Tag: University

Posted in My Life Now, New Year's Resolution Progress, Texas- Living with Parents

New Year’s Resolutions for 2020 – Progress as of February 4th

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

Yes, I know it’s February. Just go with me on this! I usually don’t set New Year’s Resolutions. Don’t get me wrong. It’s my favorite holiday! I love the attitude and the positive hope that surrounds the celebration of another year of life completed and the next to come.

The thing is, I am one of those people who believe it’s always time to seek self improvement. And somehow, most of the times I’ve started a lofty goal it’s been at random times during the year (I learned to paint in spring, make balloon animals in summer, and started a weight loss regime in the fall). Hardly ever have I done anything productive right at the start of a new year. I’ve actually made bigger changes after Halloween and before Thanksgiving, like the time I became vegetarian! Yep! Right before Thanksgiving. That was an interesting holiday season, haha.

Continue reading “New Year’s Resolutions for 2020 – Progress as of February 4th” →

Posted in Thoughts and the Past

Life is but a Story

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

Recently I’ve found myself wondering why I tend to say yes to crazy or ill thought out ideas. I was a boring teenager. Extremely so. I hardly ever left my house if it wasn’t for school or volunteer events. ….Or, I’ll admit, math team competitions. I remember joining the six or seven clubs I was in simply to fill my non-existent resume. Then I remember participating in activities or volunteer opportunities just to have an answer to “what did you do this weekend”.

 

My Ex Told me that Life is a Story

Without knowing it, I did things out of my norm to have a story to tell. It’s not anything new. However, when my ex-boyfriend put it into words for me by quoting his favorite show, Dr. Who, it was like I was learning this for the first time. He said, “‘We are all stories in the end….'” Of all the ways he impacted my life, this is one of the most memorable. He wasn’t the first to tell me something along these lines, but he was the first to tell me at a time I could finally understand it.

Continue reading “Life is but a Story” →

Posted in Uncategorized

The Happiest I’ve Ever Been

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

I have four unfinished drafts. I haven’t written in four weeks… or more. I get four new ideas every sleepless night. There’s too much and not enough going on in my life. And I can’t take it anymore. I’m writing at 3 am and decided to publish whatever word vomit I create. A friend of mine once suggested (likely out of pity) that my readers must like the honesty that these sad writing sessions are born from. He said this after I expressed confusion that one such word vomit post did infinitely better, views-wise, than a post I spent upwards of eight hours on.

 

Audio of this post:

 

The Best Four Months of My Life

 

Living on my own, therapy, love, and more…

I want to write. I do. I used to fight for myself. I did very well- surprisingly well- the first semester I moved into an apartment on campus by myself. Sure I had apartment-mates, but I saw them each no more than three times that whole school year (they were worse recluses than me!). It took until finals time to falter. That semester in group therapy I gave more advice than sought it. My life was great and I ran with that. Literally. That was when I started running. I wanted to do a 5K. About two months in I was pushing myself and that was the only area in my life I would not be satisfied with. I wanted to continuously improve and did.

I loved my life that year. It was the best semester of my life. Best three or four months of my life. I did things because I wanted to and that was that. I tried the whole vegetarian thing. I was looking into studying abroad. It was glorious. And, of course, I was in love. My first boyfriend. That’s pure. Completely the wrong person for me and that became blatantly apparent in the next few months, but for that brief beginning… it was glorious. I didn’t know I could be so happy.

 

Friendship, Healthier Coping, and Constant Support

That was the semester I began a friendship with one of the most caring people I’ve ever met- Mariah. I’d never had such a close friendship with someone before. It’s incredible she’s still my friend. That was also the semester we both turned 21. Every other weekend we’d get together, just the two of us (well with her boyfriend playing video games on a nearby couch), at her apartment to hang out and try different types of alcohol. Not the wildest college drinking stories. Not even close. But the best I could have asked for.

I’ve had issues with emotional overeating since I was about 10 years old. That semester? Not until finals time. It was like I imagine nicotine cravings are. Awful. Constant. And gnawing. Obviously, it wasn’t without a couple slip ups, but until I gave up during finals week… it was amazing. I sang so much that semester. Constant music. That’s what they always say. Therapists and other positive role models I’ve had: replace negative behaviors with positive ones. It’s so difficult. Sounds simple, but a song isn’t as effective as a donut for me. Not at first. That’s the semester I learned to be okay with crying. I’d been told crying isn’t shameful since I’d started therapy two years prior to that semester, but on my then boyfriend’s shoulder I accepted it.

