Across the road I ventured, quite proud of myself, to see Inception, which was remarkably good. I used to hate Leonardo DiCaprio, primarily because of being forced to watch Titanic on VHS a million times, but I quite enjoy his current movies. I won't get into details about the movie, but it wasn't as psycho thriller as I had expected, though it most certainly did not disappoint. I wasn't as freaked out as I had expected to be (and was proud of that as well).
The only slight damper on my night came in the way of my failing to check the bus schedule before I left. This is something one must always do before they leave to go anywhere, just out of principle (it would suck to have to unexpectedly take a cab and not be monetarily prepared for such an event). Turns out the 75 doesn't run past midnight on a Saturday (why that is is beyond me. It makes absolutely no sense.) so I ended up walking the whole way home. This also made my proud, because it was yet another piece of evidence I could use against all the people who bitch at me for walking around/running late at night. I walked to whole ways home from the Southside Works to Shadyside and was not mugged, murdered, raped, or even starred at (for once). The only semi-dangerous thing that happened was that some asshole in a car decided to speed through the light while I was trying to cross the street.
So that was my solo date night. It seems so distant now with the week I've been having...
A Million Steps Back
This week has probably been the worst first week of class I've ever had ever. This year is shaping up to be just like sophomore year (which was the worst of my college career), only much more worse. (Oh joy.) Let's start with the rest of my weekend...
Sunday I decided to go shopping. I needed a few things from Target and wanted to look for some school/work clothes at TJMax and Marshalls. I found about $60 worth of tops that I loved; most were work shirts, and a few cheap movies I wanted and was all set to check out, having a great day so far, when I suddenly realize that I don't have my debit card. Of course, I freaked out, though I wasn't embarrassed at all (upon reflecting on the checkout mishap, I realized normally I would've turned red when I couldn't find my card but didn't). Thankfully, the lady at the register understood and allowed me to put the clothes on hold, with the assumption I would come back and get them the next day. So I called my mom and freaked out. She assured me it was probably somewhere in my room, possibly in the purse thing I took with me on my solo date, but it wasn't, so I had to call and report it lost. Yay no debit card for a while. (Luckily my one roommate paid me in cash for the bills, so I had about $250 of accessible money.) So Monday before class (my first class wasn't until like 1pm), I went to the waterfront and bought only the work shirts, which amounted to around $40.
And now, my mid-schooling/career decision crisis...
It turned out that this week I absolutely, 110% had to make a concrete decision about my future, ie what I want to teach. It was a toss up between Elementary and secondary English. My entire semester's schedule hinged on this decision. At the time, I was all set up for Elementary. At Monday's end I had even been to my first ed class, Foundations of Special Education (with a kind of cute prof. More on this later). However, I was having serious doubts about elementary. The more I thought about it (and the more I called my mom to talk myself through it), the more and more I felt like I should go with English. It just made more sense to me. I did love the kids at summer camp, but could I really handle them for 8 hours a day for 180 days? I wasn't so sure about that... I don't think I had many classes, if more than just SpecEd, on Monday, so that day passed rather uneventfully (at least as far as I can remember. Oh wait no, I had Russian Fairy Tales too. Dropped that. It sucked.). I had a stress/hunger headache, of course, but that was sort of expected (more on this later as well).
