News-wise, I'm happy to report that my life has been relatively placid of late. My first term in college whizzed by at the speed of light, and I'm already into term two. I seem to have passed all of my final exams, and things are going quite smoothly. I have a couple of stories coming up for you, so keep your eyes peeled for that.
So far, I'm finding college to be the most difficult and rewarding experience of my life to date. I haven't written you, because I have lately been dividing my time equally among being in class, studying, sleeping, and once in a while having a meal. Utter madness!
The lack of balance in my life has really begun to weigh on me. I am, as we have discussed, happy to be on my own, but I find the lack of social aspect in my current lifestyle to be somewhat unhealthy. I basically only seem to see my classmates and my room mate on a day-to-day basis. I very rarely see friends, or even family, because I am so weighed down with school.
I have made the decision that I not only need to make more time for my friends and family, but also for you, and for myself. I need to find balance in my life.
There is a reason I don't have a whole lot of girl friends. Unfortunately, they have a tendency to lose their minds. The ensuing drama is very often more than I can take.
Recently, a girl I used to consider a friend (I say used to because I can no longer consider her among my friends) started a particularly unsavoury bit of drama with one of my good male friends. My friend... shall we call him "Guy?" Let's do that. Guy is a joker. He plays around with people basically all the time. As long as I've known him, he's been this way.
I was actually present for the beginning of the incident in question. The young lady (we'll call her "Elle" for argument's sake) claims that my friend Guy put his hands in her face in a violent manner, and that he made a threat against her. She was, as you might imagine, upset by this. She went home, and spoke to another party, one who does not know Guy, or myself, and who was not present at the time.
I was there. I saw Guy gesture toward Elle, but I never heard him utter any threats. Guy is a sweetheart. He would never ever hurt a fly, I am confident of that.
Regardless of my confidence in the quality of my friend's character, Elle's friend still decided it would be a great idea to track Guy down at his place of work and confront him over this perceived problem. As you can probably figure out, Guy freaked out. He threw the stranger out, and called the police immediately.
Currently, Elle and Guy, as well as the stranger, all have specific police instructions to stay away from one another.
The part that really confused me is why Elle would not stop her friend. She told me after the fact (as I was playing the part of the mediator to try to keep my friends as friends) that the stranger had gone off the deep end and "wouldn't let it go." Why, then, would you give out the address to Guy's place of work? That, to me, (and correct me if I'm wrong) sounds like you're encouraging this type of vigilante behaviour.
I had no choice, after all of her defending and story-switching, but to vote Elle off the island. I can't be friends with a person who condones this kind of violent and illogical behaviour. I can't be friends with a person who does not accept responsibility for her actions. I can't be friends with a person who refuses to make any attempt to solve an issue reasonably and like adults. It feels tragic, but it has to be done.
I know it's been a while since I last wrote you (and I know we still have to find a name for you. I promise to get on that ASAP), and I apologize for that.
I'm not making excuses, but I have been absent from basically every aspect of my life except for school. My friends barely see me, my relatives barely see me, and I haven't written you in about a month. I definitely underestimated what I was getting myself into with this program.
I think, though, that I have developed a system which will allow me to write you more frequently. I few things have happened recently that I would like to share with you, so I'm going to go ahead and write them into separate letters, which I can then send to you individually, just to keep you going in case I run into exams or something... which are coming up. I am not excited.
I am hoping to be able to find a way to write you much more often, but at the moment I needed a break from writing a paper/presentation which is due Tuesday. I decided since I was in writer-mode that I'd say hi for once.
Over the last 48 hours, something has been bothering me.
I had a conversation with someone recently, and the idea that I am a deeply unhappy individual was put forth for consideration. Well... maybe not simply "put forth for consideration." Maybe more like "the person to whom I was speaking tried to shove this opinion down my throat and I subsequently choked on it."
I am still not entirely sure what I did or said to lead him to this conclusion, other than maybe the fact that I told him outright that his apparent lack of ability to make sense was making me feel annoyed. (I mean really... this is the same guy who sent me a text that said "Oi" in excess of 45 times within 5 minutes. I counted them. You'd get annoyed too.) He also went so far as to call me a liar (he said I "exaggerated the truth," which is the same thing, in my mind), and to say that I needed to seek mental help for my issues (apparently this person is also under the impression that I have a deep-seated and heavily suppressed anger-management issue, on top of everything else).
I have no idea what brought on this kind of abuse. The more times I tried to tell him he was wrong, the harder he pushed, and the louder he claimed he was right.
But he's not right. Not in the least.
If you've been reading this webpage for a while, you know I've taken a lot of time to examine my past experiences, and to look at my life as it is, and I've learned a lot about myself. I fail to understand how someone who barely knows me can insinuate that I'm so bitterly unhappy. Or how this individual can just up and decide that I "tolerate" my friends, but "don't really like them." Or how he could say that I am making up the activities in my life that I do on a daily/weekly basis because I am "bored with how [my] life really is."
If you have ever met me and taken more than 15 minutes to talk to me, you will know the following:
- I adore my friends. All of them. If I have called you my friend, it is because I love you to pieces, and I don't just tolerate you. I am blessed to have you in my life, and I would not change one hair on your head. I understand how fortunate I am to have people like you in my life, who care about me, and who want the best for me, and I in no way take you for granted. I appreciate you for who you are, as you are, every second of every day, whether I am speaking to you directly or not.