It was my first semester as manager at a little food shop on campus. I met my coworkers I’d be friends with for the remainder of my university career. I was so nervous about my first leadership role. The boyfriend was constant support through anything and everything that semester. I’d never had that. With him, my therapists, my friends, and a pinch of belief in myself I learned I could be happy. I didn’t have to keep punishing myself for something I felt I deserved.

 

Beginning to Like Myself and Learning to Enjoy Life

I can’t underestimate this next part. I’ve hated the way I look, especially my weight, over any horrible thought I’ve ever had about my intelligence or other abilities. I never in a million years thought I’d look at myself with anything but disgust and shame. That semester, sometimes I’d wish I looked like someone’s reflection or shadow I’d catch at the corner of my eye then I’d realize that reflection or shadow had been mine. It was extremely confusing and alien at first. I began wearing tank tops for Pete’s sake! I liked how they looked… I almost can’t believe I got to that point. I was by no means skinny. I’ve dreamt of being skinny for more than a decade at this point. I didn’t weigh myself that whole semester. Maybe once for a class, but I think I refused to look at the time. Yet, I’ve never been happier with my body. Sometimes I would look in a mirror (I hate mirrors) and like how I looked! Actually looked at myself and felt good- confident even!

Unbelievable! That whole semester… And I enjoyed the heck out of it. As I experienced it I knew it likely would end. I was terrified. Like an unsavory indigestion I kept swallowing down. Yet, I pushed it aside and had the best three or four months of my life. It doesn’t sound like much, but when you’re used to wallowing in sadness sure that that’s all you’re worth- pain and disappointment- four months is infinity. I regret nothing. I lived. I loved. And I sure as hell made the best of it.

 

Where Am I Now?

Wow. That was certainly not the direction I expected this to go. Usually when my mind wanders it reminds me how unhappy I currently am. Getting creative, Brain. You jerk. Well, since I doubt I’ll finish up those other four drafts anytime soon, here’s the summary.

  1. I used to publish just whenever I was inspired on my old blog which was about once a month. I’m done making promises I won’t keep. Not to be rude, but I can’t keep disappointing myself. I’ll publish when I publish. Sorry.
  2. I hate living at home. My friend offered to let me move in with her, but she lives in West Texas about six hours away from where I currently live. I said no. I regret that at least five times a day. Okay, maybe only three times a day.
  3. I’m codependent without anyone to be codependent with. That’s what those four drafts said in a nutshell.
  4. The fourth kind of overlaps with the friend offering her home thing. It was a pros and cons list of moving out or living at home with my parents.

 

I hate my life right now. I have plans to make it better. I hope I follow through with them. It’s kind of difficult at the moment to find motivation. But what choice do I have? It’s fight for myself or be miserable. I know I’ve written something like this at least five times before, but that’s what I’ve found life to be: a repetitive pep talk where I have to convince myself I’m the most qualified person to care and put in the work to make my life enjoyable. I don’t know what else I can do.

I’ve given up on people before and I will never forgive myself for it. I’m terrified of what will happen if I give up on myself completely. I’ve seriously let myself go, but I know there’s some line I’ve never crossed. I know I haven’t reached rock bottom. Things can be worse. And I’m afraid. I don’t want to get there. I won’t get there. Stupid pep talk after stupid pep talk- I won’t let myself get there. Thanks, Fear. Thanks, Unhappiness. I will only let my life get better because of you.

Posted in Uncategorized

Trust – A Short Story

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

I have something special for you guys today. It’s a story I wrote for a creative writing class back in in 2015 or 2016. I’d never attempted a short story before. In fact, this was before I began blogging, so it’s the first narrative I’m proud of. Not so much for the writing skills, but more so for the twisted message. Enjoy?

 

Trust

            “Jump!” he screamed, hurling himself from the precipice.

I, unprepared, stumbled a few steps before tripping after him. I jumped, kind of. “Why did I jump?” I wondered as I flew down the mountain close enough to it that had I not been hugging my arms to my chest I would have sanded myself on the way down. “You meet a nice guy and next thing you know you’ve jumped off a mountain.”