The guy teaching the SpecEd class was on crutches but kinda of cute. I asked him a question that began with "I'm gonna try not to complicate your life" and after answering my question, he replied with "and you won't complicate my life." He got my name right and everything. I creeped him on facebook after class and it turns out he lives literally a street above me and 4 blocks into Shadyside. He's single and according to his myspace link, he's 29 (yes, I'm a creeper. Don't care.). I was trying to take his class at all costs, but it's part of the Eng grad program, and if I take it now, I'll just have to take a random 3 credits during grad. Sadly, I dropped it. Currently debating if it's weird if I send him a friend request on facebook... He probably doesn't remember me. (And why should he? He had me in class for like an hour and a half haha). So yeah, love lost. :( haha
Tuesday was different, I suppose. I was trying to get into a Mythologies in the Ancient World class to fulfill my last IFC course so I sat in on a section that fit my schedule. The class seemed ok, the prof was a bit too weird for me (crazy hair, soft spoken, obviously could've been a philosophy prof but wasn't smart enough). My history class was next, and oh my god did I hate that professor. He was so dull and boring I would've killed myself if I had to keep that class. It seemed like it'd be an easy enough course, but the guy made absolutely no sense. (I took him because his ratemyprof pic was of him in a wetsuit and he looked cool. Aaron also said he was a pretty cool prof.) There was a second section of the same history class taught by the prof I didn't pick at first because ratemyprof said he was hard and too intense. I am in love with this man. Literally, he had me in awe the entire class, and all he was doing was presenting an argument as to why we should take this class. (He later told me, today actually, that he was going to let me add the class anyway because I seemed so engaged on the first day. That was all his doing. And I loved it.) This man, Rob Ruck, could seriously inspire me to teach history, he's that ridiculously good at what he does. I never hated history in high school; I actually sort of liked it; but my Western Civ 2 class at Pitt made me hate the subject. My Soviet Russia class wasn't much better, although the prof was def more engaging. I will love this course. He asks all the questions I've always wanted to know about history: how if affects us now, the economic, political, and social reasons for why things happened, etc. He is brilliant and this is the one course that I'm legitimately excited to take. He didn't even make us take notes today--said he'd prefer if we just listen and absorbed what the main points of the course. He is awesome. End of story.
So Tuesday ended with me frantically using my ipod to check to see if a seat in his class opened up. (One finally did around 1030 last night and I was the most excited I've ever been about adding a class.) I may have had another class, but don't really remember.
Actually, Tuesday also consisted of me searching for classes to add to my schedule because, I believe it was Tuesday anyway, I woke up that day with a good feeling about English ed; I think I may have had a dream (it felt like I did) in which I had a premonition about teaching secondary English. It just felt like the best choice for me. The more I hashed it out (over many phone calls to my mom and Cassie) the more it made sense: I've always been good at English; in fact I've often excelled in the subject in high school. My papers in college have always received good grades, etc. My main thing that got me though was the relation to students aspect of teaching. I can related to little kids if I have to, but I prefer to have a conversation about a topic with someone who gets it. As I've frequently put it this week, I want to teach someone how to write a good essay, not how to spell the word 'essay.'
So Tuesday consisted of a revelation and was followed by my attempt to completely redo my schedule. This happened often between Tuesday and Wednesday night, adding and dropping a half dozen classes. Tuesday and Wednesday involved me getting special permission numbers, emails, etc in order to get the classes I needed to get half of my Eng prereqs done. Tuesday also ended with another headache.
Wednesday was a bit less of a disaster, though still very stressful and resulted in another small career freak out. (Ok, so I guess it wasn't less disastrous at all.) I sat in on an Intro Shakespeare class and the prof, although nice, seemed too boring for my short in-class attention span. The plays we were reading I had never heard of and the class just generally seemed unfun, which I don't handle too well. So, for some crazy reason, I decided to get permission to join the Intro Shakespeare course for Honors students. This added more coursework than the other intro class would've entailed, but it's being taught by Prof. David Brumble, who is pretty cool. Aaron talked me into taking him for Bible Lit last semester and, although his quizzes and tests were a bit challenging, I did quite enjoy the class and got a B or B- in it. I usually can handle the work if I like the prof and understand why the workload is so heavy and/or complex.
Also on Wednesday, I had my first Early Field Experience for Secondary Education class. I had added this about an hour before it started because I was denied permission to take the comm grad student Teaching Practicum and wanted secondary experience. (There was an Inquiry to Secondary English Education course but it would've required me to drop 2 of the courses I needed for the actual Eng prereqs. I plan on taking that course spring semester.) That prof got me semi freaked out during class. She said that secondary teachers knew they wanted to teach since around 6th grade and that Elementary teachers didn't figure out they wanted to teach until later in life. I was very worried about this, because I don't remember wanting to teach when I was younger (I might have; my memory is terrible; but it obviously hasn't been my lifetime passion). She also mentioned that most secondary teachers are very focused on content and teaching the material, that they don't care much or pay much attention to the students. I was shocked by this because, in my mind, I always believed that the students come first. I would probably be guilty of caring more about students than about content. But eventually I calmed myself down enough to realized that what she says doesn't matter.
