Life Itself

In 88 days, I will be living in the city of my dreams, the prodigal “room where it happens”. I will be given the opportunities of interning on Capitol Hill or volunteering at a number of non-profit organizations. I will meet people from around the world. And best of all, not a single person there knows me. I have no predisposed expectations to live up to. I can be a wholly new person and set up a new life for myself. This current moment is one I have been working for and dreaming of for over 7 years, and it is finally happening.

Now, I make lists of the valuables and in-valuables that I can’t live without; what books do I treasure enough to take with me, what image do I want to make for myself through the clothes I wear? I contact my insurance company and medical suppliers to see what my options are for treatment in what will be my new home. I register for disability services- something I never imagined I’d have to do, but know I must. I prepare for transition.

I have begun an exercise regimen and I am cleaning my diet. I have worn my CGM continuously for 2 months. My goal before I leave is to lower my HBa1C from 8.8 (in March) to 7.5 or lower, and I am currently on track to beat that goal. I’d like to lose some weight as well, but that goal is second to simply controlling my disease. I need to prove, to myself more than anyone else, that I am fully capable of being an independent adult and taking care of my health.

I am also learning when and how to ask for help. I lose no self-value in doing so and that lesson has taken time to learn, but the journey in doing so has been fruitful.

I am also remembering a lesson I taught myself through years of solitude: Let people go. There are people who enter your life to teach you, to guide you, and to support you, and once those people have served their purpose, they must be let go. There are some people who entered my life during my high school tenure whom I believed I could carry with me possibly for the rest of my life, but rapidly I am realizing that may not be the case. I wish them no ill will, simply that I need to let them go in order to continue becoming the best possible person I can be.

I am learning how to be happy. That is the most important lesson I can hope to learn in my life.

 

If you’re interested, once I move away I am planning on making a new blog to document my life in Washington, D.C. and eventually New York. I’ll link that blog here once it’s made.

Basic Instinct

I’m having a hard time believing in myself. Just having an overall difficult time believing I’m capable of being a good person, and having good intentions. I feel like I’m constantly fighting to convince myself to be the better person, and to not emotionally destroy people. Maybe I need better company. Maybe I need more time alone.

How do I convince myself that I deserve my lover boy? How do I pretend that I’m someone he should wait for? How do I fool myself into believing that, at the end of the day, I still deserve him?

I blame myself for a lot. There’s a lot that went wrong, has gone wrong, and is still going wrong, and I blame myself for a lot of it. At this point, I don’t know how to fix any of it. Instead, I just want to run away from it all. It’s supposed to be easier to just start over.

I don’t feel well, and I haven’t in a really long time. I keep trying to convince myself that I’m okay, but I’m tired of keeping up this façade. I want to go to a challenging and stimulating university, I want to be with my lover boy, I want to manage my diabetes, but most of all I just want to be happy.

My happiness has always been fleeting, too brief to truly appreciate. The only time it ever really stuck around was when lover boy and I were together. Every time I’m with him, I feel it. But look at how badly I screwed that up. Then again, would we be in the position we’re currently in if things didn’t end when they did? I don’t know. I have a lot of questions and not nearly enough answers.

I feel totally, abhorrently lost. I long for the days when everything made sense.

The Other Side of Paradise

I don’t know where to go from here. I’m feeling more than a little lost. I do not open myself up and allow myself to be vulnerable, because if I do, I only invite pain.

Pain and me, we go way back.

~Yes, I am upset that you aren’t giving me attention anymore. I am not ashamed of that. You were my father figure, my role model, I looked up to you for everything and anything, For years, you were my steady hand of guidance and my source of peace. Of course I am going to be upset when that all leaves.

You were there when my dad cheated on my mom. You saw how that destroyed me. You saw how that destroyed my ability to maintain relationships with the people I loved most. You helped me through it all. You help me regain my footing, find my balance, hold my chin up, and power through it. You repaired me.

You were there when I cheated on my soulmate. You built me back together. You taught me how to believe that I could make myself into a better person after it, right my wrongs as much I could and then some. You helped me find who I was, and work toward becoming a better person, someone worthy of my platypus. I still may not be that person, but I’m working toward it, because of you.

How am I supposed to feel when everything you’ve taught me, everything you instilled on me, you turn your back on? When you cheat? Have you no remorse? Do you look at yourself in the mirror? Do you see who you’re hurting? Do you care?

How am I supposed to pretend I deserve to have him back in my life, when you do this? When you show me that “once a cheater, always a cheater” may just be true? How am I supposed to believe in myself when the person whom I believed in most thinks he can deceive me and those who love him in this capacity?