On one of my morning runs, I met Jimmy. His father owned the grocery store in town that I typically passed. For several days I had seen a figure lurking in the shadows of the brilliant pink and orange sky of dawn. The figure was the size of a young man. Short and wispy, but with a sort of strength to it I could see from the path. There he stood, leaning against the door of the shed his father used to store inventory. I saw him there every day for a month.

In June, after six weeks of living in town, I passed the solitary dirt path and glanced over to the shed about twenty feet into the property. No one was there. I couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Since I had moved in, I had met several kind people, but it seemed as if everyone had already found their niche. The farmers’ wives chattered away when they found the time, the mothers regularly met up to exchange gossip, and the men, I had heard from a little girl who had wandered to my house one evening, sometimes met up for a night of card playing in someone’s basement. The women of the house would be ushered upstairs and only be allowed down if they brought food or refreshments.  What a strange place. It was like traveling back in time.

Lost in my thoughts, I had not heard him running beside me. A light tap on the shoulder brought me back into the present moment. Startled, I jumped, then took off in a sprint. He looked ahead, a few steps behind now, and began to laugh. Curious, I looked back.

“Didn’t mean to scare you” he said, still laughing, “You’re Alice, right?”

“If you didn’t mean to scare me you shouldn’t have snuck up on me!” I said, irritated that I had jumped like a jackrabbit at the first sign of danger. “Yeah, I’m Alice. Who are you?” I replied with a scowl.

As if he didn’t hear the annoyance in my voice, he replied, “Jimmy.” He had caught up to me with those sluggish steps of his.

I looked him over, wondering if he would say more. When he didn’t, I invited him to walk with me. We walked until lunch time, him talking about the past and me talking about the future. At the time to depart, he walked to his house for lunch with his family and I walked home for lunch alone. After that day, I wasn’t alone much anymore. Jimmy and I would walk in the mornings, then go to his place for lunch. His family all seemed to enjoy my company and I loved theirs.

This morning we took a new path, to the mountains at a distance.

“You still haven’t told me why you moved here you know,” he began.

He’d asked me several times, but I would always make up some excuse to avoid the question. One time, the fish we caught in the river just happened to get knocked out of the bucket we’d put them in. Another time, I tripped out of nowhere, scraping my knee. Now, I regarded him. It’d been two months since he’d last asked me.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“No, for all I know you moved out here to escape from a flesh eating disease killing off city dwellers.”

“How’d you know?” I said with false surprise. “The disease doesn’t eat your skin though. It eats your soul.”

“Huh?”

“It’s greed, desire, selfishness. I wanted to get away from it.”

“You can’t get away from that Allie! That stuff is in the air!” He shook his head, as if to rid himself of my foolishness.

The mountain air became louder, more forceful as we reached the base of the dry, rocky mountain.

“No, I guess not, but hey I tried.”

I was glad we had reached the mountain. Now we’d be even more alone. Only nature balances out human folly. The rest of the climb we spoke about lighter subjects. His sister had recently had her first child, so I gushed about her for most of the hike. When we reached the top no one spoke. The silence coated us like frosting on a cake, beautifying the moment.

As far as I could see were blue skies. Not a single cloud lingered. Even the dull gray rocks below us seemed to shimmer. The peak was flat and wide, so we sat and looked at the eagles soaring past. What seemed like hours later, Jimmy took my hand and led me to the edge. Afraid of heights, I hung back. He let go and stood with the tip of his boots over the edge.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Of course.” I replied solemnly, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

“Will you do me a favor?”

“Yeah, anything.”

“Jump!” he screamed, hurling himself from the precipice.

So I jumped. Not knowing where it would lead, only trusting him, I jumped. It was terrifying. First you feel nothing, then your stomach lurches into your throat and your heart flutters as if trying to take flight and save you. Several endless minutes of abdominal clenching later (as if that could stabilize the air whooshing around you), the body begins to recognize this new speed and direction as normal. Your body releases its tension and it feels like flowing through a lazy river. It feels safe and natural.