I also bought my books on Wednesday, which totaled around $300. I like Brumble as a prof, but damn him for making us always lug around large, heavy books to every class. I'm pretty sure the complete works of Shakespeare, hardback, that he has us carrying, weighs at least 8-10 pounds... That's murder to your back and chest when you're biking with a messenger bag. (I may have to purchase that backpack for Tuesday/Thursday classes because of that damn book.) I have more books than can fit on my desk bookshelf (freaking lit classes). The kid at Campus Bookstore commented on my large stack with a "lots of lit this semester?" remark. Ahh well. I suppose it's part of the territory now. Wednesday night consisted of me freaking out over readings I had to do. 75 pages total that needed to be done before 930am (my intro psych ed class) and between 11 and 12. That sort of happened, not really though. Turns out I finished the readings I absolutely needed to finish though. (Hist and Shakspr were lenient with not having them done yet.)
I wanted to murder Cassie Wednesday night. I was still in Oakland doing some of my reading when she called to ask if I could run her over one of my old phones because hers was broken. I was already an emotional mess because I had gotten my period that morning, so the fact that she was asking me to sacrafice an hour of my reading time really set me off. I couldn't leave her without an alarm clock though, so I biked home, grabbed my phone, and caught a bus to Oakland then transferred to one going downtown. All the while fighting back tears of frustration. I eventually got home and tried to finish up some of my readings. I fell asleep above my covers with my History book next to me, light and tv still on in fear that I would oversleep my morning class. Woke up at 430 then again around 730. Not terribly tired, but could've been more rested.
Thursday was a bit better class-wise, a bit worse emotionally. I made it to Intro Ed Psych, and the prof is freaking awesome. He's so legit and knows his stuff and just so much fun it's awesome. I'd like to be able to teach my hs kids like he teaches us. Next up, I had 19th C Brit Lit, followed by History, then Intro Shakspr. After Shakespeare, which was awesome as well (cute boy in the class too), I went to a computer lab to work on the paper for that class which is due Tuesday. I hadn't really understood the play (having read over most of it quickly) so I used spark notes to get the gist of it. After restarting the paper for the third time, I think I was decently on topic with what Brumble wanted (though I really have no idea). That was done around 4pm. From the computer lab, I called Cassie to ask if I could use her debit or credit card to purchase a $50 cheaper version of my Shakespeare book. She said yes, so hopefully it gets here by Tuesday (if not, maybe I'll have to ask the cute boy to share his with me :) [even though he doesn't sit by me]). I got some Taiwan Cafe for dinner, which thankfully leaked into the plastic bag and not on my Shakespeare book (I'm hoping to return it for full price to the book store tomorrow). Also had a headache today. Yay fun.
Speaking of the headaches...
Bad Habits
The bad habits I developed sophomore year have resurfaced. Ever since I stopped going to counseling, things have been getting much worse than they ever have been. I'm not sure if I even want to go back to counseling any more (though I probably should) because I don't feel like I have a reason to. Before, Aaron was my reason. He wanted me to go, wanted me to get better, so we could have a functional relationship. Now that he's gone, I don't really see the point; no one else cares.
The headaches, much like during sophomore year, are probably a result from my improper eating. I've been having a small breakfast, if any, skipping lunch, and eating a larger late dinner. Not cool. I've also been sleeping a bit less than I usually do during the school year, but that's probably because the exhaustion hasn't caught up to me yet.
___
So there we go. My shitty week. The beginning of my 17credit semester. And the first week of the next two hellish years of my life. I was kind of upset the other day because I realized how unfair life is. Aaron got to have a significant other (me) to help him with his lessons, rub his head/neck while he was planning them so as to keep his stress level down, and had someone to talk to about his kids and his day. I have absolutely none of that. Not only do I not have a significant other to share that with, I don't even have a friend to talk about it with.
I don't think people realize how much it completely sucks to be absolutely alone. There is no one with whom I can discuss my day, face to face, and get a decent response from. I specify that so because I could probably talk to Cassie about it face to face, but she wouldn't respond much, if at all. Seriously, I've been joking with myself about joining a sorority just so I can have a large group of people who at the very least pretend to like me. I can go out to dinner by myself but can't make friends. I'm so goddamn lame.