- I genuinely like my life, as it is. I mean sure, I'm not always thrilled that I'm single. Who is? I sometimes hate the little pang of jealousy I feel when I see couples kissing in public. Of course I wish I had that, but at the same time, I'm not dying without it. But I know that all good things come to those who wait. I am picky, and I know that I deserve the best, so why push it? I'm not unhappy being alone, because I know I'm not actually alone. I have amazing friends and a wonderful family to rely on and to keep me company, and I'm also very much comfortable being on my own without being lonely.
- I am an extremely busy girl. I start school in less than a week, I am in charge of organizing a book club, I take art lessons, I spend time with my friends and family... it is a very rare day that goes by where I am not doing something at some point through the day. I don't mind it that way. It can be a little hectic from time to time, but I like keeping busy and engaged. At least I can never say I'm bored! And as far as whether or not I am "exaggerating" or fabricating these aspects of my life, I can provide anyone with the contact information of individuals other than myself who can, in fact, corroborate my story. Which brings me to my next point...
- I can't stand liars. More than that, I can't stand being called a liar. I have high expectations not only for myself, but also for the people I choose to surround myself with. I expect that everyone around me will do his/her best to tell me the honest truth, just as I will do the same for them. I have been lied to by both men and women alike, in my life, and I can honestly say that I would rather not be hurt in that way again. I also feel that if I expect others to behave in a certain way towards me, that I had better behave in the same way toward them. I feel like that just makes sense.
- I certainly do not need mental help or therapy of any description. I did the therapy thing for a while in university, because I felt at that point like things were piling up and I was maybe losing myself in all of it. I do not feel out of control. I do not have any anger or rage issues... except maybe that it is extremely difficult to make me angry. I suppose if we're really going to play "hunt the mental issue," the fact that I so rarely get upset could conceivably be an issue. I do have a tendency toward the dramatic on those special and rare occasions when I do get upset (for instance, through the conversation we are currently discussing, I told my aggressor that I would "knock all of his teeth down his throat... individually" if he didn't stop calling me a liar), but this is only ever a statement out of pure anger, and is never something I would actually follow through on.
I have discussed the idea that I might be a deeply unhappy person with a few of my close friends. Three, to be precise... the first laughed outwardly at the suggestion, and asked if the individual making these remarks had ever even met me. The second simply said "No, but you can be a little bit cynical sometimes." The third, who is also my room mate, looked utterly confused said "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard... Where do you find these people?!"
I would tend to agree with all of these assessments. I'm not unhappy at my core. I do get cynical now and again, but it's (as my friend put it) just "burning out from caring about people too much." This is true. I care about the people in my life a great deal, and it does sometimes become emotionally wearing, or even frustrating. This emotional tiredness and frustration does sometimes lead me to unhappy moments, but I would not go so far as to say that I am an unhappy person, overall.
I think, having discussed this with you now, that the person who has suggested this concept to me needs to take some time and be in my life a little more actively to get an idea of who I actually am. It is blatantly obvious that he does not know my true self in the least. With that said, I believe that it is grossly unfair to make generalizations about my personality without having a clue who I am.
He said not to contact him until I was ready to accept what he said and make some personality changes. This is not going to happen... I have spent the last 26 years getting to know who I am, and I think as a result that I know myself far better than anyone else on the planet. I know myself, and as a result, I can never accept what he said as being anything near to the truth.
Good riddance to bad rubbish then, wouldn't you say?
You know... I thought we had passed the immature kinds of dramatic activities that took place in high school. I mean... I'm 26. Most of my friends are my age, and a handful are older than I am. I don't find I am able to be friends very successfully with people who are younger than me, simply based on the fact that their maturity level often doesn't match my own. (Please don't be insulted by that. I'm just saying.)
Unfortunately, the people I choose to associate with sometimes seem to know people who are not necessarily as cool and drama-free as I like my life to be. Unfortunately, there are still some adults in the world who do not know what it means to have class, tact and decency. They find themselves lacking in these areas when they are sober. With the addition of alcohol, any beginnings of a grip on how to handle themselves in an adult manner that they may have initially had are gone, and they are subsequently reduced to mere apes.
What I am speaking of, directly, is a rather long story. I have this friend (again with the friends, I know...), we'll call him Jacob, just for arguments' sake. Obviously this is not his actual name.
Jacob is one of the best friends I have right now. A while back... say a month or so ago now, he got himself involved with this girl... Amanda (not her name). The day before Jacob fell into Amanda's trap, her husband left her. Amanda also has a relatively young daughter. Obviously a reasonable mind can see that this woman is making a horrible mistake already, and that our dear friend Jacob is walking into a really large rebound thing here. He missed it. No big deal.
So, time goes on, and the relationship between Jacob and Amanda heads toward the sewers. He attempts to break things off, and she goes bat-crap crazy, basically. Starts spreading her negativity to their mutual friends. Sends relentless and rude text messages at all hours of the day and night.
He eventually makes a smart decision, and cuts contact with not just Amanda, but also their mutual friends, who appear to have taken Amanda's "side" in the mess. You see, these people, being the drama-queens that they are, decided it would be appropriate to give my friend attitude about his decision. Obviously this is not an appropriate reaction at all, particularly not for two people who are so near the 30-year age mark.
This all passed, and Jacob's life went back to being quiet and peaceful. He and I resumed spending time together, which we had not been able to do while he was seeing Amanda (she felt somehow threatened by my friendship with Jacob, and he decided as a result that it would be best to keep his distance from me. No big deal.). Things went back to normal, basically.
