Fair warning: This is going to be a post about love and heartbreak. So if you have a soft tummy, I'd suggest making a bee-line for Candy Crush.
The last 5 months have been another lesson on adulting. I hate adulting some times. For instance, when I have to pay the american express, scoop out the cat litter, iron my clothes in the morning, etc. But some things/events in my recent days really really drive this yearn to retreat to my kindergarden class when Ms. papazian (rip) would teach us how to fingerpaint and finger dance to Itsy bitsy spider.
And it usually involves people. Allow me to summarize, as the last thing I want to do is give these people any more time then they have already sucked out of me. But, in a nut shell:
Girl has good friends. Girl shares everything with good friends. Good friends mean everything to girl. They have amazing, great times. Then they have not so amazing, great times. Good friends turn out to be douche bags. Douche bags turn out to be good for nothings. Good friend = good for nothings. The end. copyright © 2016 by cmartz
While grateful to see true colors well before an investment is lost (gosh, I sound like my financial advisor), it broke my heart to lose these douche bags/friends. Lesson learned, I guess.
Simultaneously, though, brand new relationships were brought into my life. Besides the existing life time friendships that I had, all of a sudden I became closer to some newbies. I found solace in this, and also with my sweetheart. I'd be lying and saying that I don't miss the douchebags. I don't have the ability to turn off my love for someone like that. Sometimes I wish I did. But, on my good days, I am grateful for it. I love hard. Which means I get hurt hard. But it only really makes you stronger. And appreciate the people you have had by your side through it all.
I feel like this is turning into a Celine/Mariah mashup from the 90s.
Just another ramble I guess . . .
Monday, March 28, 2016
Late night narrative
It's no secret to those that know me that I have depression. Not the, "awww, it's raining and there is a 7 train delay due to a sick passenger, and my boss didn't give me a promotion, and my friend won't talk to me anymore" depression. More like the, "I woke up. . ." depression. Have had it since I was 12.
I remember being so young, and not knowing what the hell was happening, but for some reason, I was handling the Zack and Kelly's breakup WAY worse than they were. Or anything related to leaving my small tenemant bedroom in our family apartment. I hated getting out of bed. Hated facing the world. Hated waking up.
Not to be so depressing (shout out!). It's not like I wanted to kill myself. I didn't. I wanted to live very badly. I just wanted this internal pain to stop. But trying to explain that to a family that called me a "drama queen" from the moment I popped out of my mother's canal: it was a lost cause.
Almost 23 years later, and I still have a fear of leaving my bedroom, or, in this case, my very own 1 bedroom apartment. When it hits me, "it" feels even worse than it used to. I find myself asking myself, WTF. Why do I still have these horrible bouts? No longer do "Zack and Kelly breakup"-like scenarios send me over the edge. Nope, thanks to the likes of Instagram and Youtube--the puppy-saving, kitten cuddling, soldier returning, dead people rememebering videos of the world--put me in crying states for hours and hours.
"Why do you like to poke the burn?" my friend, Sara said to me recently. "Why do you like to torture yourself?"
I didn't have an answer. More like a revelation. She was right, I do. I like to kick myself when I am down. But why?
Maybe it's just what I know to be life. Maybe any other way would be so foreign, I might want to retreat back to my bedroom. Maybe I do that already.
I remember being so young, and not knowing what the hell was happening, but for some reason, I was handling the Zack and Kelly's breakup WAY worse than they were. Or anything related to leaving my small tenemant bedroom in our family apartment. I hated getting out of bed. Hated facing the world. Hated waking up.
Not to be so depressing (shout out!). It's not like I wanted to kill myself. I didn't. I wanted to live very badly. I just wanted this internal pain to stop. But trying to explain that to a family that called me a "drama queen" from the moment I popped out of my mother's canal: it was a lost cause.
Almost 23 years later, and I still have a fear of leaving my bedroom, or, in this case, my very own 1 bedroom apartment. When it hits me, "it" feels even worse than it used to. I find myself asking myself, WTF. Why do I still have these horrible bouts? No longer do "Zack and Kelly breakup"-like scenarios send me over the edge. Nope, thanks to the likes of Instagram and Youtube--the puppy-saving, kitten cuddling, soldier returning, dead people rememebering videos of the world--put me in crying states for hours and hours.
