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What I’ve Lost and What I Should Not Find… Yet Or Maybe Ever.

Originally Published February 26, 2018

It’s hard to live life missing something, but it’s almost impossible and tangibly painful when you are aware of what it is you are missing. What I am struggling with is common. Boys. Ick! I never really cared for them in a romantic sense. They were my buddies growing up. I associated girls with drama and guys were so much more chill. It was easy hanging out with them. Sometimes, yeah, I’ll admit often times, I’d flirt. In my last year of middle school I discovered the joys of flirting. It flustered guys and that made me feel good. It made me feel powerful. Influential. Important. Though, I did not date in my school years, I flirted. Still today, I’m a big flirt.

It was like a game to me. How to make the opposite sex blush. Because that’s often how it would go with the boys in my league. They were shy and quiet types. Often intellectuals. On one of these occasions I got an offer I’d never gotten before. A next step, if you will. By this time, I was 20 years old. I’d gone on one, I repeat, one (there was no second!) date. And now I was offered a relationship request. The last time I had been asked to be someone’s girlfriend was in fifth grade. I ran off the playground and left that kid standing there with his heart in his hands! So you can bet, I considered this request.

In the end, I accepted. This changed my life in too many ways to count. The one change I’m struggling with now is simple. I, for the first time in a romantic sense, got love and affection and attention. Up to this point, I lived my life solitary. It was my normal. It wasn’t a problem. It was just my life. I didn’t know another way… until my first relationship. Yes, my first relationship was at 20 years old. Actually, a month before turning 21! I just barely committed to someone before having my first shot. Also, yes, I did wait until I was 21 to drink. This tells you even more about the type of person I was… maybe still am.

My long winded point being that by experiencing a relationship I got to experience all the wonders that come along with it. For the first time in my life, I had a person. My person. Someone I trusted with all of my secrets. I trusted him with my whole being. I never felt judged. This was HUGE for me. As you lovely readers may have picked up on, I’m wary of people. I don’t open up easily. I have a twinge of paranoia about everyone and everything. I surprised myself with him. I gave myself totally and, arguably, gave more than I had to give.

In return, I got love. Love so deep and beautiful that I had never experienced before. People have loved me before. My parents, friends, and family members, of course. But never an other. Never someone completely distant. Never a stranger who owed me nothing. Never someone who I could not explain away his care for me. Because before we were in a relationship we were strangers. He had no reason to love me. But he did. We clicked. We understood each other. That was one of the biggest things for me. No one had ever tried to understand me. Not my friends, or even my parents. He not only tried to understand me, but I sincerely believe that he did.

Aside from understanding, and genuine love, I got something I had never experienced with anyone before: physical affection. Since I had gone on one date in my life prior to this relationship, I had not done so much as sit next to a boy before him. With him, I learned the beauty of holding someone’s hand and crying in someone’s arms. I was so jittery in the beginning. I could not sit still. I didn’t know how. He taught me it’s okay to just lay with someone. Just lay together and enjoy each other’s presence.

I don’t have that anymore.

It was okay before I ever had it, because I did not know what I was missing. Since I didn’t know, I did not feel like I was missing anything. Back then, love and hugs were like a fairy tale to me. They were this mythical creature that I’d run into in the future. Not a concern of the present. Even after breaking up, I wasn’t too torn up about this. I went a bit extreme. That, “I swear off boys” phase. I really was done. No hugs, no love? I really did not care. I did not want it. I had it and it hurt me. It was not worth it.

But now…

If no one had poked my bubble. I would have done fine on my own. I was adjusting well back into singledom. But someone popped my bubble. Now I crave. I want. I need. But I don’t have. And it’s killing me.

I know I let him pop my bubble. It’s just so hard to say no when I have seen life outside this wretched bubble. But it is not time. This is not my hand to hold. I need to remember, and accept, that my life is meant to be alone. I need to be my own best friend. My own support. My own care giver. Then, and only then, can I think of a partner.

Please, wish me luck.

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Slipping off the Mountain of Progress

Originally Published February 23, 2018

My mind is like a switch. It can go steadily up. Reaching higher and higher heights. Doing things I never thought I would then one comment and I’m at sea level again. This used to frustrate the hell out of my ex. I can see why. It frustrates me too.

I have struggled with negative thoughts for years. Before I understood my pattern, I saw my behavior as signs of being a failure. Now I see it as me being an almost hopeless failure. I don’t know where I get all of this hope from. Let’s not dive into that today. Instead here’s an example of the pattern I was talking about.

