A Little Help From My Friends...

Now that I've decided to take a break from school for a semester, I can get back to some other things that I had put on hold...like writing this blog. And reading. So much reading!

Looking back over the last few posts, I can see the changes I've made. I can see that it's possible for me to be happy and fulfilled. But, that hasn't been my reality in a little while now. I'm back and forth, up and down. And the deeper I dive into certain issues, the more I uncover about some other issues. Sometimes, it really is easier not knowing the answers. I wish I didn't know where my anxiety comes from. I wish I didn't know where my depression comes from. Because, most of that is stuff that I can't get rid of. Most of it stems from people I will never be able to avoid...and don't really want to. So, I have to learn to live with it. I have to learn to deal with it and accept it and grow. And some days, I'm strong enough to do that. But, lately I haven't been.

I used to joke that I didn't have any friends. At the time, I had three good ones that I could count on. One of them turned into my boyfriend, I've drifted quite significantly from another one. So, I'm down to one legitimate friend that I can count on. One person that I can tell things to, and bounce things off of. One person to tell me to calm the hell down because I'm overreacting. But, now I have to figure out why that is. Why do I only have one friend left? I've been told "you hate everyone" more times than I can count. And sadly, that used to be true. I did. I hated so many people. I was angry at so many people. I didn't want to go out. I didn't want to hang out with anyone, because they pissed me off. I used to say I didn't like people because I was a good judge of character and I just knew. At this stage of my life I can say that a lot of that was judgment. I probably knew it then, but I was happier in my bubble. The less people I let in, the less people I allow to hurt me. I can assume that's what I was doing. I'd been let down by so many "friends" that it was just easier not to have any. It was easier to be alone and hang out with my mom on weekends. We didn't always agree, but at least I knew she'd always be there...in the best way she knew how.

It worked for me before, because even though I didn't have many of my "own" friends, I still had an insanely full social calendar. There was never an end in sight to the amount of weddings and baby/bridal showers and random parties I was invited to and had to attend. I was required at family dinners twice a week (two different families). It was a lot. And I made it a point to do it all. I expected a pay-off. I expected it to matter. And it didn't. In the end, it never got returned. In the end, they weren't my friends. They were his friends. My ex's friends. And when that fell apart, they were gone, as expected. But, I still had my mom...

Now that I'm living alone and my mom and I are dating (separately...that sounded inappropriate), it's not as simple as that anymore. She spends her weekends with her man and I spend mine with mine. But, what happens when he's not around? Where do I go when he has other plans? What do I do when he can't be there for me? Answer: I freak out. I haven't been easy to live with in the last couple months. I went back to school hoping I'd make some new friends that I had things in common with. And in the beginning, that's what started happening. My mind was opened up to all these new people and it was wonderful. I was having intelligent, fulfilling conversations with people I liked. For the first time. And the rest of my life slowly crumbled (as we all know). I couldn't maintain it. I couldn't be available to hang out with these people. I couldn't accept their invitations. Or, maybe I wasn't getting invited anywhere, I don't know. What I do know is that after two years, I still really haven't made any new friends. I'm still alone most of the time. And I don't have my mom to fall back on. So, what happened? What did I do? What am I doing wrong?

I look through my Facebook friends and see a long list of people I would love to hang out with. A ton of people I would love to get back in touch with. People who said "If you need anything, let me know" when I went through my divorce. It takes a lot for me to pick up the phone and ask someone to hang out. I assume I'm a nuisance. If they wanted to hang out, they'd call, right? No. Wrong. I've been told by many people that I'm "unapproachable" and "standoffish." I'm sure that's true. I don't leave myself open to much. I'm not the kind of person that's "down for whatever." I hate parties. I hate drinking. I hate smoking. I hate video games and sports. Large social interactions wear me out and make me tired. So, what are my options? I miss the easy days of middle school and high school where we could just pop in some lame movie and talk through the whole thing while eating popcorn and bad food. Does anyone do that anymore? And if they don't, why not? When did we all get too cool for that?