"Why do you like to poke the burn?" my friend, Sara said to me recently. "Why do you like to torture yourself?"
I didn't have an answer. More like a revelation. She was right, I do. I like to kick myself when I am down. But why?
Maybe it's just what I know to be life. Maybe any other way would be so foreign, I might want to retreat back to my bedroom. Maybe I do that already.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Sharing the journey, even if it hurts . . .
Sigh. One of the hardest things I've ever had to write about . . .
I've been trying to blog about participating in the THIS IS MY BRAVE NYC show. It's a non profit organization that uses art to share the many brave journeys of those living with mental illness.
Yes, you guys. I have a mental illness.
Depression, most likely genetic + post traumatic stress disorder, most likely from the trauma of molestation = my chaotic, yet creative, yet colorful, yet complicated brain.
It's taken me some years to embrace this. I'd done just about everything to feed my internal angry denial bitch: booze, self-hatred, more booze, food, lots of food, other substances, sleeping, angry poetry, and an ocean-load of crying. And, yes, even carnal choices that I didn't see coming, absolutely no pun intended. I've spent years trying to suffocate the opportunity to face what the hell makes me hate life sometimes, and what makes getting out of bed absolute torture.
I think it started when I was 12, when, as a child, I was violated in such a way, that still makes me question humanity. Also makes me not want to have kids, because I would cut the dick off any sick twisted piece of shit that hurt my children. So my kid would be traumatized and with a mother in jail. Sounds like a telenovela waiting to unfold. While I love me some "Mari Mar", I ain't trying to make a baby resembling that kind of unfortunate life.
Anywho, I digress.
For the last 22 years, I've seen just how debilitating depression is. I've had to leave jobs, take a few hiatuses from school, lose friends, cancel trips, lose a sickening amount of money, all the while lying about it almost on a daily bases. You see, one of the worst things about telling people you are mentally ill is the blackened, emotional curtain that overcomes their eyes as they look at you with no understanding. Judgement, cynicism, ridicule. Just some of the forms this particular curtain takes on. Because you can't really expect those around you to understand what depression is unless they walk it themselves. Or at least I made that decision early on, that I'd rather people think I'm a lazy lying piece of shit than for them to know I had a mental illness.
Fucked up, isn't it?
Within the last few years, though, I have felt encouragement and love from those on my corner. And thought it was time to start sharing the journey, even if it hurts. I am still not 100% forthcoming about my walk, but day by day, I am becoming a raw and severed soul, refreshingly portraying and exposing my very humble experiences that have lead me to the light.
I would love to share the many positive outcomes of my journey, and even more of the dark ones, just to prove to someone who might be going through this, that it will be ok.
And that is the beauty of This Is My Brave. It was an outlet, an opportunity for me to share, not only with my loved ones, but with fellow survivors, my most intimate words.
So I leave you with the youtube link of my piece. And hope to one day share more with you. For now, I am going to cuddle with my 3 kitties, and thank God for another day and a more developed laugh line from all the smiling that happened today. Today was one of those days :)
<3
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1i4QFylspZI&index=4&list=PLhB49Bem4Q50u8ffs61-8t7AoohT4eSsd
I've been trying to blog about participating in the THIS IS MY BRAVE NYC show. It's a non profit organization that uses art to share the many brave journeys of those living with mental illness.
Yes, you guys. I have a mental illness.
Depression, most likely genetic + post traumatic stress disorder, most likely from the trauma of molestation = my chaotic, yet creative, yet colorful, yet complicated brain.
It's taken me some years to embrace this. I'd done just about everything to feed my internal angry denial bitch: booze, self-hatred, more booze, food, lots of food, other substances, sleeping, angry poetry, and an ocean-load of crying. And, yes, even carnal choices that I didn't see coming, absolutely no pun intended. I've spent years trying to suffocate the opportunity to face what the hell makes me hate life sometimes, and what makes getting out of bed absolute torture.
I think it started when I was 12, when, as a child, I was violated in such a way, that still makes me question humanity. Also makes me not want to have kids, because I would cut the dick off any sick twisted piece of shit that hurt my children. So my kid would be traumatized and with a mother in jail. Sounds like a telenovela waiting to unfold. While I love me some "Mari Mar", I ain't trying to make a baby resembling that kind of unfortunate life.