But at the moment, I'm too tired to be depressed. (I had this big long rant planned out about being alone earlier, but the depression has been replaced with exhaustion, so I shall sleep.
Until another day, goodnight all.
Friday, August 27, 2010
I'm addic--, I'm addicted to you
Tonight I've been discussing addiction with a friend. In an unrelated blog, I wrote a bit about how addiction is not a choice and how people need to stop treating it as such.
Here's an excerpt my friend pulled for me:
Most people assume that addictive behaviors, such as anorexia- and bulimia-nervosa, self-injury, alcoholism, drug addition, and depression (and yes, depression can be addictive), are done for attention, not because someone actually has a problem, be it psychological or otherwise. Well, I'm here to tell you that this isn't the truth in most cases. And even if it were, common, every day people aren't doing much to help the problem.
It always seems that when attention is given to people with these problems, it always comes about it in a negative light, and people never use the right words: "it's stupid to hurt yourself, starving/purging isn't the way to go about losing weight, drinking and doing drugs aren't going to get rid of your problems, there's no reason to be depressed, you're not fat, you cut/burn for attention..." the list goes on and on. Why is it that people assume this stuff is an easy fix, that if you just decide not to do it, you'll stop? In most instances, it is that easy. For people who aren't deep into it, for people who do literally do it just to be trendy, or for people who fake it, these types of common person "worries" might set them straight. For people who don't come equipped with an off-switch, it proves to be a more daunting task to "quit" their problems.
It always seems that when attention is given to people with these problems, it always comes about it in a negative light, and people never use the right words: "it's stupid to hurt yourself, starving/purging isn't the way to go about losing weight, drinking and doing drugs aren't going to get rid of your problems, there's no reason to be depressed, you're not fat, you cut/burn for attention..." the list goes on and on. Why is it that people assume this stuff is an easy fix, that if you just decide not to do it, you'll stop? In most instances, it is that easy. For people who aren't deep into it, for people who do literally do it just to be trendy, or for people who fake it, these types of common person "worries" might set them straight. For people who don't come equipped with an off-switch, it proves to be a more daunting task to "quit" their problems.
My response to the message in which my friend quoted this passage was worthy to be posted as its own blog entry. The following are my continued thoughts on the subject of addiction. I hope my ideas can bring comfort to you if you're currently, or have previously, (or some time in the future) struggle with any type of addiction or mental illness.
In my experiences, when someone becomes addicted to something, they lose the "real them" and develop an alternate self. There's the person you are, and the person you wish to become. The addictive behavior is an attempt to become that other person, the person you wish you could be, but can't allow yourself to become, because people may not approve of your desires. That other person can be someone you completely relate to on multiple levels, or they can be a stranger who just appeared one night, who you like to run and play with for a while and then come back to your "normal" self. Or, in some cases, your other self is someone you have no control over, who just appears for a while, taking both of you on a ride, going off and doing things on their own that you normally wouldn't do, or tagging along while you remain your "normal" self, just watching to see what happens, to see how they can convince you to let them run rampant for a while.
If you've never experienced the other self symptom, read the book Crank by Ellen Hopkins. It's written as a book of poems and is a great read (though it may put terrible ideas into your head). The story is loosely based off of Ellen's own daughter and her struggle with drugs, addiction, and teen pregnancy. In the story, Kristen meets a bad boy and doesn't want him to know her real name, so she introduces herself as Bree (odd, right?). Kristen is a straight A student who never gets herself mixed up with the wrong crowd; Bree, however, lives a wild life and finds pleasure and excitement in wild and dangerous things. Kristen, who would never touch a drug in her life, falls victim to Bree's exorbitant cravings for everything Kristen would never want: drugs, sex, rule breaking, lying, the whole nine yards. Reading this book would be the best way to see what some people experience in their daily lives when they lose control of themselves and fall into the realm of addiction. (Now, Kristen/Bree is an extreme case. Most of the people (ok, actually all of the people) I know who have lost themselves to another version, who have developed another person inside themselves, have not been addicted to meth, but Crank is the best way to let someone else get an idea of what we go through.