I know I have to put in the work. I know I have to put forth some effort. I know I have to make myself more available. And cutting out some of my responsibilities (like school) will make that a little bit more possible. But, hey, if you're reading this, and you want to hang out, send me a message. In the meantime, I have some people to get back in touch with and some social groups to join in order to find "my people." I have to put the anxiety and the fear aside and just dive in. It's the story of my life.

Normal is a State of Mind

Someone posted an article on Facebook yesterday that spoke against something I’ve always believed in passionately. I won’t say what it was about, but I’m sure most of you will figure it out before you finish reading this. It’s something that’s never been a part of my world. Something my parents never talked to me about, never acknowledged – they let the schools do the talking. It’s something I have always been fiercely against and never gave it a second thought. My friends knew about it, significant others knew about it. I was never even curious to learn more. And it’s something that has been gaining a lot of momentum in the last few years, forcing me to acknowledge my resistance and leaving me with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach for the last year or so. Because, at this point, the truth is that I have to get used to it. I can no longer keep myself in the dark. I can no longer pretend it doesn’t exist and ignore that I’m surrounded by it. People have stopped hiding it from me. They’ve stopped walking on eggshells about it and have decided that they don’t care anymore. And it hasn’t been easy for me to adjust to. It’s caused problems with a few of my relationships and while I still don’t believe my feelings were completely unjustified, I know that my reactions were…uninformed.

I never thought of myself as someone who didn’t adapt well to change. Things are always changing. Nothing ever stays exactly the same as it was. That’s just nature. But, I don’t know that I can really say that as a fact anymore. Maybe there’s just been so much change for me lately that some things are just too much.  I’ve had to deal with things changing beyond my control – things that weren’t “supposed” to change, things that I took for granted and assumed would always be there. Those are the things I guess I can adjust to better – because I’m used to that. I’ve dealt with a lot of loss in my life. I’ve been to countless funerals in a seemingly short amount of time. That’s always the ultimate change. I’ve seen friends come and go – some return, most don’t. I’ve dealt with moves and divorce and my father’s various girlfriends over the years. But this topic, this one thing that I still can’t bring myself to say out loud for whatever reason is just something I never thought I’d have to deal with. It wasn’t an issue with my previous relationship. His views were the same as mine. We had an understanding. It’s different this time around. And I have days where the idea of accepting it as the norm is so overwhelming that I want to bail and run as far away as I can get. But, that won’t get me far, because it’s everywhere. I’m in the VAST minority it would seem and I’m having a lot of trouble coming to terms with that. I was raised pretty conservatively – not politically conservative, but traditionally conservative. Certain things just weren’t talked about or acknowledged or accepted. Or maybe they were, but I had such a fear of confrontation that I never bothered talking about it with my parents. I’ve learned a lot about my mom and her views on certain things over the last year or so and while I’m not entirely shocked to learn some things, I do feel like I spent much of my life afraid of nothing (my dad is a different story). I’ve felt ashamed of so many different things (not just this single issue) and I really didn’t need to. Was that my mom’s fault, society’s fault, or my own? Who knows? But, it’s difficult at my age to suddenly realize that everything I know might be wrong – that everything I was taught, or thought I was being taught is just not true.