I know this isn’t natural or safe, so while my body has calmed down and accepted its fate, my mind goes into overdrive and begins scrambling for ideas. I open my eyes. When had I closed them? Rocks and only rocks surround me. Jimmy! Where is he? If two objects fall at the same time, they will reach the ground at the same time regardless of weight. I jumped a few seconds after him, so he shouldn’t be too far below me. I never would have guessed physics would be one of the last things I thought about before I died. Then again, I didn’t think I’d die by jumping off a mountain at the request of my best friend.

There, about three seconds below me, is Jimmy. His eyes are closed. He looks completely peaceful. My brain begins to slow.

Suddenly, he opens his eyes and yells, “No more human strife!”

“What?” I think, my mind going wild once again. I see him splat on the grassy valley. His limbs are bent every which way, but his eyes are open and he smiles at me as I join him.

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized

Hark – Personal Poetry Collection

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

I’m feeling good this week. Like I can do anything. I rarely write poetry when I feel this way, but the one time I did was impressive. At least to me. The words came to me as I walked to my Organic Chemistry lecture my junior year in university. I remember rushing to my seat to scribble down the words as my professor began addressing the class. Please, do listen.

>>>

 

November 2016

Hark

And so we will stand

upon this land.

We will not bury our heads in the sand.

Our voices ringing loud,

refusing to bow,

because the time for change is now.

 

Get up.

Fill your cup.

Do not rupt.

Interrupt,

Intervene,

Make a new scene.

 

One of color and spark-

that needs no bark

and has no sharks.

Only us larks.

Leaving our marks.

 

Hark

our voices ringing loud

that intervene

to make new sound.

 

There is beauty to be found.

Towards it I am bound.

Please join me on my cloud.

 

I am nothing you have ever seen,

so on me do lean.

 

Friends, hark!

And together, we shall make light in this dark.

 

 

 

 

***

Note: Photo credit to Wenshu Chen/USFWS

Posted in Uncategorized

Why am I not enough? (Remembering to put on a fake face to survive in the “real” world)

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

I’ve had problems with depression and anxiety …also probably paranoia and anger management at least since 8th grade. Everyone has traumas. Mine happened when I was 10 years old. It was no one’s fault. Who was I to be angry at then? I think humans need to blame someone or something or else all that anger gets internalized. At least that’s what happened to me.

 

Brief Overview of my Life Growing Up

I’m not ready to write about what happened. I don’t want pity. What I want is to explore its effects. At 10 years old, I learned that loved ones aren’t a given. They can be there one day and not the next. (No one passed away, if you’re wondering.) But I learned no one is a sure thing. Not even my parents. However, through this turbulent time I still had my teachers and classmates. I learned that was my constant.

Middle school years

That’s all that I carried with me: my school friends and academic success. (More so my friends, but at the end of the day I chose academics and switched schools.) 8th grade. New school. I don’t know why since I’d always been the kid who had a friend by the end of the first day of school, but I didn’t make any friends that year. I didn’t feel the need. I wasn’t interested in talking to other people. So I didn’t. Academics. That’s all I had.

High school

I tried, but by now it wasn’t just a lack of desire. It was full-blown anxiety. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to anyone. I’d only talk when teachers called on me in class. Even then my heart worked overtime from the stress of being called on. Academics. That’s all I had. Not having friends, I dreaded school breaks. Winter break, spring break. The worst was summer break. My mind would over think. I’d get into existential crises. At 15 years old, I knew I needed a distraction. I needed a purpose. Without school, my life, I feared death. Or maybe I feared not living.

I lived (arguable choice of words) like this for 3 years. By senior year of high school, I began to wonder. What if I didn’t treat academics as my life. What if I did poorly? I felt my parents weren’t proud of me with all A’s. (My dad praised anything and everything, while my mom questioned my A+’s for not being 100’s.) Would they freak if I got C’s? So, I stopped trying. I tanked my GPA in the last year. Began failing tests. (I’d never failed an exam before then.) And. Nothing. Happened. They were disappointed, but they didn’t lecture me. Just told me to try harder.

Or maybe they did care. I don’t even know how I felt. I’d say I didn’t care, but I did because I was worried that they didn’t care. I was nervous watching my grades drop and them not bat an eye. I wanted them to care. I wanted to matter to my parents. Not that I didn’t. I knew, intellectually, that they cared about me, but at the time I needed to proof to believe it. My dad’s praise was so frequent it meant nothing and my mom’s was nonexistent. Positive wasn’t happening, so I sought negative attention.