Now, it is important to note that just because someone loses themselves to another version of themselves (confusing, right?) doesn't mean that they're schizophrenic. That's a completely different mental illness altogether. We're not crazy, we just lose ourselves from time to time.
Addictions tend to run rampant in high schools. I'm sure most of you have read or heard about bulimia circles, cutting groups, diet buddies, etc. High school is full of kids who are beyond lost in life trying to find where they fit in. A lot of kids do practice these things just so they have something to share with others their age; something in common with other people who are just as confused as they are. But a major issue is that within these cliques, and mostly outside of them, are real people who really do suffer from these problems. They actually struggle to slow down or quit these habits because they are truly addicted to them. They need to have that aspect in their lives in order to appear properly functional (although on the inside they're screaming otherwise). People assume that all problems high school kids have are just fads and phases that they'll grow out of. I know that the majority of cases aren't as serious as they could be, and that people have a habit of hyping things up when there's really no epidemic going on. But for the few people who don't do it to be cool, who actually suffer from the intense and overwhelming life that comes from mental illnesses, there needs to be someone there to listen, who actually gets it and who understands that it isn't a game, it isn't a choice, it isn't something you actually want to go through.
I wish it were easier for people to get help, for people to admit they have problems. I think that if people were more open about coming clean about these problems, that we could help each other through them. I honestly don't know if there's a cure-all for this type of stuff; I don't know (and don't really believe) that we'll ever truly be 100% better, that we'll never have to deal with the stuff we went, and are currently going, through. And in a way, I don't think that's a bad thing. Our struggles, illnesses, and addictions made us into the people we are today, the good and the bad in all of us.
Addiction isn't something someone chooses to include in their life. Sure, they may make that initial decision to cut, to try not eating for a day, to try purging out the bad in order to feel good again, but we don't choose what becomes habit; habits usually occur naturally, without any effort. Think about it: When did you decide to start biting your nails when you get nervous? When did you make the conscious decision to need that cigarette or beer to calm you down? When did you decide that cutting actually helped release the pain? When did you decide that food, something you need to survive, wasn't good for you?
None of us have ever consciously decided any of those things, because we never had a choice as to whether or not we wanted to make that decision. We never had a choice when it came to what we are addicted to, because addiction is not a choice.
Addiction becomes real when you can't break the habit, no matter how hard you try, no matter how many people get angry at you or worry about you, no matter how much you want to stop because you know what you're doing is unhealthy, no matter how obvious it is that what you're doing is destroying the life you once had, the actual living you once did daily. This is one thing in life that isn't a simple matter of choosing what's right or wrong.
Public Service Announcement
If you're currently struggling with an addiction of any kind, I urge you to seek help, when you are ready to do so. (And that's an important part. You can't be helped until you're ready to accept the help being offered.) Talk to a friend, go see a counselor (many schools provide free counseling services), journal, do whatever distracts you from the addiction for a while; do whatever you believe can help you get through this. I'm not saying that it will ever completely go away. You're going to have to work the rest of your life to keep the addiction at bay. But in the long run, I believe it'll be worth it.
Pardon the TWLOHA plug, but this link links you to many links where you can find help for whatever you're dealing with. (linkity link link [figured I'd throw a few extra "links" in there while I was at it.])
Post Script
Tonight's song was something I came upon by complete accident. I originally was going to use the song from this entry's title (Simple Plan's Addicted) but that song didn't quite fit the way I wanted. Too lovey dovey. So instead, I googled "Addicted lyrics" and found the only artist in the suggestions drop down that wasn't a rapper. Following the links to the youtube video, I ended up with the perfect song for this entry. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Choice to Change
This song has been my inspiration for the past few days. Making small changes here and there, hoping things will get better. Cut my hair, dyed my locks, wore a dress out, enjoyed a night with some old friends, essentially worry free. I'm hoping that by taking little steps, I won't learn to forget, but learn to live again.
A friend told me a few days ago that I'm completely different than when he remembers meeting me. I'm pretty much dead, too deep in depression to care about anything anymore, or to see what everyone else sees. I do not deny these observations. They're actually more true than even he realizes. But he did not win that battle that night. My stubbornness prevailed, as always.