Anywho, I digress.
For the last 22 years, I've seen just how debilitating depression is. I've had to leave jobs, take a few hiatuses from school, lose friends, cancel trips, lose a sickening amount of money, all the while lying about it almost on a daily bases. You see, one of the worst things about telling people you are mentally ill is the blackened, emotional curtain that overcomes their eyes as they look at you with no understanding. Judgement, cynicism, ridicule. Just some of the forms this particular curtain takes on. Because you can't really expect those around you to understand what depression is unless they walk it themselves. Or at least I made that decision early on, that I'd rather people think I'm a lazy lying piece of shit than for them to know I had a mental illness.
Fucked up, isn't it?
Within the last few years, though, I have felt encouragement and love from those on my corner. And thought it was time to start sharing the journey, even if it hurts. I am still not 100% forthcoming about my walk, but day by day, I am becoming a raw and severed soul, refreshingly portraying and exposing my very humble experiences that have lead me to the light.
I would love to share the many positive outcomes of my journey, and even more of the dark ones, just to prove to someone who might be going through this, that it will be ok.
And that is the beauty of This Is My Brave. It was an outlet, an opportunity for me to share, not only with my loved ones, but with fellow survivors, my most intimate words.
So I leave you with the youtube link of my piece. And hope to one day share more with you. For now, I am going to cuddle with my 3 kitties, and thank God for another day and a more developed laugh line from all the smiling that happened today. Today was one of those days :)
<3
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1i4QFylspZI&index=4&list=PLhB49Bem4Q50u8ffs61-8t7AoohT4eSsd
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Chasing the Rollercoaster
Last time I checked in with this blog, I was about to board an insanely scary and exhilarating roller coaster, metaphorically speaking. I fell in love, with an actual person, not the latest Ben & Jerry's flavor.
In case homeboy ever wants to run for president, let's change his name and call my sweetheart Chase. In my last entry, I mentioned having met him. And it's been a whirlwind 6 months. Living 7000 miles apart is a sure fire way to make things interesting. Thankfully, Skype, Whatsapp, Instagram, and Pinot Noir have made it all possible and pleasant. Very pleasant. Shit, I may actually be happy!
Chase asked me to marry him a few weeks ago. And, no matter how much you prepare and look forward to that majestic moment when the man of your dreams is on his knee, holding a ring, smiling from ear to ear, saying those 4 words that allow you to, even for 1 minute, embrace that fairytale moment of true love, you aren't prepare for the "kick in the balls" feeling that pees all over your "happily ever after" expectation. Some of us react quite the contrary. Ok, I acted quite the contrary. I felt the air rush out of my body, my head grow increasingly hot, my heartbeat accelerate, and the feelings of puking developing. Far from the poetic expectation I had in mind.
Not because I didn't want to marry him. I'm crazy about him. He's become my confidant, my cheerleader, my comic relief. He can read me, call me on my shit, and thinks I am adorable when I pout. He's seen me at the crack of dawn, eye crust and all, and wants to kiss me in all my morning breath glory (which usually means I run away from him towards my toothbrush and Listerine strips). He's even wiped a snot from my face during a sweet swim in the Persian Gulf. I mean, literally, he wiped a salt water snot from my nose. If that's not true love, then I am deeply concerned.
Anywho, I never thought it would happen again, but I let someone in to my heart. And for the first time in almost 7 years, I haven't just been thinking about me. There's this person, my person, in the logistical setup in my head, the part of my brain that plans, solves, stresses, and breathes.
So it goes without saying, that my saying yes to his proposal was a sure-fire dunk! Yet still, my reaction was similar to someone experiencing a heat stroke. I mean, yes, we were in Dubai, which was 100 degrees, humid, and seemed to ban not only booze, but fresh breeze and shady solace. But it was something more. Something along the lines of complete shock. My future was about to make a sudden right, and I had no idea what that road looked like. I hadn't planned for this. And, unlike Siri, I can't recalculate direction in seconds. Certainly not when your person is kneeling in front of you, smiling, and waiting for you to accept his forever.
My controlling and perfectionistic persona decided it's too much, and she let me know it. I panicked, I froze, and I look for solace somewhere. Something to stop the roller coaster from going off the rails. What the hell was happening?