But I didn’t get it.

Then I went to university

I’d made a friend during those last two years in high school. I’d stopped trying so hard to keep my grades up and still passed. My priorities shifted. I learned the wonders of human connection. School didn’t matter. I had friends! Maybe it was my depression or paranoia or broken trust in family stability (no one got divorced either, in case you guys are wondering). Whatever it was, I could not feel or believe that my parents loved me. I knew that as a fact. Not as a feeling.

But I knew my friends liked me! And that feeling was indescribable! A feeling! That itself was surprising! I was numb all throughout high school. The only time I felt anything was during that short-lived flirty time with the boy I snuck off to the library with (blog post on that here). Often I remember anger. But that was it. Anger or nothing. It was like I wasn’t alive. Emotionally, at least.

But in university, I made friends and felt emotions. The most important of which was happiness. I’d had that spark of nervous flirty happiness with the boy in high school, but not like this. Not from friends, and later happiness all to myself, from myself. I found freedom in university. I wasn’t always at school or at home surrounded by people. Being watched all the time. Or not, but that’s what the paranoia told me. I had my own space. It was scary at first. I still struggle to do things by myself. I don’t think I was ever allowed to be alone growing up (bedroom doors were not allowed to be closed in my household and I didn’t go out with friends, much less on my own). University was life changing.

I learned what happiness is. I learned what friends are. I learned who I am. When no one was watching, I knew who I was and amazingly, I liked myself.

What did books matter when I was learning all of this?! They didn’t. And while I was learning who I was, I had to decide on a career. (Blog post about how I came to that decision here.) And now I’m here. In Puerto Rico. A place I knew nothing about when I decided to move out here for a year. Much less did I know anyone here. All the interns in my program were strangers. Now, I wish some of them still were.

I’ve learned that people can be mean and care only about themselves. I’ve learned people can be indifferent or too interested. I’ve learned people can be angry. They can be distracted. They can be cruel. And they are hypocrites.

I knew these things as fact before. But now I know them as feeling. …It makes me wish I didn’t have emotions again. It’s an empty wish and a common one of mine, to go back to the numb high school days. But in those moments with friends, some with romantic interests, and others through my own personal accomplishments,  I’ve learned what positive emotions are and I believe they are what makes life life. Only being able to feel anger, which later morphed to sadness, is not life.

When I was in high school, it was a numb, unfeeling depression. In university, with happiness, I learned sadness. Harsh, deep sadness. The peak of which occurred in my senior year of university. This year I lived with a great friend of mine. And I hurt her. Before her, I always had a facade up. An act. It wasn’t to be cruel. It was to be kind. I didn’t want to expose others to my sadness. But with her…

Life Changing Friendship- Learning to Trust and that it’s Okay to be Myself. Flaws and All!

To Mariah I gave all of my trust. I let go completely. I let her in as far as she wanted to go. And she went far. She saw me at my worst. I’ve never been that depressed since. Even though she’ll deny it, I know I ruined (or at the very least) inconvenienced many of her days. We spent Thanksgiving (2017) angry with each other and that weekend trying to drag me out of bed, literally. I made her suffer. It wasn’t on purpose; it just goes with depression. With depression and anxiety and paranoia and anger issues and what ever other labels exist for all the not positive aspects of my personality.

But she refused to give up on me. We’re still friends. I know that woman would do almost anything for me. And I don’t know what I did to deserve her. I don’t feel like I deserve her. It’s rare, someone like that. So loyal (against their own good even). And I was spoiled.

Post Graduate Nutrition Internship- Learning to Distrust and that it’s NOT Okay to be Myself. Flaws Should be Well Hidden.

Now, I’m here in Puerto Rico working on a dietetic internship (when I doubt I want to work as a dietitian for the rest of my life) almost attached to the hip with my internship partner. I go from rotations where I’m supervised and evaluated. Hello, paranoia and anxiety! Oh, there you are anger! To an apartment where everyone has beef with at least one other person. The environment is toxic. Doesn’t help my depressive tendencies.