My life has always been filled with order and structure and…well, rules. I never viewed it that way. For me, I was setting goals and “staying on course.” For me, it was pretty simple. Do what you’re supposed to do. But now, that logic just pisses me off. Because, where is the logic? Who decides what you’re “supposed to” do? Who decides what’s normal and what’s not? For me, what I was supposed to do and what I wanted to do were always the same thing. I was supposed to get married. I was supposed to buy a house instead of renting an apartment. I was supposed to go to college. And while college opened my eyes to a lot of things and exposed me to different mentalities (with my teachers and some of my friends), the others didn’t do much for me. I wanted to be married so badly and at this moment, I cannot for the life of me remember why. I wanted to buy a house so badly and it ended up being a disaster. I’m now living by myself in my own apartment and happier than I’ve ever been. I have a boyfriend who treats me well and accepts me exactly as I am, and yet I have no desire to take it any further at the moment. Why is it so different now? I’m happy with those changes. I’m happy with the fact that my life is simpler now. I’m happier not running around trying to please everyone and neglecting myself. But, why is this one thing still so important to me? Why is this the change I can’t seem to make? I’ve seen the evidence, I’ve read the studies, I’ve been paying attention so much more than anyone thinks I have – I even experimented myself. But, I can’t get there.

I suppose at this point, I’ve gotten used to just walking around in a state of confusion. The road used to be so clear to me. Everything was laid out and planned. Nothing was spontaneous or unexpected and I got used to that. And I guess a part of me still longs for that predictability. I didn’t feel confused before. I felt stressed out. I felt angry. And I felt unbelievably overwhelmed – but not confused. But, I suppose it’s because I never allowed myself to feel that way. I kept myself so busy that I didn’t have time to think. I didn’t allow myself time to question things. I never bothered to look inward (or outward) and see what was really going on – what was really important. My mentality was “this is the choice that’s going to get me where I want to go, so I’m sticking with it.” And that’s just…so stupid. There are answers outside that comfort zone. Answers you didn’t even know you were looking for. That pit in your stomach tells you you’re growing and you’re learning. If you’re not confused, you’re not doing it right. If you’re not scared, you’re not challenging yourself. And if you’re not at least a little bit angry you’re not paying enough attention. I had the anger part down pat before, but it was directed at the wrong things. I was so distracted by my anger at the people around me that I wasn’t capable of being angry at society. Because for me, the society I was living in, this bubble that I kept myself in, was just fine. I didn’t want it to change. It worked for me, because it was comfortable. And as much as I hate how confused I am and how terrified I am (still) on a daily basis, I know that that’s important and that’s good and that’s growth. I suppose someday I’ll get there. Someday this world won’t be so scary to me. Someday, my definition of “normal” will change and with that, so will I. And that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on myself – that doesn’t mean I’ve let go of my principles and my values and that I’ve lost the person I used to be. It just means I’ve evolved and without evolution, where would any of us be?

Square Peg in a Round Hole

A year and a half ago, someone asked me if I was happy. My answer was, "yes, I've never been happier." And I meant it when I said it. I had everything I wanted. But, only a few months later, all of that changed. I thought I would never be happy again. In fact, I wasn't even sure I ever had been happy. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe I never was. But, the illusion of happiness had been enough for me. I was annoyed that so many people said, "I never thought you were happy," because if I thought I was that should have been enough. Even if I wasn't, I thought I was. And that's what is so great about ignorance. It's "bliss," as they say. I have a much clearer head now, though. We all know I'm in a different place. And most of you have been through the journey with me, whether you've been following along online, or if you've seen the transformation with your own eyes.

Up until as recently as a month and a half ago, I was convinced I hadn't made any progress; in my life, in my thoughts, in my actions. I was told by several people that that just wasn't the case. I'd made a ton of progress and it was pretty ridiculous for me not to see it. It was the holidays, though. They were tough this time around. The first ones without my stepdad. And his absence was noticed. There was one less gift to buy, the pile under the Christmas tree was a little bit smaller - actually, there was no Christmas tree. Things were different this year. But, we survived. As a family, we made it through. And that's been the theme of my life for a while now - survival. For a year, I was treading water. Not going anywhere, barely keeping my head above water and getting progressively more tired. There were times I was certain I would sink before I finally began to swim. I don't even remember much of the journey. I just know there were a lot of tears, a lot of fights, way too much anger to measure and one emotional breakdown after another. And then, finally, the clouds cleared and the sun came out. But, even the sunshine isn't all good. Things are never "perfect." They're never the way we want them to be. It's never "ideal." Life is what it is and we have to constantly adjust, constantly learn something. Sometimes that means changing our way of thinking.