"What are you doing, baby?" was what I finally stuttered out.
He was smiling so joyfully, like a child whose finally conquered balance and speed on his 2-wheeler bike. His smile was euphoric, his dimples determined, his eyes like crystal.
"Will you marry me, Jaan?" Chase said. He calls me Jaan, which in urdu means sweetheart. When he calls me that, any storm that is starting to brew immediately and peacefully calms.
That, coupled with his eyes, made this particular storm inside start to dissipate. My eyes locked with his, the very eyes I look at and see possibilities of jubilant journeys. I see such a solace to my very guarded heart. A soul who wants to walk hand-in-hand with me no matter what. Even with my morning breath! Even with my sea water snots!
And then, everything grew quiet and serene. And I exhaled, slowly smiled, let out my signature giggle, and said, very confidently and joyfully, "Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes. Mi vida."
And it was the most sacred of moments. A moment I will never ever forget.
In full disclosure, tears have been falling while writing this blog. Because, well, shit! I AM happy! I still haven't quite "recalculated" the journey ahead, but I don't need to right now. Right now I am enjoying the wind in my face, the adrenaline through my veins, the adoration in my heart, my soldier beside me, my Chase. What a fucking roller coaster ride this has been and I can't wait for whats to come.
C
In case homeboy ever wants to run for president, let's change his name and call my sweetheart Chase. In my last entry, I mentioned having met him. And it's been a whirlwind 6 months. Living 7000 miles apart is a sure fire way to make things interesting. Thankfully, Skype, Whatsapp, Instagram, and Pinot Noir have made it all possible and pleasant. Very pleasant. Shit, I may actually be happy!
Chase asked me to marry him a few weeks ago. And, no matter how much you prepare and look forward to that majestic moment when the man of your dreams is on his knee, holding a ring, smiling from ear to ear, saying those 4 words that allow you to, even for 1 minute, embrace that fairytale moment of true love, you aren't prepare for the "kick in the balls" feeling that pees all over your "happily ever after" expectation. Some of us react quite the contrary. Ok, I acted quite the contrary. I felt the air rush out of my body, my head grow increasingly hot, my heartbeat accelerate, and the feelings of puking developing. Far from the poetic expectation I had in mind.
Not because I didn't want to marry him. I'm crazy about him. He's become my confidant, my cheerleader, my comic relief. He can read me, call me on my shit, and thinks I am adorable when I pout. He's seen me at the crack of dawn, eye crust and all, and wants to kiss me in all my morning breath glory (which usually means I run away from him towards my toothbrush and Listerine strips). He's even wiped a snot from my face during a sweet swim in the Persian Gulf. I mean, literally, he wiped a salt water snot from my nose. If that's not true love, then I am deeply concerned.
Anywho, I never thought it would happen again, but I let someone in to my heart. And for the first time in almost 7 years, I haven't just been thinking about me. There's this person, my person, in the logistical setup in my head, the part of my brain that plans, solves, stresses, and breathes.
So it goes without saying, that my saying yes to his proposal was a sure-fire dunk! Yet still, my reaction was similar to someone experiencing a heat stroke. I mean, yes, we were in Dubai, which was 100 degrees, humid, and seemed to ban not only booze, but fresh breeze and shady solace. But it was something more. Something along the lines of complete shock. My future was about to make a sudden right, and I had no idea what that road looked like. I hadn't planned for this. And, unlike Siri, I can't recalculate direction in seconds. Certainly not when your person is kneeling in front of you, smiling, and waiting for you to accept his forever.
My controlling and perfectionistic persona decided it's too much, and she let me know it. I panicked, I froze, and I look for solace somewhere. Something to stop the roller coaster from going off the rails. What the hell was happening?
"What are you doing, baby?" was what I finally stuttered out.
He was smiling so joyfully, like a child whose finally conquered balance and speed on his 2-wheeler bike. His smile was euphoric, his dimples determined, his eyes like crystal.
"Will you marry me, Jaan?" Chase said. He calls me Jaan, which in urdu means sweetheart. When he calls me that, any storm that is starting to brew immediately and peacefully calms.