Sorry I can’t be positive and supportive 24/7. I still try. It hurts, but I try. Thing is, I can’t give what I don’t have. Every day I feel more paranoid, more anxious, angry, and sad. Or then I’m manically happy! But one misplaced comment and I’m underground again trying to dig myself out. Or not. Sometimes I don’t ever want to surface. (Related blog post here.)

I let myself believe, due to my experience with Mariah, that people can be trusted 100%. I can let go and be my completely flawed self and not worry about the repercussions. But I now know how truly lucky I am to have someone in my life like that, because that’s not the case with anyone else. I already had trust issues. Maybe everyone does. However, I was healing. I was learning to trust again.

But now, I feel as if there is nothing to learn. From my experiences here, no one wants the real me. No one wants my flaws. I am, as I always feared, an inconvenience. I have to pretend to be only the best parts of myself, because that’s the only parts people care to get to know. That’s understandable to me with the preceptors who supervise and evaluate us, but I mistakenly thought it wouldn’t be the case with my fellow interns. I was hopelessly optimistic. And I was wrong.

I have to learn how to fake it. Something I wasn’t 100% successful at during my customer service-y job as a cashier during university breaks (2015 to 2018). I could do it, but only for so many hours a day. Here, I share a room, I go to rotations where I am supervised and evaluated 5 days a week with my internship partner plus travel to the site and work on assignments outside of those 8 hours with her and I come home to an apartment where people aren’t happy to see each other.

 

Constant People, Constant Need to Fake It (to fake sanity/happiness)

The only saving grace is that I feel that genuine care and friendship from my roommate. But, he’s still another person I am around every day. In university, I had space. I had freedom. Now, it’s back to how it was when I lived at home. Constant people! But higher stakes! The only time I’m alone is when I go out by myself. Remember my friend anxiety? Don’t forget depression! To motivate myself to go anywhere is difficult enough. To not change my mind is another thing. Depression tells me it’s not worth it. Anxiety tells me it’s all going to go wrong anyway, so why try?

I don’t wish to blame my hard times on these mental health issues, but I know they are a big factor. And I feel like I have to keep them to myself now. My struggles and thoughts should remain my own to not affect others. Even then, there’s nothing I can do about my energy or aura. If I’m that depressed and empty inside, it doesn’t matter how big I fake smile. I’ve lost my ability to act believable. Thank you Mariah, for making that ability obsolete in me and damn you.

I’m truly going to have to fake it and hope I make it. Seven more months until the end of this internship. Wish me luck, please.

 

 

Note:

Featured image is of me last Halloween (2017). I’ve always loved goth fashion, so I enjoyed expressing myself that day through dress, hair, and makeup. I use it as the image for this post because it represents how I feel at the moment. I am in no way saying goth culture equates to sadness or anything like that, but that’s how most people seem to take it. And I feel like this is how I come off to people without make up and even when I do put on non-goth makeup. I feel like no matter what I do outwardly, all people see is my obvious sadness or negative aspects of my personality. And what can I do about that?! (Nothing overnight!) Why am I being punished for that?! Isn’t the depression, anxiety, paranoia, distrust, anger, and self loathing punishment enough??

Posted in Uncategorized

Slipping off the Mountain of Progress

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

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. 

Posted in Uncategorized

The Mock Interview

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

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…”.

Posted in Uncategorized

Why Be Happy?

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

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. 🙂

Posted in Uncategorized

Mis Miedos

Posted on by Lizzie Gomez

Originalmente Publicado 10 diciembre 2017

<< ¿A que le tienes tanto miedo? >>, él preguntó.

Mi ex novio, mis padres, y recientemente, mi compañero de cuarto me han preguntado esto. Los ignoré a todos. Excepto a Richard.

Mi compañero de cuarto (lo llamaremos Richard) me convenció ir a caminar con él una noche. Me sentía reluctante por la hora tarde, pero fui de todos modos. Él caminaba calmadamente por lo mientras que yo casi corría por la paranoia que sentía. Eso es cuando preguntó la pregunta crucial: << ¿A que le tienes tanto miedo? >>. Al no contestarle, él sugirió << ¿Asesinos? ¿Violadores? >>. Negué con la cabeza y respondí débilmente, << No violadores, pero sí, rateros y asesinos.>>.