I love learning new things. I will get obsessed about a new project or skill and will spend hours learning it. A couple of weeks later though, I’m over it. When I was in high school, and even now in college, my peers or teachers would praise me for it. Just the other day, one of my classmates said “Oh Lizzie, you have the most interesting hobbies”. I told her I was translating lyrics and was hoping to translate them in a way that they could be sung to the music in the other language. Those lyrics have been sitting on my desktop screen untouched almost since she gave me that comment. I spent a good four or five hours straight working on them. Some syllables were too long others did not make sense. I remember my roommate wanted to do something, but I was so focused on the task at hand that I made her wait.

Now, I want to buy a keyboard. I want a good one because I think I may like it and dedicate my time to becoming a master pianist. I know from experience that the more likely thing is that I will obsess about piano for a few weeks at most then drop it like a hot potato. I just am not built to stick to things. Things or people. I am other. Yeah, yeah, doom and gloom. I know I’m not special. I know others of y’all feel this same way. Yet, there is something isolating about it, isn’t there? I want to be alone so much. I feel the paranoia gnawing at my face. Yet every time I see or hear my roommates I run to them. I run to the people close to me.

I’ve always had someone. In fact, I have a blog draft dedicated to this topic. It’s dedicated to the fact that I’ve always had someone despite the fact that I’ve never sought anyone out. It’s such a big theme in my life that it is the only draft I have not outright deleted or taken the time to perfect. That’s another of my problems: perfectionism.

Now, this blog post is rambly and long. I aim to only bombard y’all with one of those nuisances, so I apologize. I do that a lot. Apologize. There are just so many things I wish I was better at. So many things I’ve tried and let go of. So many people I’ve done the same with. I’m afraid of good things. I’m afraid because I don’t believe I deserve them. I know that is subjective. I know it doesn’t really matter because the world does not take care to keep things fair. Yet, I care.

All of this to say that one wrong step, one little comment, takes me from climbing the mountain of self improvement to tumbling down the ravine of self pity.

***

That was another post from my old blog when I was a senior in university. Whenever I read things like what you just did I get the strongest urge to give past me a huge, tight hug. But, I can’t. I can’t change the past, only my future. So, while I still feel like I wrote sometimes and I still have that pattern, I choose to work on improving myself and my habits rather than dwell on them. I will keep climbing the mountain of progress regardless despite of how often or how badly I slip. 

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The Mock Interview

Originally Published February 18, 2018

Look! Another old blog draft. You’ll probably be able to tell where the draft ended and where I added the ending, but I hope it’s still entertaining. Here it is:

Let me tell y’all a story…

Today, I went to my university’s career center to do a mock interview. It’s for a class and not a big deal. So, I wake up early. I think, “Yeah, two hours before my interview is enough time to shower and get ready for this thing”. Fast forward to 7:00 in the morning. Snooze. Snooze. Snooze. I didn’t get up until 8:15 am. My interview was set for 9:00 am. Yep. I got dressed, lazily printed out a couple of resumes and searched my whole apartment for a belt and decent jacket. Finding neither, I start walking to the door. I have approximately twenty minutes to get to my interview which is, conveniently, a mile away. Now, I live relatively close to my university, but a mile is a mile.

I shyly slide into my roommate’s side of the apartment hoping not to catch her as she’s brushing her teeth or (like a couple weeks ago) watching YouTube videos au naturel. Luckily she was doing neither of those things. She was just going through her closet like a normal human being when I asked her about the parking situation for the building I was heading to. Upon discovering that this would not be an option for me I start to walk away. Like the good human being that she is though, she scolds me about not taking a jacket and goes ahead and gives me one. She also gives me a belt for bonus points.

Quick side note about my roommate. Let’s call her Mariah. She is one of the sweetest most caring person I have ever met. But she believes in tough love. You’ll hear more about this in coming blogs, I’m sure. Alright, back to the story.

So, with borrowed jacket and belt donned, I take off. 17 minutes. That’s okay. I planned to ride my bike anyway. One mile has nothing on my Huffy Cruiser! I cross the street and go to grab my bike, but it’s not there. That’s when I remember I moved it closer to my college. It’d be more convenient I had said at the time. Great. Just great. 15 minutes now and still .8 miles to go. I could sidetrack and get my bike but that’d be about a quarter of the journey I already had. No! I decided. I will walk! I will walk, and I will make it on time!