That, coupled with his eyes, made this particular storm inside start to dissipate. My eyes locked with his, the very eyes I look at and see possibilities of jubilant journeys. I see such a solace to my very guarded heart. A soul who wants to walk hand-in-hand with me no matter what. Even with my morning breath! Even with my sea water snots!
And then, everything grew quiet and serene. And I exhaled, slowly smiled, let out my signature giggle, and said, very confidently and joyfully, "Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes. Mi vida."
And it was the most sacred of moments. A moment I will never ever forget.
In full disclosure, tears have been falling while writing this blog. Because, well, shit! I AM happy! I still haven't quite "recalculated" the journey ahead, but I don't need to right now. Right now I am enjoying the wind in my face, the adrenaline through my veins, the adoration in my heart, my soldier beside me, my Chase. What a fucking roller coaster ride this has been and I can't wait for whats to come.
C
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Roller coasters, muffin tops and broken hearts
It's been 8 months since I've last blogged. I've had serious thoughts on why I have been avoiding writing. I mean, there has been PLENTY to blog about. In the last year, my love life has been quite the roller coaster. In some instances, more like a gypsy freak show at your local carnival. And maybe even bouncy house-like (I mean, if we are perpetuating the carnival motif). If I didn't think this info would make it back to my mother, I might fill you in. For another blog post, perhaps.
Anyway, my writers block has been more like a stubborn dude who hates talking about his feelings. It felt like that, like I didn't want to hear myself nag and nag about my life. Also, I have pretty awesome friends that do tolerate my nagging and bitching. Why blog to the one person that reads this (hi besty), when I can moan to a core group of dear confidants?
At the risk of losing said confidants, I decided it was time to come back to the ETFGW (what a freakin acronym) blog. So here I am. Ready to bitch.
I could catch you all up on life, and how wonderful it's been. For instances, I just came back from Dubai and India. And it was beautiful and life changing. Sort of taught me not to bitch about my life, that I am ready blessed to have what I do. I suppose said lesson isn't very apparent in this blog, huh?
I have been very satisfied professionally, and I continue to live in my wonderful rent-controlled apartment with the most cutest felines ever. My mom is healthy and my family and friends are simply the best!
Have I lost the 35 lbs I have been trying to lose for 3 years? If I had, you know that would have been the FIRST thing to mention. This blog is about getting healthy after all, isn't it? I am actual content in my current body. I know for health purposes and because muffin tops are only cute on cupcakes and squishy puppies, that I'll eventually lose it. It's a work in progress. And I am OK with that.
Yep, life is great. Wonderful. But at this moment, I am melancholy. And I have been for most of the day. You see, guys, I have been swept off my feet. This cynical city girl is completely smittened. And it sucks. And it's also wonderful. But it also sucks. For starters, he lives in west bubba fuck. Literally. Like on the other side of the planet. We can't have a conversation without one of us falling asleep because of the ridiculous time difference. God knows when we'll see each other again. And, the worst part, I really care for him.
Typically, the latter would be a positive. Falling for someone is a beautiful thing, one everybody should experience at least once in their life. However, falling for someone who breaks your heart is not the most beautiful thing. In fact, it's the worst. I mean, listen, you survive and your learn . . . blah blah blah. It makes you stronger and God knows everything. I get all that. But it still sucks major ass. And because of this, I have built some hefty walls around my heart. Like super hefty walls that can protect a castle from the most vile of villains on the Game of Thrones (I don't actually watch the series, but I feel as though sturdy walls are key to long-term survival on that show). These walls have kept me away from romantical shit. They've protected me, my heart from devastation. They haven't been 100% reliable, though. Last year, I let them down, and fell for some one who really tested my faith in people. He was an imposter of sorts, and, you guessed it: he broke my heart. So I plastered them bricks up again, and the walls have been stronger and sturdier ever since. And I had been OK with that.
Or so I thought.
During my travels, I had a spark with someone, a connection that was fueled by intense passion. Again, if I knew my mom would never find out about this, I would share the details. For another blog post, perhaps.
He's been nothing short of . . . amazing. A soothing respite from the cynical sores my heart is accustomed to tolerating. But I can't seem to enjoy it. My walls aren't budging. Sure, a few bricks have fallen off, and I've allowed some visual access to my heart, but they are quickly reinstated. And I may miss out on one of the most beautiful experiences that one can feel.
To be in love.