You try to coerce me back in with macarons and empty “I love you”‘s, as if I don’t see right through you. You underestimate me at every turn.

“You are the most important person in my life outside of my immediate family.”

Bullshit. Total, complete bullshit. I’ll never understand how you have the audacity to continue lying to me like this. Who are you trying to fool? Because it’s not working on me.

Not the love note you were expecting, right?

~My soulmate. You make my heart skip a beat, and today, it may just stop beating altogether. I will wait as long as it takes, but I am terrified. What if you find someone better, someone more deserving of you, someone that won’t hurt you? I can’t compete.

You are the best thing to ever happen to me. You have the most genuine soul of anyone I know. You walked into my life when I needed you most, and you’ve been there for me at every turn. I have oceans of love for you, waiting for you.

 

“Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth ‘You owe me.’ Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the sky.”

You light my world.

A Lack of Color

I wouldn’t call Tuesday an overreaction, but a gut reaction. Over time, and especially since seeing him, I did the one thing I was supposed to avoid at all costs: getting attached.

I love him. He loves me. We know this. He is my world as I am his. The distance is too great to make this any shade of easy. The distance itself isn’t even the problem; the real problem is how intense his workload is, to the point that simple texting is unfeasible for him. I know if he tried harder we could make it work, but I don’t want to ask that of him. He has too much to focus on and I don’t want to be a contributing factor to his stress; inversely, I want to be a source of relief and relaxation. I can’t be that person if I get attached.

I brought up spending a month in the summer with him, and he said he’s discuss it with his mother. It wasn’t a no, which gives me hope and I am allowing myself to hope, even if it’s just this once.

I miss being loved. Life is lonely and it isn’t easy.

Long Way Down

I’ve had a few days to think and reminisce, and I feel that I now have a better opinion on the events that transpired while at competition last week. I understand better now my feelings after distancing myself a bit from the source of my problems.

What I mean to say is, you abandoned me. You were my lifeline for the past three years, my constant, my go to. You were the father figure I lacked growing up and that I desperately needed, and even more desperately wanted. I felt I could trust you with my life, and I did on many occasions. You threw all of that back at my face.

Once again, I was forgotten. I was a side piece that could be discarded without a second glance. Meaningless, worthless, valueless. You reminded me of all the reasons I long to escape this city so badly. You transported me back to a time when I didn’t want to be alive. You, who was supposed to be my hero and confidant, made me want to die.

I was marginalized, ostracized, by none other than the person who made me feel I could make a change in the world. You empowered me, as you so like to say, only to completely tear me down without a hint of hesitation. You weathered down all of my defenses only to remind me why I built them in the first place. You made me return to the angry, distant, and cold-hearted person I used to be and grew terrified of. You made me feel heartless.

All of this without so much as an apology; even less, an explanation. I asked for honesty and was met with lies upon lies upon lies. And yet, you’re confused as to why I am so angry. You disregard my emotions, just as I as a person grew used to being disregarded altogether as I was growing up.

You stripped me of my self-worth and self-confidence. You transformed me into a frail and volatile carcass of a person who has trouble identifying left from right, and now, up from down. What was my most prized creation has slowly turned into a prison where my motivation is entirely sapped. For what purpose?

To what end? Mostly though, why? I feel I deserve at least an explanation.

Detune

Frustrating nights become frustrating days become frustrating weeks.

I really hate when people try to put words in my mouth or misconstrue what I was trying to say. If I say “I wasn’t impressed,” I did not say “I hated it” and don’t try to make it seem like I did.  For the most part, I mean exactly what I say, and except for few cases with few people, I rarely leave something up the implication. Do not try to assume how I feel or what I’m thinking because I can guarantee you will almost always be wrong.

This week got off to a rocky start on Monday and it’s felt pretty downhill from there. I had a few brief hours of respite last night, but I’m back in a hole and I don’t really feel like climbing out anytime soon.

I’m tired of people not doing their parts and leaving me to pick up their slack. I’m tired of people needlessly taking their frustrations out on me because someone else pissed them off. I’m tired of constantly being made out to be the bad person when I actively try to remain as fair and balanced as possible, and I watch everything I say so carefully. Literally, I don’t watch my tone for one sentence in an entire day, but that one sentence is held against me for a week. It’s honestly starting to feel like I won’t win regardless of how hard I try to remain in people’s good graces, and I’m starting to just get fed up with even trying.

For the first time in a really long while, it’s starting to feel like I won’t miss a lot of my life here once I leave for college. How unfortunate.

There Is a Light That Never Goes Out

Beginnings are always the hardest part, figuratively and literally.