Somehow, I do arrive exactly at 9 am. But, what’s this? This isn’t the career center! It’s hospitality services. A few paces ahead: student housing. Oh gosh. I’m late.

After this whole ordeal to make it to my mock interview I end up flying through it and getting multiple compliments and a few pointers for the real thing. It was extremely surprising to hear that I have nothing to worry about in a real interview. The mock interviewer said I seemed relaxed and natural. I’ve never thought people skills come naturally to me, but it’s moments like these that make me pause and think, “hey, maybe anything is possible…”.

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Why Be Happy?

Originally Published February 18, 2018

Hey guys, I found a draft from a post I was working on during winter break. It’s got a tiny story moment so I figure why not post it. I’m doing better in regards to the happy issue, but that’s today. Here’s that old blog:

Y’all deserve a happy blog. But, I am not happy. I feel like I should be. Not for myself. That seems like a nice perk though. I feel the need to be happy for those around me. After all, who wants to hang out with someone who is sulking in the corner? In public, such as when I am walking around campus (background info, I’m a senior in university), I used to feel pressured to hold a light smile. Why? People in high school would periodically approach me with a concerned look on their faces and ask if I was okay. It’d baffle me every single time. First, that someone was talking to me as that was rare in those days. Second, by the question itself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?” was my common response. The answer? Infallibly, it would either be “You looked really sad.” or “You looked really angry.”.

This didn’t end in high school. Once, maybe a year or two ago, I was on campus looking for the electrical engineering building. There was a meeting for the software development club that afternoon. Now, I’m not an engineer or a programmer, so I gave myself ample time to find the building. By the time I did, I still had at least fifteen minutes to spare. So, I did what any sensible socially awkward person would do. I sat outside a side entrance and waited in blissful solitude. It began getting dark when a young woman exited the building and approached me with that same concerned look I’d forgotten about. She asked me if I was okay. Baffled as always, I replied I was fine. She looked at me a second longer and explained that I looked very sad. Just as quickly, she gave me a kind smile and walked away. I sat there dumbfounded under the setting sun before deciding to head inside despite the likelihood of social interaction.  (I never went to another one of those meetings.)

Why do I feel the need to be happy around co-workers, subordinates, friends, and family?

***

I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to be the weakest link. The last resort. I want people to want to hang out with me. I want to promote friendships. I don’t want people to equate me with a boring or sad time. In high school I dedicated myself to my studies and only my studies. I was quiet and sullen. No one talked to me unless I had cupcakes, it seemed. (A strong factor in why I learned to bake, I’m sure.) 

Being positive and happy around co-workers makes people want to work with you. It makes work more fun and easier. Around subordinates, it helps to get work done because people are generally more receptive to orders given with a smile than a furrowed brow. With friends, positivity makes you a good option to have fun together. Same with family, and all the other categories.

It all comes down to this: Looking happy (even if you don’t feel it) builds relationships. It lets others know that you are receptive to fun or positive experiences and thus, encourages people to invite you to have a fun, positive time with them. Happiness is a social beacon. 

I don’t know about you guys, but I want to attract happy, positive people. Even if they are people like me who may not feel like that all the time. That’s okay. I want to be able to put aside any pain or pessimism in my life and be able to have fun and be happy despite it all. And I want to find people who can do that too. 

So, I’ll continue to smile, even as I cry, because I want people around me to know that those two things are not mutually exclusive. I hope you reading this can find a smile within you today and all your days to come (no matter how small or fleeting that smile may be). Take care, friends. 🙂

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Beautiful Male Characterization

Originally Published February 18, 2018

His goal in life is to cause chaos in mine.

He succeeded.

Inspired by one of my university roommates, Richard. The line came to me back in February when he came to distract me from writing or some other work I was doing at the time. Sounds like something out of a teen novel.

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The Purpose of This Blog

Originally Published February 18, 2018 

Read Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. If anyone knows how to combine narrative and fiction it’s her. I just don’t have the experience. It’s amazing how she uses her characters to build on ideas and say what she really means to about society. I am much more literal. It’s not that I don’t trust my one or two readers to understand my underlying meaning if I wrote fiction. The issue proves to be more that I don’t know how to be subtle about what I have to say. So, yes, it seems this will be an opinion blog. I have nothing to inform you or educate you on. I am no expert on anything, but instead an amateur in everything. I dream and sin. I experience as everyone else does yet completely differently.