A month ago, I moved into my first apartment. I'd had an apartment in college, but I had three roommates and the rent was paid by my parents along with my tuition. I was hardly "on my own." After that, I moved back with my parents, then moved right into a house with my now ex-husband and then back with my parents. I'd never had my own space. I'd never had something that was just mine. It always belonged to someone else, or was shared with someone else. I never got to make decisions that only effected myself. I never had the opportunity to come and go as I please. There was always someone to check in with, someone else to look out for, someone to share my space with. I can't even remember how many times I said I just wanted to run away. I had nearly daily fantasies about running off to a cabin in the woods all by myself with a fire and a good book. The thought alone was my happy place. The urge to run was stronger every day. And while I never got to go to that cabin in the woods, I finally did get to be alone. I thought I'd be lonely living by myself. I thought I'd last a few weeks before I was begging my boyfriend to move in with me. Sure, I was excited about the idea of having the TV to myself and getting to read in peace and keeping the heat at the temperature I wanted. But, I thought there was nothing sadder than coming home to an empty apartment. I could not have been more wrong. This is, by far, the happiest I have ever been. I don't feel crazy, I don't feel stressed, I don't feel like I'm trying to fit in somewhere I don't belong. I never felt right, or normal. I always felt like there was something off about me. I always felt like I was the one that was just different than everybody else. I eventually just accepted that fate and dealt with the fact that I just was never going to have that many friends. I was never going to find that group of people, or that one person that just got it. But, that's because I didn't really know who I was. I had spent so much time living for someone else, making decisions for a ton of other people and none for myself. And once I stopped that cycle, it was liberating. I have this inner peace now that I never knew I was missing.

I was always so driven by the doubts of everyone else. I'm certain I got married because no one believed it would last (I had to prove them wrong). I bought a house, because no one believed I could handle it. My desire to become an editor was solidified the very first time I was told I didn't have what it takes. And while it still feels good to prove other people wrong, it feels better to prove myself right. Okay, so everyone was right - the marriage didn't last. It sucks and it took me a really long time to be able to say that I'm over it. It took so much out of me to evaluate what I did wrong and why I made certain choices, but it didn't work and we're moving on. The second someone said "I doubt it" to my prediction that I'd have a house before that year was over, I knew I had to make it happen. How dare you doubt me. And of course, I made it happen. And that particular house was bought because it was the only one the two of us agreed on. I regretted it pretty quickly. And now it's in foreclosure, which before would have thrown me into a blind panic, complete with hyperventilation and several acts of desperation. And now? I couldn't care less. I have my apartment. I have a roof over my head, I have clothes on my back and I have food in my fridge. Who cares that that roof is rented? Who cares that it's less than 600 square feet. Who cares that I have to walk up three flights of stairs? It's fine and I freaking love it! My own space...finally. Decorated how I want, filled with things I love, food I like and my favorite show on the television.

As soon as I stopped living for everyone else, I started to really live. I began to realize that it doesn't matter if other people agree with me. It doesn't matter what someone else thinks of my decisions. It matters what I think. I'm the one that has to live with the decisions. As soon as I set my own priorities instead of listening to my mom's, or society's, or friends', I began to feel happy. Inwardly happy. I don't feel that panic that I'm making the wrong choices. I don't feel anxiety about how I'm going to handle something in the future. I don't feel depressed that I'm not where I'm "supposed to" be. And I don't feel angry at all the people that don't understand me, or don't accept me, or don't believe in me. Because I believe in me. It's been so long since I've been able to see so clearly what I want. The dreams haven't changed. They've just shifted. I always wanted a career as an editor and a family. And I told myself before that I gave up one dream for another. I gave up the dream of becoming an editor so I could have a family. But, why should I choose? Why can't I have both? I can. And I will. And no one has to believe that but me.