Until tonight.
Tonight, Jacob and I did what we always do. He picked me up from home, and we drove to a coffee shop, picked up a coffee each, and found a quiet spot to chat and just hang out (Keep your minds out of the gutter -- everybody's pants stayed on). We were having a good night, and came back to my place early, because I am babysitting my roommate's dog for the evening, and who should we drive by on the way in to my apartment than Jacob's old friends. They noticed us. I still had to walk the dog, so I went inside and got her, while Jacob stayed outside. He told me when I got back outside to where he was in the parking lot that a group of people from the party his friends were at had walked to the entrance of my parking lot and looked at his car, and then walked away without saying anything.
We went on and walked the dog as normal, but on the way back, we crossed paths with the same group. Unfortunately, this is where their collective lack of tact comes into play. Instead of civilly saying "Hello" and moving on, and allowing us to move on, they instead chose to shout at Jason while we walked by. Frankly I am more upset that they upset my friend, and embarrassed for them over their behaviour than I am upset for my own sake (Let's not think for one second that I wasn't dragged into it just as a result of being there at that moment). Jason took his opportunity and went home, at this point. Neither of us said a word back to the group, we just kept walking. It is, as you know, the adult thing to do, to ignore the cat-calls and taunts of the juvenile.
I know that both I and my friend are far better people than his ex-friends are. I just wonder if anything can be done to make these specific individuals understand that what they do and what they say only looks poorly on them? Why do people still choose to behave like children, when they are actually adults? Is it a question of the influence of alcohol, or are they actually just that ignorant?
Suffice it to say that if this ever happens to you, always take the high road. Never respond, just keep walking. Responding only opens an invitation to your aggressor(s) to make matters worse. By walking on and ignoring the words, you simply leave him/her/them standing in the road, shouting like a lunatic... and boy, do they ever look silly when you do that.
Okay, so I know I’ve already expounded for a while about the fact that I’m good with the fact that I spend a lot of time on my own (see post here if you don’t know what I’m talking about), but I feel like I need to spout on for a few more moments. You see, I did a great job explaining that I am good on my own, but I feel like my reason why was a bit lacking.
I feel like, as an individual, it’s important to be your own best friend. Not in the sense that your best friend is the person you tell all your secrets to, but in the sense that you love spending time just on your own. To me, it’s important to actually enjoy spending time alone. It’s important to be able to be alone without freaking out. Can you say that about yourself? Don’t get weird about it if you can’t. You’re not alone.
Hell, I used to feel a little weird if I wasn’t constantly in contact with someone, anyone! I’m pretty sure everyone goes through that state of mind at some point in their lives. For me, it was about growing self-confidence, and cultivating a kind of love for myself that had been lacking for a long time.
I get the feeling this is going to be a long letter. Try not to fall asleep, okay?
So, here’s a long story:
I was pretty happy as a child, I think. For what I can remember, everything was pretty straightforward, and life was pretty fun until the year I turned 8. Everyone in my grade got along... until the year I turned 8. Third grade. In third grade, a couple of the girls figured out that they could be mean to other girls and, for the most part, they could get away with it. It was pretty harmless at that point, but the degree to which these girls were mean to others increased as years went on. By the time we reached the seventh grade, I had developed a pretty crazy social anxiety disorder. I hesitated to leave home, because I knew what to expect -- social torture.
Back-track as to why this happened, why I became a target. Let’s look at third-through-eighth grade me and see where the points for picking-on came out:
I was taller than almost everyone in my grade. I grew fast. “Like a weed,” as my grandmother would say.
I was big into books, and smarter than a lot of the other kids as a result. I kid you not, I was reading classic literature (Poe, Austen, Woolstonecraft-Shelley, Stoker, etc.) by the fifth grade.
Suffice it to say I “Developed” at a higher rate of speed than 90% of the girls in my grade.
I was not a big sports fan. See the bookworm point.
I was not allowed to watch anything that was rated beyond PG. Ever.
I was not dressed in the “latest” 1990’s fashions. My parents couldn’t afford it. I had hand-me-downs from neighbours, and shopped at second-hand and thrift stores, instead of at the mall... this also meant that I got to choose my own clothes and decide what was cool for myself. I developed an individual sense of style very quickly.
Adults generally liked me... including most of the parents of the kids who were making my life miserable.
Fast-forward back to the point where I developed the social anxiety problem. I figured out how to fly under the radar -- stay home. Don’t go out.
I had exactly one all-the-time friend through elementary school. I had a couple of other girls who would be my friend after school and on weekends. I can’t blame them for watching their own asses and not making any moves that looked friendly toward me while we were in school. It’s self-preservation. Survival of the fittest. I can’t believe I’m using Darwinist terminology while talking about schoolchildren, but it’s all that fits at the moment. Jesus.
Anyway, Jenny (name changed), would go with me to regional school dances (basically, kids from 3-5 different schools in the area, including my own, would all meet up in one location and participate in a dance. In England, I believe they call this a “Disco.” That’s a much better phrase.). Jenny was not only my friend in this case, but also my guard dog, my personal support worker, my matchmaker, and, in a couple of very awkward instances, a human shield. We had insults hurled at us (Jenny had a similar problem at her school as I had at mine), as well as assorted food items. Together, we learned to ignore it. We learned how to get gum out of each other’s hair without cutting it off. We learned that the fastest way to get an orange soda stain out of a white shirt was to scrub the heck out of it with a piece of paper towel and public washroom liquid soap. If it hadn’t been for the support that Jenny and I provided each other, I don’t know how either of us would have survived.