I've been there before. It's a great feeling. But worth the heartbreak? I just don't know.
So that's what's on my mind. That's why I am sad. Because I can't allow myself to enjoy this person. Someone who has made me laugh a ton, smile a whole lot, cry for good purposes, explore another way of life. Someone who is constantly thinking of me, who asks about what I had for breakfast, who wants me to meet his family, who enjoys my mother's giggle, who loves my friends as much as I do, who would do anything to bring me joy. Also, and may I just say, someone who is . . . probably the best I have ever had (for another blog post, perhaps).
I am praying about it (in addition to my hussy ways as noted above). I am not making any crazy decisions. I most likely won't for a very long time. I just have to figure out what to do with these walls. And to see if they can come down once and for all.
C
Anyway, my writers block has been more like a stubborn dude who hates talking about his feelings. It felt like that, like I didn't want to hear myself nag and nag about my life. Also, I have pretty awesome friends that do tolerate my nagging and bitching. Why blog to the one person that reads this (hi besty), when I can moan to a core group of dear confidants?
At the risk of losing said confidants, I decided it was time to come back to the ETFGW (what a freakin acronym) blog. So here I am. Ready to bitch.
I could catch you all up on life, and how wonderful it's been. For instances, I just came back from Dubai and India. And it was beautiful and life changing. Sort of taught me not to bitch about my life, that I am ready blessed to have what I do. I suppose said lesson isn't very apparent in this blog, huh?
I have been very satisfied professionally, and I continue to live in my wonderful rent-controlled apartment with the most cutest felines ever. My mom is healthy and my family and friends are simply the best!
Have I lost the 35 lbs I have been trying to lose for 3 years? If I had, you know that would have been the FIRST thing to mention. This blog is about getting healthy after all, isn't it? I am actual content in my current body. I know for health purposes and because muffin tops are only cute on cupcakes and squishy puppies, that I'll eventually lose it. It's a work in progress. And I am OK with that.
Yep, life is great. Wonderful. But at this moment, I am melancholy. And I have been for most of the day. You see, guys, I have been swept off my feet. This cynical city girl is completely smittened. And it sucks. And it's also wonderful. But it also sucks. For starters, he lives in west bubba fuck. Literally. Like on the other side of the planet. We can't have a conversation without one of us falling asleep because of the ridiculous time difference. God knows when we'll see each other again. And, the worst part, I really care for him.
Typically, the latter would be a positive. Falling for someone is a beautiful thing, one everybody should experience at least once in their life. However, falling for someone who breaks your heart is not the most beautiful thing. In fact, it's the worst. I mean, listen, you survive and your learn . . . blah blah blah. It makes you stronger and God knows everything. I get all that. But it still sucks major ass. And because of this, I have built some hefty walls around my heart. Like super hefty walls that can protect a castle from the most vile of villains on the Game of Thrones (I don't actually watch the series, but I feel as though sturdy walls are key to long-term survival on that show). These walls have kept me away from romantical shit. They've protected me, my heart from devastation. They haven't been 100% reliable, though. Last year, I let them down, and fell for some one who really tested my faith in people. He was an imposter of sorts, and, you guessed it: he broke my heart. So I plastered them bricks up again, and the walls have been stronger and sturdier ever since. And I had been OK with that.
Or so I thought.
During my travels, I had a spark with someone, a connection that was fueled by intense passion. Again, if I knew my mom would never find out about this, I would share the details. For another blog post, perhaps.
He's been nothing short of . . . amazing. A soothing respite from the cynical sores my heart is accustomed to tolerating. But I can't seem to enjoy it. My walls aren't budging. Sure, a few bricks have fallen off, and I've allowed some visual access to my heart, but they are quickly reinstated. And I may miss out on one of the most beautiful experiences that one can feel.
To be in love.
I've been there before. It's a great feeling. But worth the heartbreak? I just don't know.
So that's what's on my mind. That's why I am sad. Because I can't allow myself to enjoy this person. Someone who has made me laugh a ton, smile a whole lot, cry for good purposes, explore another way of life. Someone who is constantly thinking of me, who asks about what I had for breakfast, who wants me to meet his family, who enjoys my mother's giggle, who loves my friends as much as I do, who would do anything to bring me joy. Also, and may I just say, someone who is . . . probably the best I have ever had (for another blog post, perhaps).