Some Oftentimes, I consider either abandoning this attempt at a blog or deleting it altogether. If my purpose with this is not to inform or argue a point, it must be to entertain. Maybe not. My personal purpose is to put my thoughts and experiences into words. What you do with them is your choice. I hope my words will at times make you feel understood. I know I’m not the only one who has dark thoughts or has made mistakes. I also hope you will find joy and hope in my positive posts (however few and far between they may be).

I could write for hours so, I’ll try to dedicate some of those hours to writing fictional stories. Don’t expect too many of those though. It seems I am better versed in venting sessions. Either way in the end, I wish to inspire people. Learn from my mistakes, please.

***

I wrote that on my old, obscure blog which I have since wiped clean. It was my last year of university when I wrote that, and I didn’t have very much time to dedicate to my writing. Now that I have graduated and am in Puerto Rico for a dietetic internship, I have made it a habit to write daily for a sort of open journal about my experiences here. My goal with this new form of writing is to document my adventures abroad for my own entertainment and so I’ll have written memories to look back on. I share them because I like to think that friends and family that I left behind from university, work, and maybe even childhood are interested in my current adventures. If my experiences serve to entertain people I haven’t personally met, then all the better.

I will be very busy with the internship this year, so probably no time to write any fiction like I’d mentioned above, but I will keep up with my weekly blogs and sporadic Thoughts and Past posts when I’ve finished posting all of my stuff from my old blog. Keep coming back. I’m glad to have you along for the ride! 🙂

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My Reasons for Staying Fat

Originally Published February 2nd 2018

In a way I like being fat. I like having a low self image and only a few friends. It’s easier that way. Let’s talk about the weight issue. It’s a relatable enough issue. Being overweight means less men hit on me. This means less unwanted attention. As much as you may think it makes a person stand out, it has been my experience that it pushes me to the sidelines. After all, you want the skinny, lithe player out in the spotlight and the chubby donut-muncher on the sideline in any game- including the game of life. Yeah, maybe people notice when I walk in a room or when my hips bump into a chair trying to squeeze through the desks to my seat in class, but otherwise people prefer to avoid me. And I like it that way.

Sometimes, I will get a wave of confidence. I don’t know where it comes from and at this moment it seems completely unwarranted, but when it has happened I sometimes get the urge to dress well and cannot help exude that unrighteous confidence. After a while, it wears off though and I’m left feeling more self conscious than anything. Then my brain flips and beings to wonder how it ever occurred to me that I could pull off an outfit like the one I got on my miserable body. In between this brewing storm, I catch the not-so-subtle glances of men and a few women. I tell myself I’m being paranoid. After all, who would check me out? I’m an abomination. It doesn’t matter what kind of bow you put on a trash bag; it’s still a bag of trash.

Being fat is safe. Less people bother me or bother with me. I don’t worry about getting raped. Why rape me when a giant pillow would prove the same? I don’t have boyfriend or crush problems because neither exist for me. I won’t ever have the urge to have a one night stand with anyone because it takes unrelenting coaxing to wear anything more revealing than a tank top. The days I wear tanks I feel like a whore. If I wear shorts or a skirt above the knee out in public without tights I feel like a whore. I’m not used to showing my body. I don’t want to get rejected. One of my theories is that I wasn’t bullied enough as a child. I wasn’t bullied so I am afraid of it happening. Like I mentioned in a previous post, I’m afraid of the unknown.

It’s nice to be fat because that way, when things go wrong it makes sense. “Oh, of course nothing happened when I stayed the night with that guy once. I’m fat. It didn’t ever cross his mind to lay even a foot on my flabby flesh.” These are the things I think about myself. And that’s just as well. Better this than the alternative. “Oh, of course your friends don’t like going out with you. You’re a shame to look at. It’s better you stay inside. Hidden.”

I know this isn’t healthy. But I won’t say I don’t like it. It’s familiar. It’s a pain I know how to deal with. Or at least one I feel like I know how to deal with even though a throbbing repetitive pain is still pain. I could change, but I’m not convinced. I enjoy the anonymity. I enjoy the solitude. Or, I think I do from the Stockholm syndrome. Being attractive would bring about a whole new set of troubles I am not prepared for. Though I yearn to be skinny. It makes little sense, I know, but I tell myself that if I were skinny most of my problems would go away. Suddenly I’d have confidence with myself. I’d thus be more social and outgoing. I’d be happier. I’d like myself. But I don’t. And a change, even if major, to my hardware would not change my software. I’ve been wired for self-loathing since I can remember. Time to get back to it.