Jenny’s anxiety and insecurity didn’t get as bad as mine did. I no longer speak to her, but she was always solid as a rock. She was, and is still, my inspiration in many ways. She always said what she thought, did what she wanted, stood up for what (and who) she believed in. She never gave a shit what anybody thought and she wasn’t afraid to tell them so. I mean... this is the girl who wold annually just shut up for an entire day -- she would not say a single word for 24 hours -- to support the LGBT community, to help fight for a voice for the voiceless. (NOTE: This vow of silence was pretty huge at the time. Jenny started this tradition when we were in high school. Extra props to her, and to the others I know who were brave enough to go through with it even once... because loudly supporting the LGBT community in a Catholic high school takes some serious guts.)
I wish I could say I had been as brave and strong as Jenny. I wasn’t. Sometimes I still wonder if I am. I let my shell take over my life, for the most part. I made friends, but I stuck to my little group and didn’t ever stray from them. I made my friends in the first semester of the 9th grade, and I didn’t go out of my way to even so much as try to make new ones after that. I had people, and I was comfortable. I still avoided going out, but it wasn’t quite so bad as before. I still got picked on at home though, because I come from a very small town. Things turned 180 degrees. School became my refuge, and home became a problem.
Through all of this, I grew to think that I was the problem. That the mean girls were mean to me because I was too tall, too fat, too thin, too smart, not smart enough, too much of a goody-two-shoes, not pretty enough. I convinced myself that, as a person, I was wrong. I came to dislike myself. I didn’t like looking in a mirror. I started playing with makeup, not because it looked like fun, or because it was “time,” but because I thought I could use it to change the physical aspects of myself that were wrong. I stopped letting people take my picture, except for school photos. I didn’t want any evidence of such a “wrong” person to exist after the fact. I had decided that for the time being, I would have to go on being un-pretty, being imperfect. I would grow up someday and somehow turn pretty, and maybe then I could be perfect. I subscribed to the idea that I couldn’t be pretty and smart at the same time. I had to choose between the two. I guess I picked smart.
In university, I discovered that I am a charismatic person. I am a sweet and kind person, and people find me relatively easy to get along with. I made a number of friends, both in my dorm and in my classes really quickly and easily. I had a real, serious boyfriend for the first time in my life. It was at this point that I have since realized that I was uneasy about being alone. At any given moment, somebody was sending me some form of message. My old high school friends would send me MSN messages and email updates. My new friends and boyfriend would send texts, and sometimes MSN messages. Some message system somewhere was always going off. I felt loved, and popular for the first time in my life. However, when the hours arrived that my messaging systems went quiet, an old feeling crept up on me. Rejection. Sadness. Depression. Isolation. Anxiety. I felt like I was missing out on something. Like all of my friends were probably hanging out together somewhere, laughing and talking about how stupid I was or something.
Ridiculous, right?
Well, to me, that was exactly what was happening. I would spiral into a state of self-loathing. I would get angry with my friends for no reason. As quickly as I had made them, I lost quite a few friends this way. My accusatory tone would set my friends off, and they would become defensive. This would make me accuse them even more. I could not be in a room on my own without anyone contacting me and not end that same day in an argument with someone who had done absolutely nothing wrong, and who had done absolutely nothing to me, personally. I didn’t get why this was happening. I assumed that, in this instance, I was not the problem. I was wrong.
I needed to fix myself. I needed to get my head straightened out. It took me a long time to realize it, but I needed to figure out a way to be happy with myself, and it’s only recently that I can say honestly, and without blinking, that yeah, I like who I am. I spent a long time thinking back over situations, going over my days before I went to bed. Standing in front of a mirror, forcing myself to look at my own face. Picking out the things about myself that I like, instead of picking at the things I dislike. I started leaving my cell phone in my bag when I got home, instead of letting it be attached to my hand. I learned to appreciate quiet. I started reading more, just for the fun of it. I learned to look after myself -- mind, body, and spirit.
Through learning to love myself, and learning to love being by myself, I have learned to care for other people more deeply. I am less judgemental with strangers. I am more welcoming. More approachable. I meet new people often, and I am getting good at making conversation. I’m always going to be a quiet person. Crowds and new people are always going to make me nervous. The trick is to not let the things that scare you run your life. I don’t know you, but you don’t scare me. I’m alone right now, as I write this, and I’m not freaking out. I’m fine. I like myself, and I like being alone. I’m happier and healthier for it, and my relationships with other people are happier and healthier as a result.
The way I see it, if you aren’t okay being on your own, if you freak out when your phone isn’t going off, and nobody’s messaging you on facebook, you need to drop everything and figure out why. Once you figure out why you’re not happy with just yourself, you can set to fixing it. Your friends... your true friends, will support you and love you through it. Your relationships will only improve. You will learn that you are the most important person in your life. You have to love yourself the most of all, before you can learn to love anyone else.
So... to you, be happy. Be healthy. Be alone. Be better than the negative thoughts. Learn to love you, as you are. Be okay going out without makeup on. Be okay dancing with yourself.
Happily Yours,
- A.
P.S. I’m sorry this was so disgustingly long. Congratulations if you actually read the whole thing! Here’s a prize:
It has recently occurred to me that I do a lot of things on my own. I spend a great deal of my time on my own.
It has also occurred to me that I don't mind it.