You see, he believes that we have the power to change ourselves through a free will that was given to us somehow, by some thing. I don't believe a word of that, but I let him give his argument. This kid claims to have beat a three year long depression simply by choosing not to be depressed anymore and claims I can do the same. I don't.
I'll probably never be able to explain it properly, but pain and suffering are the majority of what I know, what I cling to, what I believe has made me into the person that I am. Without my past, without all the pain, frustration, and sadness, I would be a completely different person; and, believe it or not, I actually do like who I am (as a person [mostly]). I'm even doubting the medication and going back to counseling because I like being fucked up again. I enjoy having small secrets, having something that is purely my own, that no one else holds claim to, has a stake in, or shares with me. This, exactly how I am right at this moment, is the one normalcy that I know. It's my alternative to the other normalcy that I cannot have. I have always been a person of extremes: overjoyed or miserably depressed, madly in love or deeply heartbroken, well fed or starving, high on life or high on anxiety. I've been told that it's possible to have a mix, that living in the in-between of all those extremes is a good, healthy, enjoyable way to live life. I'm not totally convinced. I'm also afraid of change; deathly terrified, which is partially why I'm starting this blog.
Change, I'm starting to learn, is the only constant, reliable thing in life. Things change all the time, every day. The leaves on the trees, the people around you from day to day, year to year, even the skin on your bones isn't the same as it was a few minutes ago, let alone from when you were born. Change, no matter how much I fight it, is a part of life, and there's nothing I can do about that. Nothing but embrace it. So that's what I'm going to do.
This blog seeks to document the changes in my life over the next year, my senior year of college--what is supposedly the defining year of my life. The year I make a final career choice (that will last the rest of my young adult life), the year before I become a responsibility-wielding adult in the eyes of the world. Am I ready for it? Who knows. I certainly thought I was ready for the real, grown-up world that I saw in my future a few months ago. And I still feel, if the circumstances were proper, that I am ready for all that. But that's the past now, something that changed unexpectedly. Regardless, this year I'm going to attempt to take control of my life (for once [instead of trying to control everyone else's]).
My goal is to make one small change in my life each day (probably starting out each week or fortnight) and see what comes of it. Some of the changes will be small and seem rather insignificant, others will be large and probably seem quite brash. Through all of this I'm hoping to find myself, or a part of myself, or just figure something out about my life and where I've been, where I am, and the general direction of where I'm heading. I want to take chances, learn to live a little bit, and be more open, with myself and to the world. I want to make good choices, make terrible mistakes, do super well and extremely awesome and be quite miserable and out of it. (Got that latter part mostly covered.) I want to challenge myself to break out of my shell, become the person I always saw myself as, and be a person people enjoy being around (for the most part). On the other hand, I also wouldn't mind an attempt at being the terrible, awful, rude, inconsiderate, bitch of a person I could be, if I let myself. The goal is to try everything out, try on every mask, every style, every way of living, and see which one works best for me (not you). Do I really want to be destructive and make bad choices forever? Do I want to be the good, nice, sweet, loving girl that everyone expects me to be? Do I wanna be a heart breaking slut or someone who never goes on a single date?
I know what I am now (for the most part) and what I am capable of becoming, if I choose to let myself. Let's see what I choose to do.
Post Script
I talk a lot about choice in this first entry. For those of you who don't know me, choice is something I have struggled with in varying degrees for a very long time. It takes me literally hours to figure out what I want to eat, if I want to spend money and go out, or make something at home, if I do go out where I'd like to go, what I'd like to order, etc. As you can see simply from that sentence, it's a very drawn out mental process.
A lot of you don't really know what goes on in my mind, the insanity that I keep bottled up. For those of you who do not wish to know some of my inner workings, I ask that this be your first and last visit to this blog. There's a chance some of this content may become explicit (probably not too much so, since I tend to keep that to my personal, written journals) and I do not want to offend anyone. I say this, but I know it's going to happen. Normally, I would apologize in advance to those whom I may offend, but I'm through apologizing to people for no good reason. I have nothing to apologize for. This is your warning; take it as you will.
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