I am praying about it (in addition to my hussy ways as noted above). I am not making any crazy decisions. I most likely won't for a very long time. I just have to figure out what to do with these walls. And to see if they can come down once and for all.
C
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Silence is the best policy
I have been very vague about 2014. Which almost feels like I'm about to burst. You know the feeling. That moment you devour a huge meal after fasting for 7 hours because you can't get up from your desk, because you are swamped (or lazy). And your stomach starts to punish you for neglect. And you feel like your pants are about to burst. Or your small intestine.
Maybe that just happens to me.
In any case, for many reasons I am actively trying to keep my mouth shut. Having trusted easily, having been betrayed by the "promise me you won't tell anybody" followed by a "dude, I never repeat anything" time and time again. It all makes me feel so dumb. Like, way past naïve. Like, simply stupid. I'm 33 years old and I still fall for it. I see the good in everybody, or I want to see good in everybody.
Why do I like to share so much? I don't know. Well, maybe I do, but it sounds infantile and dumb.
See, I love helping people. I love it because it makes me feel so elated, so refreshed. Like that moment you seek refuge from a 100-degree humid summer afternoon by walking into an over-air-conditioned store. It brings new life to me. Relief that I can make someone happy.
Told you it was dumb. It's also clearly very selfish. Yes, I hate seeing anybody in pain. Especially kids. Also, one of the reasons I am a vegetarian is because the insurmountable pain that is felt for that burger just doesn't seem worth it. Animals in turmoil is one of my kryptonites.
That said, I also feel this endorphined-soaring sensation when I can help someone. This joy and moment of peace. If only for a split second. I feel I have purpose. And that's what we are all after, right? purpose?
The problem is, in the last 9 months my purpose hasn't been so clear. Fuzzy, even. A sudoku puzzle in the beginning stages has more clarity than whatever the hell my purpose is. But it doesn't mean I didn't still seek the refuge of helping others (ironic, isn't it?).
And so, I am (well, was) willing to be an open book and share my experiences, if it means bringing joy or enlightenment, or even entertainment, to someone. Hearing someone laugh at my words is magical. No matter the mood I am in, my right cheek exposes my one and only dimple (on my face, any way) when I can cause laughter.
In addition, if my words can help someone, in any way, it just feels like . . . I don't know. I don't know what word to use. It's a very pristine feeling, primitive perhaps. Very much untainted from the cynical mishaps of my life.
But those moments don't seem very worth it anymore. I feel completely guarded. To love, to friendship, to people. Even people on the street. I don't like to be approached, and so I have this real serious mug on my face. Like I'm gonna choke a bitch. Which is HILARIOUS, since my voice is as pitched as a hamster. As street as I am (lol), I'm not capable of throwing my arms down. Or whatever that saying is when you punch someone.
Just random words, you guys. Random thoughts in my head at 2am in the morning.
My assistant is out for a week and a half. Which means I am manning the fort solo. Which means I better get some good sleep to prepare for Monday.
xo
Maybe that just happens to me.
In any case, for many reasons I am actively trying to keep my mouth shut. Having trusted easily, having been betrayed by the "promise me you won't tell anybody" followed by a "dude, I never repeat anything" time and time again. It all makes me feel so dumb. Like, way past naïve. Like, simply stupid. I'm 33 years old and I still fall for it. I see the good in everybody, or I want to see good in everybody.
Why do I like to share so much? I don't know. Well, maybe I do, but it sounds infantile and dumb.
See, I love helping people. I love it because it makes me feel so elated, so refreshed. Like that moment you seek refuge from a 100-degree humid summer afternoon by walking into an over-air-conditioned store. It brings new life to me. Relief that I can make someone happy.
Told you it was dumb. It's also clearly very selfish. Yes, I hate seeing anybody in pain. Especially kids. Also, one of the reasons I am a vegetarian is because the insurmountable pain that is felt for that burger just doesn't seem worth it. Animals in turmoil is one of my kryptonites.
That said, I also feel this endorphined-soaring sensation when I can help someone. This joy and moment of peace. If only for a split second. I feel I have purpose. And that's what we are all after, right? purpose?