I took myself shopping recently. I didn't go with any of my girlfriends. I didn't make my mother tag along. I got the bus, and I went on my own. I spent about 3 hours wandering around the mall, had lunch on my own, and went back home. I think I prefer this to the "normal" shopping excursion of the twenty-something female. I didn't have to wait for any other person, or hang around in some store that I hate, for whatever reason. I went where I wanted to go, saw what I wanted or needed to see, and went back home.
I need to do this more often.
I spend a lot of time having meals on my own, hanging out in my bedroom, basically alone (because a cat can only afford you so much conversation). Even as I write this to you, now, I am sitting in my bedroom, music on, typing away. I like the peace and quiet, and I enjoy being able to process my own thoughts, and to type those thoughts out to you, without interruption, and without feeling like I'm being somehow rude to someone else.
Don't get me wrong, friends do have their place, and I do enjoy being social. I am certainly not a hermit, by any means, I have simply begun to notice how many of my days are spent in solitude, and then to notice again how little I seem to mind.
My life is quiet, at the moment, and that is a good thing for me. I'd be okay if it stayed this way.
You see, I've not only enjoyed a lot of time on my own in terms of friends and whatnot, I've also not "officially" had a boyfriend in nearly a solid year. Yes, I know. This is not a very typical thing to have done, but I'm okay with that, too. I've had dates. I've got boys who are my friends. No boyfriend. I think that's why I got the cat, to be honest. That isn't to say that if some real life Prince-Charming-Type swooped in on a winged horse and swept me off my feet, that I wouldn't welcome it/him with open arms... because I would. I mean... a guy who goes to the trouble of putting wings on a horse? Has to be a winner, right? I just have high standards. I don't have a boyfriend because I utterly refuse to settle for anything less than everything I want. I won't lower the bar to fit a person who is "really lovely except." Why should I do that to myself? If Mitch (name used for argument's sake) is really lovely, except for the fact that he doesn't seem to have "Thank You" as part of his vocabulary, then why would I settle for him? If Paul is really lovely except that he never listens to a word I say, why should I settle? And if Adam is really lovely except for the part where he's a huge liar, and even lies about lying to me, why in the HELL would I settle? Because I'm 26 and I'm single? Thank god this is the 21st century and not the 19th. I'm okay with being a 19th century old maid. The way I see it, settling for anything less than everything is basically telling myself that I don't deserve the perfect guy. It's telling myself, and my self-worth, that I'm not as valuable as my engaged and recently married girlfriends. They were worthy of their perfect guy... so why not me?
I have been confronted by my own words. I am told, by a very reliable source, that I may be too hard on myself.
Now, I understand that as a young woman, I may or may not be societally conditioned to view myself differently than others view me -- this is part of the widespread body dysmorphic disorder that plagues my generation. I will always pick out subtle (or sometimes, in my own opinion, totally glaring) faults in myself, both physically and in personality, and often times others will have no idea what I am talking about. It simply comes with the territory of being a woman in this day and age, I think.
It is always easier to see the beauty in others than it is to recognize it in yourself.
Personally, I think of myself as the "girl-next-door" type. File me under "Cute." In my own head, I have more intelligence than I have looks. You may choose to disagree with me if you like, but I genuinely believe it. I have always been "The Smart Girl." It's just who I am, and I don't mind. It has developed as part of my persona.
With that said, I have also developed an aversion to being in pictures. If a picture is being taken of any of my friends, there is a 99% chance that I am the one taking the picture. My logic in this is that if I am taking the picture, I cannot possibly be in the picture. I try to hide behind other people, if I have to be in the picture. I rarely ask for copies of pictures I'm in. I simply don't want the evidence of how I look to be spread around. Facebook is horrible for that.
I mean... I don't think I'm particularly ugly, at all. Like I said, you could file me under "Cute." At 5 feet 7 inches, I'm certainly not a supermodel. I also know I have curves, and while I do like them, they sometimes make me feel like a bus, or sometimes even the broad side of a barn, when I stand next to my thinner friends.
With that said, I am also not one of these girls who has a problem with her curves, so she hides under oversized, black clothing. I usually really like my curves, and I know how to dress my body. I love the way vintage-inspired "fit and flare" dresses sit on my body. I like colour, and I'm not afraid to wear it. I'm aware that some men find my shape irresistibly sexy. I just often don't feel it. I feel pretty, most of the time. Maybe I just have more self-conscious moments that other women do. Maybe I'm totally normal. I don't know.
Either way, I need to make a conscious effort to not be quite so hard on myself. I need to figure out more little ways to love myself in a day. Up for working on this with me? Maybe we can make it a group project.
Recently, while attempting to provide a disclaimer to a friend (Hi, Joe !!) regarding this blog, I realized something. I have published a total of five letters on the internet. Of those five letters, only one could be construed as remotely positive. I feel as though this gives off the vibe that I am not an entirely happy, positive person. I feel as though I may have led you to the belief that I am not, in fact, a little ray of sunshine, but am instead, a storm cloud. I am not a storm cloud... or a prostitute.
So, I made a decision. In the interest of getting to know one another better, and in the interest of proving that I am not a depressed and jaded individual, I am going to use this particular letter to ramble off some things that make me particularly happy on a day-to-day basis.
1) Flowers. It doesn't have to be any specific kind of flower, I like most all of 'em. I even keep a few bouquets of faux-flora in vases in my bedroom, just because I like them so much. I think it must be the colours. I also keep faux-flowers because dead plants make me a little sad. (Note to all future suitors: please don't give me real flowers. They die, and that makes me sad. Making me sad will not look well on you as far as your... suiting.)