I think it’s fair to say I’m more emotional than I used to be, but I also think that’s an outward misconception. I’ve always felt these emotions, I’m simply more willing to show them now. I thought I used to cry a lot, but Past Me would be baffled if someone were to tell her how much I cry now. I’ve come to accept it; I think a big source of my conflicts from before were a result of keeping too much bottled up. Cathartic release is essential to a healthy mind, and so I cry heartily and often. It’s comforting to know the tears are not always sad, though.

As of today, I have applied or am in the process of applying to a total of 16 schools. So far, I’ve been accepted to two and deferred from one. I won’t find out about 12 schools until the week I am at national competition, which is totally unfortunate.

I’ve had three people tell me I should write a book, one going so far as to say I should write a memoir. I worry that I’ll never be able to see the potential and talent that so many others seem to see in me. Maybe one day. In a coffee shop. A couple years from now.

I’ve been doing very well lately. I’ve cracked down on myself to check my sugars more often and give my insulin when I’m supposed to. I’ve been having a lot of lows, but I’m going back to my doctor in two weeks so hopefully that will be fixed. Health insurance is still a bitch, and the looming responsibilities of impending adulthood are threatening to overburden me, but I’m hanging in there. Writing helps a lot.

I’m trying to make it a point to make love normal. I know this sounds weird, so let me explain.

As of December 23, 2016, my mother has told me “I love you” three times. My father has said the three magic words only once. I was raised in a household devoid of affection and love, and that has affected me profoundly. I’m not going to let it ruin me any longer. I will be open to love. It will be commonplace for me. I will hug and kiss the ones closest to me, and I will remind them every day of how much they mean to me and how much I value them. Most of all, I will remind myself. The past seven months have been a saga of self-forgiveness and acceptance, and slowly but surely I am learning to love myself. So long as I can be happy with myself, I will be okay.

I am okay.

Survivor

You write when you’re sad, you write when you’re in pain, but mostly you write because you don’t want to live anymore but you’re too scared to die so you exist in this state of in between.

It’s just a bump in the road, Eileen. You’ve been through worse. You can get through this.

You were diagnosed at a year old. You’re getting through it.

Your parents abandoned you when you were seven. You got through it.

Your grandpa died when you were 14. You got through it.

You were raped at 15. You got through it.

You cut for three years. You’ve been clean for five months. You’re getting through it.

You now know the suffering of heartache, a pain wholly unique in and of itself. You can get through it.

Pick yourself up. Wipe the tears away. Do your math homework; or better yet, copy it from Mar. You are okay. You will be okay.

Be happy. You’ve been doing so good for so long. It’s okay to have a bad night, but pick yourself up at the end of it. And for God’s sake, stop crying. Tears never did anything but make your eyes swollen and give you a migraine. Who needs cathartic release.

Plan competition season. Get good grades. Get into college. 2 schools down, 12 more to go. Get more tattoos, fuck what Pelican thinks. Make good art. Do something and be someone you can be proud of. You’ve come so far. Don’t stop yet.

It’s just a bump in the road. A wrinkle in time. The ebb and flow of nature.

Remember the dream of Papá. Know that he’s proud of you, wherever he may be. Know that Mamá loves you and supports you.

Read more books. Listen to more music. Check your sugar more often. Count your carbs right. Get more exercise. Tell good stories.

It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be in pain. You’ll be a better person for it in the end. Be more understanding. There’s no such thing as having too much empathy. Be realistic, but hope for the best in people to shine through. Never stop believing that a person can be better than they once were, including yourself. Think better of yourself.

You can get through it Eileen. Be your own supporter for once. Stop tearing yourself down.

Chin up now, pip pip.

Water Under the Bridge

I think I’m due for a brief life update.

I’m doing okay. I’ll hesitantly even go as far as to say I’m doing good. I’ve been struggling a little on what to do with my alone time, since I seem to have an abundance of it now. I spend a lot of that time sleeping, though I don’t know if that’s to catch up on the sleep I miss during the school week or it’s the depression. I’m not lacking motivation anywhere near how I was during my bad months a while back, but every now and then it’s particularly difficult to get out from under my covers.

Recently, I told myself that it’s okay to be sad and I just have to ride out the wave whenever it comes, because only then will I be able to truly appreciate the times that I’m motivated and energetic and content. It’s a sensitive balance, but I really do think I’m managing it okay.

Things with Pretty Boy fell apart so fast, it’s hilarious honestly. I’ll spare the details, but I learned two things from that experience: 1. I’m (almost) ready to date again. 2. I’m terrified no one will compare to Ex Boyfriend.