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Submission

Originally Published January 23rd 2018

I’ve beat myself into a dull submission. I don’t feel the motivation to read or write or breathe. Nah, I’m just feeling melancholy and poetic. It’s only the first full week of classes and I feel overwhelmed. It is like most things in my life. As soon as I get close to a tangible end I sever the rope. Maybe I’m afraid of progress and the outcome of opportunity. There are too many thoughts. One says, “talk about how you rely too much on people and always have”. Another whispers, “tell about how you drive people away with anger and cruelty”. A third screams, “none of it matters, so why are you still typing?”. I don’t hear voices. They are simply my inner thoughts. Sometimes I think the voices, external voices that is, would be comforting. Though abusive, I’d finally feel like a true victim. For now though, the thoughts are just that, intangible and taunting, with my own voice.

Where do they come from? From me? My environment? That old question of nature and nurture. I just hope it’s not me. I don’t like the me that snaps on a dime or can’t talk to her roommates for fear of saying something overly cruel. They are beginning to become scared of me. Not in an intimidating way. The three of us know my limitations. Oh, recap, I have two roommates at this time in my life. One tall ex-football player and the another, a feisty woman. Richard and Mariah. What a pair! I could write about them forever. However, I have a larger concern at the moment. I don’t pretend that they are afraid I could overpower either of them. It is not a physical danger they wince at. They begin that treacherous walk on the eggshells of my unpredictability. For at any moment, my mood can go from sunshine to electric storms.

Sometimes it is best to ignore a problem than to confront it. They do it very well. I’m surprised by two things. One, that I held out for so long. So long in fact, that I almost believed my cruelty to be false. Who would be so cruel anyway? I am. Two, I am surprised that they tolerate it. Yet, I am not surprised by that. Like I said, sometimes ignorance and denial seem like the easiest solution. It is not, by the way. Ignorance makes pain fester; and pain, in my case, makes a snappy and paranoid Lizzie. That’s the other thing. I don’t know if I truly believe in truth. How can we be real when this society values reputation and achievement which is often facilitated by charm and the social graces, while simultaneously destroyed by those magical factors. I’m sleepy. Finally. Look at that. Another cesspool of regurgitated thoughts. I’m sorry for the stream of consciousness. Again, that is not my intended method, but sad women will do what they will.

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Insomniac?

Originally Published January 15th 2018

So, I can’t sleep. This is becoming more and more common. It’s not exactly that I am incapable of sleep because I know that if I were to turn off the lights, lay my head down on my pillow, and close my eyes I would be asleep within a few minutes. Once I decide to sleep, it’s not an issue.

Therefore, my problem is not that I am unable to fall asleep rather it is that my mind refuses to do so. It’s a choice, but it doesn’t feel like it. In a way, it’s passive. I’m not fighting sleep. I feel tired, some days that this happens I feel downright exhausted, but I don’t feel sleepy. Sleep doesn’t feel like an option. Some days, this is because I get bursts of creativity and energy or I have something on my mind that won’t go away. Other days, like today, I have a goal.

Today it was staying awake until my mom left for work so I could say goodbye, as I’m leaving home for my last semester at University later in the morning. Some days, the goal is to finish a homework assignment or cram for an exam. On very sparse occasions I toss and turn for an hour or two before either succumbing to sleep or getting up and occupying my mind on a task to get away from the thoughts that riddle my mind.

But, like I said, that is rare for me. More often than not I simply don’t see the point in sleeping. I know it’s a human necessity and “it’s good for you!” and whatnot, but logically (in a very illogical way) it seems trivial. It boils down to: “why be asleep when I could be awake?”.

  • You know, I used to have a pillow case with these weird, colorful, bunny-like creatures jumping around having a pillow fight. The words “we’d rather be leaping than sleeping” were slathered in bright hues all over it. I never thought much of it as a kid. I’d just lay my head down and contradict its very being.

Obviously now as an adult, I understand the benefits and broad reasoning supporting an adequate amount of sleep per night. But sometimes, moreso on days devoid of personal enjoyment such as those filled with appointments, school, work, and even social responsibilities, sleep comes second place to a few hours of alone time.

Moral of this ramble? Twofold: make time in the day for yourself so you won’t feel inclined to cash in on it in the middle of the night and if you do find yourself awake despite your best efforts, make sure to be productive with your stolen time. Write a blog post… Or whatever it is you are into.