2) Sunshine. I think this is pretty self-explanatory. It's also science, and that makes me feel pretty darned smart. I'm told (by scientists, naturally) that sunshine provides us (humans) with Vitamin D. An increase of Vitamin D in your system will make you feel happier naturally. That's why we, as people, get the "Winter Blahs" -- not enough Vitamin D! (But we all know that we get these "Winter Blahs" because winter actually really sucks, right? So cold, and drab, and snowy... okay, no more thinking about winter. It's August. Let's enjoy August.)
3) The stupid shit people post on the internet literally every day. It seems I find some gem almost daily that has me in stitches laughing. Websites like HelloGiggles and my Facebook feed (which provides ever-so-hysterical links to outside sources (ie. YouTube) help immensely. (See This, This, and also This for reference.)
4) Music. Particularly up-beat, funky music. I'll listen to almost anything (for instance, I was recently introduced to the concept of Ska. I have never listened to Ska before this week. I fucking love Ska. Where have you been all my life, Ska!?), and I find that whatever I'm listening to really effects my mood. If I'm not having a good day, I will (please don't hate me) throw some Katy Perry on, and dance it off. There is also no better workout motivation than some really disgusting, almost-annoying top-40 Pop. Suffice it to say that through the last few weeks, Ms. Perry has been basically on loop. The approximately $20 I paid for her two albums has been well worth it!
5) Ridiculous pictures. I have a tendency to only keep family photos that make me laugh for some reason. Somebody pulls a stupid face, gets caught talking, looks like he/she is really not with it... whatever the case may be. If I look at it, and it strikes me as funny, it goes in a frame, and gets placed somewhere in my bedroom. I think my favourite is still the picture of my maternal grandparents where my Grandmother looks adorable, and super sweet (AKA like her normal self... Hi Gram!! <3), and my Grandfather looks a bit like Mr. Clean's evil twin... and there's a good chance he may bite my Grandmother. I love this picture.... so much. That said, not all of the pictures I've kept are funny ones. I did hang on to a lot of fairly un-funny and typical pictures as well.
7) Instagram. It's interesting how one little application can impact your life. Instagram allows me to see what my friends and family are up to, and to capture the small moments in each day that make me happy. Whether that's a meal that turned out awesome, something stupid my cat did (there are a LOT of cat pictures on my Instagram... just a warning.), or whatever made me smile that particular day.
Okay... I feel like 7 is a good place to stop. Maybe I'll keep doing these. I feel like it's good for me to remind myself of the things that are really, truly positive in my life, and it also allows you to see a bit into my life, and my personality, which you may not see otherwise.
Anyway, it's time for bed. There is a cat in my lap, and it is high time that I was in bed! I shall speak to you again soon.
I couldn't think of a better title for this particular letter than what I've written. I realize that brings up some pretty strong images and ideas, but I assure you that this is not a confessional. I am not a prostitute. It is, however, a waxing on about how frustrated I am over being treated like a prostitute by my city's police officers.
Let me start by reiterating to you that I am not a prostitute. I may currently be among the ranks of the unemployed whilst I wait for school to start in September, but I am not paying my rent by selling my sexuality to men... or women, for that matter. I am not a prostitute. I wouldn't even qualify myself as a "slut" of any description. I'm pretty conservative in that way, in general.
Tonight, after returning from a pretty lengthy excursion to a neighbouring, and smaller city for dinner and an explore with some other friends, I sent a text to a very close male friend of mine. I asked if, because we were supposed to hang out yesterday, he wanted to grab coffee and/or go for a drive. He agreed, and came to pick me up. We decided to skip the coffee, because it was pretty late (it's even later, as I type this), and just go for a drive instead. When my friend got tired of driving, we pulled off into a parking lot. We sat chatting (note the words "sat" and "chatting." These are important.) in the parking for well over an hour. I realize that sitting in a parking lot in a car to have a conversation is not normal. Most people would sit in a coffee shop, or in their houses. My friend and I simply have a tradition of sitting in his car instead. Nothing more to it than that.
After a little while, a car pulled in behind us. The ridiculous brightness of the headlights let both my friend and myself know that this was not just any other car. This was a police cruiser.
Now, a little background information, because I presume that we are likely from different cities. Where I live, there is usually only one officer to a police cruiser, not two. Tonight, there were two officers in the car. The first, a male, went to my friend's side of the vehicle. They began talking, and while I was paying attention to what was going on on my friend's side of the car, the second officer, a female, snuck up on my side of the car. I say snuck up, because not only did I not expect to see a second officer, she also walks like some kind of ninja. She was at my window and asking if I had any ID before I could even so much as notice that she was there. I only had my provincial health card on me, which has no picture on it, but she took it anyway. As she took it, she asked me several pretty pointed questions. Where was I from? Where do I live? Who do I live with? What is my friend doing in this city? (He has out-of-Province license plates) How do I know him? I felt as though she was accusing me of being... you guessed it... a prostitute. I am not a prostitute. I don't feel as though I look like a prostitute, even. The whole situation was just silly.
After a reasonably long wait for our ID to be returned to us, my friend and I were allowed to go on with our conversation. We decided to leave the parking lot, because the sudden accusations had ruined a good talk.