It’s the second lesson that has been particularly eating at me, no matter how hard  I try to send it to the back of my mind.

December is 7 months since I broke up with him. The beginning was grueling; I had no idea how to be my own person. I had no knowledge of my personality or how to change it, had no concept of my personal aspirations, and I generally didn’t know how to live as my own person.

Since then, I have worked slowly and diligently to create a person out of the shell I so long inhabited, and I am so proud of my progress. I’ve learned it’s especially important to praise yourself as much, if not more, as you critique yourself, so I don’t feel ashamed to admit that I’m proud.

I was lower than rock bottom at the start of 2016, and I didn’t really start to come out of that rut until just a couple of months ago.

In the beginning, I missed him with a weight and pain that threatened to crush me. I definitely do still miss him now, almost more I’d say, but in a different way. I don’t miss the attention or affection as much as I did in the beginning, though there are moments I long to bury my face in his neck or pull on the hairs at the back of his head, but more than that I miss his company. He was my closest and most valuable confidant. I miss our lengthy conversations about nothing and everything. I miss the way we could communicate with each other just by glance, without having to say a single word. I miss the hours spent together without speaking, just enjoying each other’s quiet company. The times I dream about him, I wouldn’t say that I’m happier, but that I’m consumed by this overwhelming sense of peace. When I wake up from the dreams, that peace is immediately what I realize is missing.

I know who I am God damn it. I know what I want, and I have intricate plans for how to get there. I’m taking care of myself, I’m expanding my relentless pursuit of knowledge, and I am growing more comfortable with myself and my body with every passing day. I know (I KNOW) I’m bound to meet incredible and inspiring and exhilarating people when I go to college, but I’m truly scared I’ll never stop wanting or needing him.

August 20, 2014. You walked into the studio with your schedule change in hand to show to Pelican. It was the third day of school and I was going mad trying to finish the first show. I had just stepped down from the stage where the anchors’ desk was mounted when I looked over and saw you and stopped in my tracks. I’m sure I could go back to the studio and point to the exact spots where both you and I were standing. I didn’t see your face from the front, only profile, which is where you got the platypus name from (when I look at you from the side, your chin does this thing that makes you look like a platypus, I’m sorry). You never saw me, but I swear on my life and my heart and my brain and everything that matters to me that I felt a pull, as if a string connected us to each other. You know how I am about my gut feelings, and this time there was a voice in the back of my head that just said “You need to know him, be close to him. This one’s important.” Nothing, nothing, nothing eats at me more than this single memory does. Nothing.

 

I needed to get that off my chest. There are still things I keep bottled, no matter how much I talk or vent. This memory is a weight that follows me around, almost whispering that I can’t let you go no matter how hard I try. I’m sorry.

On the Nature of Daylight

I’ve been struggling as of late to decide on what major I’d like to pursue once I enter college, and I can already see that this struggle will persist for a long time. I’ve sifted through being a law clerk to lawyer to editor to journalist, and while journalism has been where I’ve felt the closest to finding a niche, I still don’t think I’m there yet.

I love language- specifically English-, anything and everything having to do with grammar and how humans as a species communicate with each other. I love dissecting what a person is saying not just by the words they use, but by how their body reacts and how their pitch influences meaning and how they order their sentence and what implications that may have on expression.

I’ve read books passionately and vigorously since the fourth grade, eager to down as many words and pages in one sitting as possible. Always expanding my ever-growing capacity for empathy, I developed a burning love for reading. My room is quite literally crowded with hundreds of books stuffed in every nook and cranny possible. I haven’t read a third of the books I own, and yet I still buy more. I love having the ability to immerse myself in alternate realities, become a totally different and oftentimes more compelling or charismatic person, and I deeply appreciate that in turn along the way, I pick up certain traits and aspects that mold me into a more understanding person. All of this is done through the power of language and communication.

I just saw the movie Arrival with a small group of friends tonight and a major premise of the film is on language. Coming out of the film, I know that I need to take a linguistics course when I go to college. This is so much more than a desire at this point, it feels more like a necessity to see if this is what finally clicks for me, if this is what will finally feel right.

I love journalism because it provides me an outlet through which I can communicate with people, deliver ideas and messages, and ultimately bring people together. Where I struggle is in the stigma against journalism, and how dirty the work can often be. It also doesn’t always fulfill my artistic nature (though mostly pushed to the background in my daily life, it’s definitely there).

For now, I’ll take what I can get, and journalism is my best bet.I made a promise to myself (and to very close people around me) to never settle for anything less than extraordinary, and I am set on holding true to that promise. Hopefully sooner rather than later I will finally find what makes me feel alive.