The problem is, in the last 9 months my purpose hasn't been so clear. Fuzzy, even. A sudoku puzzle in the beginning stages has more clarity than whatever the hell my purpose is. But it doesn't mean I didn't still seek the refuge of helping others (ironic, isn't it?).
And so, I am (well, was) willing to be an open book and share my experiences, if it means bringing joy or enlightenment, or even entertainment, to someone. Hearing someone laugh at my words is magical. No matter the mood I am in, my right cheek exposes my one and only dimple (on my face, any way) when I can cause laughter.
In addition, if my words can help someone, in any way, it just feels like . . . I don't know. I don't know what word to use. It's a very pristine feeling, primitive perhaps. Very much untainted from the cynical mishaps of my life.
But those moments don't seem very worth it anymore. I feel completely guarded. To love, to friendship, to people. Even people on the street. I don't like to be approached, and so I have this real serious mug on my face. Like I'm gonna choke a bitch. Which is HILARIOUS, since my voice is as pitched as a hamster. As street as I am (lol), I'm not capable of throwing my arms down. Or whatever that saying is when you punch someone.
Just random words, you guys. Random thoughts in my head at 2am in the morning.
My assistant is out for a week and a half. Which means I am manning the fort solo. Which means I better get some good sleep to prepare for Monday.
xo
Sunday, August 17, 2014
It's been a while
Where to begin. So much has happened in the last 11 months, I honestly feel overwhelmed with what to say here. So, in true Claudia fashion, I have derrived a list to summarize what the journey has been like. Here goes:
1-Gained about 40 of the 60lbs I had lost 2 years ago
2-Lost 15 of those 40 lbs
(The math is confusing, I know. The PS of it all is the scale is going down. For the first time. In over a year).
3-My professional life had some major achievements, but also, some major devastation.
4-My love life had major achievements, but also, some major devastation.
5-Still have 3 cats, you guys :)
6-I gave up on the one relationship that became progressively abusive in the last 12 months. Happy to report, I have been sober for 101 days.
7-I survived depression. Not the financial/economy kind, either. Still struggling, but surviving.
8-I say "my therapist says" at least once a day. My friends find it amusing/comical.
9-I've reconciled with the gym. Some days, I still think the gym is an asshole. But we are getting there.
10-My OCD needs to have ten things on this list. Trying to put something profound and introspective here. I've got nothing. So here's something not so deep: I finally picked up my dry cleaning after months and months and months. Tommy (the owner from Tom's Dry cleaning in Sunnyside) is eternally grateful, greeted me with a smile, and did not stir up any guilt.
I'm blessed to say, in the last 12 months, I've survived because of all the Tommy's in my life (you know who you are). And because of God, of course.
I'm sure there's so much more to say. At this moment, right now, my brain is flooded with stories I want to share with you, but all in due time.
I'm ready to share, I guess. For the few of you that have been checking in, I appreciate it :)
Talk soon xo
C
1-Gained about 40 of the 60lbs I had lost 2 years ago
2-Lost 15 of those 40 lbs
(The math is confusing, I know. The PS of it all is the scale is going down. For the first time. In over a year).
3-My professional life had some major achievements, but also, some major devastation.
4-My love life had major achievements, but also, some major devastation.
5-Still have 3 cats, you guys :)
6-I gave up on the one relationship that became progressively abusive in the last 12 months. Happy to report, I have been sober for 101 days.
7-I survived depression. Not the financial/economy kind, either. Still struggling, but surviving.
8-I say "my therapist says" at least once a day. My friends find it amusing/comical.
9-I've reconciled with the gym. Some days, I still think the gym is an asshole. But we are getting there.
10-My OCD needs to have ten things on this list. Trying to put something profound and introspective here. I've got nothing. So here's something not so deep: I finally picked up my dry cleaning after months and months and months. Tommy (the owner from Tom's Dry cleaning in Sunnyside) is eternally grateful, greeted me with a smile, and did not stir up any guilt.
I'm blessed to say, in the last 12 months, I've survived because of all the Tommy's in my life (you know who you are). And because of God, of course.
I'm sure there's so much more to say. At this moment, right now, my brain is flooded with stories I want to share with you, but all in due time.
I'm ready to share, I guess. For the few of you that have been checking in, I appreciate it :)
Talk soon xo
C
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