When I got home, the attitude from the officers, and the questions from the female officer in particular were still really bothering me. I made a phone call to the non-emergency police line, and asked if this was normal. I was shocked to hear the officer on the other end of the line sounding proud of "his officers" and telling me that they had followed protocol exactly. I thanked the officer for the information and hung up. He obviously wasn't getting my point, and I was, and am, not in the mood to argue.
So, here's my question for you... what ever happened to "Innocent until proven guilty?" Why are police officers allowed to go around accusing people and giving negative attitude when there isn't any real cause for it? Why am I living in a world where I can't sit in a parked car without being accused of being a hooker?
In other words... what the hell happened to the world? And what the hell happened to people? And to trust?
I am sitting on my bed, writing this to you, because I can't talk to anyone else... and believe me, I tried. It's interesting (and not in a good way) to have something terrifying happen to you, and to then feel as though you've been reduced to minutia and dramatics by a man who is supposed to be your friend.
I was always under the impression that men were supposed to respect women. In terms of traditional gender roles, women are supposed to be the more delicate of the two sexes -- the "weaker" sex. To that end, I was pretty sure that, except for the mentally unstable ones, all men were brought up from a very young age to be careful with and to protect women -- their sisters, mothers, cousins, friends... even strangers.
I have, for the most part, felt like a very strong and independent woman. Admittedly not as physically strong as the vast majority of the men in my life, but I can compete on a mental level with the best of them. I can take care of myself, and to this point, have felt like I was pretty good at it, too.
Tonight, that changed.
I have never felt so weak. So attacked. So helpless.
Tonight, I had a date (this is a super good thing!). Things went well. We decided to go for a late dinner. After dinner, I walked my date to the corner where we usually split up, and go home separately. I have walked that walk home a million times. Nothing has ever happened. As usual, I pulled my headphones out of my bag as a crossed the street. I had my leftover dinner in my hands.
This time, as I crossed the street, I was followed. Not by my date. By a stranger. A stranger who smelled very strongly of beer. He asked if I was going to wait for the bus. It seemed innocent enough, so I answered -- I said "No."
Unfortunately, the beer-scented man did not stop at the bus stop. He followed me. He kept half-shouting questions at me -- demanding to know where I was going, how far I was walking, why I had chosen to walk. I didn't answer. The more questions I let go by without responding, the angrier he got. He changed tones, from drunk half-shouting to full-on shouting. I still ignored him. I walked a little faster. He quickened his pace and kept right up with me. He kept on shouting.
At this point, he shouted "Why you mad, baby?" and tried to touch my arm. I twisted myself out of his grasp, and darted down a side street. No streetlights. I could still hear his footsteps behind me. I walked a few paces more into the darkness and ducked into a tall hedge. Thankfully, I was dressed almost entirely in black. The perfect camouflage under cover of darkness. I have a hole in my dress from where it caught on the hedge. I am convinced that the hedge and my black dress saved me from something terrible.
I waited in my hedge until he had gone past, muttering all the way. I counted to fifty... slowly. Agonizingly slowly. I walked home quicker than I have ever walked home before, when I was sure he had gone. My heart pounded in my ears all the way. I still feel like I am going to vomit. I have never been so happy to see my roommate sitting on the staircase to our apartment in all my life. At that point, I was even glad to see her boyfriend was standing in the stairway, too.
I have finished shaking. My heart rate has slowed. The nausea is still present, and I am getting a headache... but I even managed to cry out what happened. I feel a little bit more steely. A little bit harder-hearted. I will think twice before I answer a question that seems so innocent again.
At the same time, I will think again before I send a panicked text to my so-called guy friend. This person is decidedly not the person I thought he was. (Again, not my date.) To my own detriment, I did send him the message whilst still in the throws of my almost-panic-attack. Still, I expected more support than I got. I expected him to ask if I was sure I was okay, or if there was anything I needed. Instead, I got told to forget what had happened. To "chalk it up to some drunken idiot."
Further proof to my theory that I have nobody in this life to rely on to care about me other than just me.
Yes, I realize that sounds jaded, and cruel, and harsh... but it's how I feel right now. I am grateful for the true friends that I have... but an instance like this? It shows me a lot about the people I call my friends by how they react. Sure, this reaction was not what I expected... but to be that cold? I don't know. How can people do that? I don't understand.
I guess my lack of understanding why people behave the way that they do is the subject of yet another letter.
Yours in Exasperation,
- A.
PS: This song was just released today, as part of a larger album, and it really helped me tonight. Please give it a listen if you are feeling weak, or like you need some extra motivation.
Have you ever felt like you were being haunted by someone? Or something? Not in a negative way, just in a way that every time you turn around, something or someone reminds you of the thing/person that/who is haunting you? I have.
A few nights ago, a very dear friend of mine asked if I had read much Hemingway. I haven't. I think I read part of The Old Man and The Sea in University. That's all the Hemingway I've touched. My friend... we'll call him Tom... recommended that I read Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. I didn't think much of it. People recommend books of all kinds to me all the time. Most everyone knows I am, and have always been, a reader. I jotted the title down in my mind when Tom suggested it to me. I have a mental list as long as your arm of books that people have told me I ought to read. I will get through them eventually.
After mentally jotting the title down, I began to notice that things would remind me of this book. It came up on a couple of websites' "Recommended For You" lists, and is the book that my other friend's (ie. Not Tom) book club is reading before their next meeting. A copy of it was on the table in the library where I was studying. It was as if the book itself was shouting at me to read it. It followed me around. I read the synopsis online. It sounded pretty good, frankly. I put off walking to the used book store to buy it. The ghost of the book kept following me around. It cropped up in a dream I had last night.