Silencio una vez más. Nada excepto el sonido de carros zumbando al pasarnos y nuestros pasos ocasionalmente crujiendo sobre hojas de otoño muertas y secas. Después de varios momentos, con un aliento amable y curioso, preguntó, << ¿Por qué? ¿Te ha pasado algo?>>.

Lo dijo tan sinceramente, sin ni una huella de malicia en su voz. Entonces, lo consideré.  Por la primera vez, no descarté esa pregunta desgraciada con una actitud arrogante. Pero antes de poder colectar mis pensamientos, él compartió sus propias experiencias. << Me han atropellado carros. Me han disparado. Me han perseguido perros y gente. Por eso no le tengo miedo a nada.>>.

Lo confesó con tanta casualidad. Era como si me dijera el tiempo de día en vez de situaciones profundas y personales de su vida. Consideré sus palabras unos momentos más. <<Estaba en un carro que se salió girando de la carretera. Esa es mi única experiencia cercana a la muerte.>>.

 Continuamos caminando con crujidos callados a nuestros pies y ráfagas de viento pasándonos detrás de la docena de carros todavía en las calles a las 10 pm entre semana. Ocasionalmente yo rompía el trance para añadir, << Pues, un conocido mío pretendió raptarme una vez. Aunque, por supuesto, yo no sabía que él estaba pretendiendo cuando lo hizo.>> o << Fui muy amparada de niña. En verdad, nada tan malo pasó.>>

Eso hace sentido, ¿no? Si no has estado expuesto a peligro o trauma, cuando algo nuevo o inesperado pasa que amenaza tu seguridad, tu cuerpo empieza a temblar con miedo y anticipación. Después te quiebras.

No siempre.

A veces sientes ese revoltijo de trepidación tantas veces que se empieza a sentir normal. Es como hacer pesas. Tal vez empiezas con dos kilos como un cerdo fuera de estado y se siente como la montaña Everest en tus brazos flácidos y temblorosos. Pero después de semanas, meses, o años de esos mismos dos kilos se sienten como nada.

¿Por qué? Porque lo haz hecho antes. Nuestros cuerpos les encanta aprender por experiencias y son expertos en hacerlo. ¿Nunca haz cuidado un bebé? Diviértete cuando se mie en ti. ¿Creciste con media docena de hermanitos y tuviste cinco propios? La gente te lanzará bebés berrinchudos para que los cuides.

Lo mismo aplica con experiencias negativas. Después de suficientes encuentros con hombres raros haciéndome ojitos he aprendido que la bondad sólo los motiva. Aun si es una bondad fuera de cortesía. También he aprendido que cualquier persona que te enseña su colección de cuchillos antes de un mes de conocerlos o antes de que les des alguna pista que eres aficionado de cuchillos, es mejor despedirse de él con rapidez. Haber dicho eso, no tengo miedo de tipos raros pidiendo mi numero por lo mientras que intento comprar dulces en la tienda. Esto me ha pasado. Después de esa y otras situaciones, yo sé como tratar tipos raros.

Los que no sé tratar son rateros y asesinos. Violadores también supongo. Nunca he estado en una situación en donde me ha perseguido un perro o me han disparado. ¡Ni con una pistola de agua! No tengo experiencia en mi pasado en cual depender y no tengo entrenamiento de defensa propia o cualquier otro tipo de estrategia de prevención. No temo ataques de perros porque crecí con perros y sé como comportarme cerca de un perro agresivo. Sí tengo miedo de asesinos paseándose por las calles buscando una victima al lazar porque no he tratado con gente enojada, mucho menos con gente homicida.

Lo desconocido y impredecible. Caos y impotencia. Eso es a lo que le tengo tanto miedo.

¿Pero como te preparas para lo desconocido e impredecible? Haz lo que puedas ahora y confía o ten esperanza que serás lo suficientemente astuto y fuerte para sobrepasar el resto.

En el tiempo que llegué a estas conclusiones, Richard y yo estábamos a un par de pasos de nuestro apartamento. No habíamos dicho ni una palabra por mucho tiempo y no empezamos a ese momento. En vez de eso, subimos las escaleras en silencio. Él sin enterarse de mis revelaciones que cambiarían mi vida y yo con una sonrisa leve en mis labios.