Today, at 2:45pm, I looked the book up in the iTunes book store. Being as how it is a relatively old book, and is considered a "Classic" piece of literature, I was curious to see how much the book would cost in electronic form. (I lately seem to prefer reading on my iPad to reading a hard copy of a book, but that is a subject for a different letter.) The answer to my query? 99 Cents. I looked at my account balance. $3.30.
I caved in, and bought the book.
I have every intention of beginning to read it today, so that it will stop haunting me. It's a little creepy, being haunted by a book.
What do we think... shall I write you a book review when I've finished? I think that could be fun.
After all of this creepy book-stalking, I hope it's at least as good a story as the synopsis made it seem!
I am beginning to wonder why things in life have to be so complicated. Why can't people just be honest? Not only with themselves, but with each other? Why do we mess with each others' minds? Worse yet, what reason could there possibly be to play with someone else's emotions?
In case you hadn't noticed, I am in the midst of an existential crisis. Part of this was brought on by the two houseguests my roommate and I currently have. I don't mind houseguests. I mind drama. Frankly speaking, I hate drama. I am the girl who tears up over somebody else's heartbreak, or heartache, and this time is no exception. Our houseguests are in a fairly serious conflict. One of our guests is male (and also my roommate's sort-of boyfriend), the other female. Let's call them... Bob, and Laura. We'll call my roommate Jane. (This is just for argument's sake, as well as for their personal privacy. I am sure that at least one, if not all three of them would murder me in my sleep if they knew I was writing you about this. It is a very personal issue.)
Bob and Laura drove here from a far away place. I won't tell you where. Prior to their leaving, Bob and Laura had a mild romantic encounter (described to me after the fact as "making out."). They then hopped into Laura's car and drove for over 24 hours (I won't tell you how much over) so that Bob could come back to be with Jane (my room mate). Both Bob and Laura are staying in Jane's and my apartment. Laura, upon seeing Jane and Bob together is bitterly unhappy. I can't say as I blame her, exactly. Were I in Laura's shoes, I don't think I'd have even so much as had the guts to make the drive here in the first place. So, here is poor Laura, sleeping on a pull-out sofa in my living room, trying to make the best of things, while Bob and Jane are playing happy couples in the next room. Bob knowing all the while that Laura can hear them. Jane blissfully ignorant. Laura... totally miserable.
I only know this information because I am the kind of person who cares a lot about people in general. I feel responsible for Laura, and for Bob, because they are staying under my roof. At the moment, most of my caring and wishing I could be of more use is extended to Laura. I can only imagine how horrible this situation must be for her, and I want to be able to fix it. Most of what I feel for Bob at the moment is an undying urge to knock his block off. To make him choke on his own teeth. I won't do it, though. Not to worry. I won't do it, because I don't know how Jane will react. I won't do it, because I promised Laura I wouldn't say or do anything. I won't do it, because I am not a violent person. Still, the image of the way his face would look with my fist alongside it is something that keeps playing in my head. I fill with anger from the bottoms of my toes right up to my scalp every time I can hear his voice outside my door, and I fill with blinding rage every time I see him in person.
I may not always get along with my roommate, but that doesn't mean I don't love her, and that I don't want what's best for her. In no way, shape, or form, is Bob what is best for her. He doesn't know that I know what he did. Jane doesn't know any of it. The whole thing is a great big mess, and I have no idea what to do.
I have asked for advice from my friends, and even they're conflicted. Some of them say I should pull Jane aside and tell her what Bob did. The others say I should keep my mouth closed. I am stuck between a rock and a hard place, here. All I really and honestly want to do is run away. Pack my things, put my cat in her carrier, and find somewhere else to be. If I had a car, I would sleep in that instead of here... at least until Laura and Bob leave. Laura's under the impression that they'll both go back to where they came from. Jane's under the impression that Bob may never leave again.
I kind of hope Bob gets run over by a train.
The really stupid thing? This isn't even the half of what's on my plate to deal with from an emotional perspective right now.
Now that that's out of the way... A bit about yours truly, because it's always nice to know who it is that's writing you. It'll make us a little less like strangers, and a little more like friends. I'm a twenty-something. I think that in and of itself is pretty well enough said, but I'll explain. As a twenty-something, I'm transitioning. I'm going back to school for one last year, I'm trying to start a career. I'm trying new things, and pushing old envelopes. I'm making new friends, I'm losing old friends. I'm learning new skills, and seeing where my new repertoire can take me.
In all of this, I'm finding things every day that make me smile -- I'm quintessentially girlie, which means I enjoy the frillier and pinker things. I'm a bit of a music junkie. I have discovered that I'm one of "those" Cat-Moms (You know the one -- I find myself spending more time talking about my cat than about anything else. I can almost hear people getting bored with me now and again.). I'm artsy, and definitely not sporty. Like at all. I prefer Shakespeare to Soccer... although I think it would be fun to learn archery.
In a nutshell, I'm not sure what this blog will wind up being. It could just end up as a great deal of my rambling away about nothing (or... let's be honest... my cat), but I think that's half the fun. As a twenty-something, I don't really know where I'm going. I have a general idea, but the path is uncertain, which means that getting where we're going is half the fun. Being as how I'm taking you all along with me, I promise to write as frequently as possible. Much of my particular brand of twenty-something is up in the air, but we'll be patient with each other, won't we?
So... if you're ready, we'll just get started then, shall we?
