Let's Try This Again

Trigger Warning: Talk of self-harm and suicide in Paragraph 3 only. Please skip it if you need to.

I haven’t written on here in forever. That doesn’t mean I haven’t written anything, believe me. I still write my fanfiction stories, I write little essays for myself, and I’ve started writing things down for my nephews as well. I also did a 52-week writing course which I absolutely loved. Writing publicly, however, is always more of a risk. It’s a more vulnerable position to be in.

The last thing I wrote on this site was January 4th, 2023, and I said how 2022 was a rough year for me and I was hoping 2023 would be better. Well, a couple of weeks after I wrote that sentence, 2023 decided to kick my entire family right in the teeth. I’ve heavily debated writing about this out of respect to my family. Some of them read this site and I never want to hurt or upset them but I also want to write about it because it’s important. Important to me and important to other people.

January of 2023, my Uncle tried to take his own life. His siblings had to make the impossible decision to take him off life support. My family has experienced a lot of death over the years because my Mom’s side of the family is so large. This death hit the hardest though for a lot of them, if not most of them. I’m not going to spend this whole post talking about it, only the next two paragraphs and they will only talk about his life, not his death. Feel free to skip them if you want.

My Uncle was a great man. He had his demons and vices, as we all do, but he was so much fun and one of the most generous people you’d ever meet in your life. Each of my cousins have their own favorite memories of him and I won’t speak for them. I have my own great memories of him. Canoeing, horseback riding (okay that one sucked, I fell but whatever), paintballing, amusement parks, white water rafting etc. It was always an amazing time when my Uncle came to visit and I’ll never forget those adventures with him.

He always told me about ziplining in Costa Rica. Last year, September 2023, I went ziplining in the Poconos for my birthday and in memory of him. It was a blast and I hope to do it again and again over the years when I travel to different places. It’s in those moments, the moments when I’m terrified before I’m about to do something new, that I’ll remember him the most and push myself to do those new things.

Honestly, I didn’t have much of a plan when I decided to sit down and write today. Not sure if there was a purpose or a point to it, other than wanting to write something. Here’s what I know. I know 2023 took a lot from my Mom and her family. I know that as someone who struggles with depression and anxiety, it is immensely important to check in on your people. Especially, the people who seem as if they’re doing great. Ask anyway, check in anyway, meet up with them anyway.

I had a sickening realization recently: I’ll probably never go another year of my life without going to a funeral. I hate that. It seems ridiculous and unbelievable but inevitable. If that’s true, for myself, for you, for anyone reading this, do whatever you can to enjoy the people in your life now. Text, call, send a card, go see them, set up a dinner, go to lunch, do something.

They’re important. You’re important.

They matter. You matter. I matter.

They deserve to be here. You deserve to be here. We ALL deserve to be here.

Try to remember that on your darkest days.

I’m here. I’m still going. It’s 2024. Let’s try this again. This year, I’m putting it out into the universe, this year will be different. This year will be better. This year will be happier. Maybe not every moment. Not every day. Hell, maybe not even every week. But this year, as a whole, will be better because I’m choosing to make it so.

I hope you all do the same.

The Outsiders

It’s been a while since I’ve written here. Almost exactly a year which is wild. 2022 was an extremely rough year for me. I’m hoping 2023 will be better; I’m trying to put it into the universe that 2023 will definitely be better.

I wish I was more consistent with writing on this site but I’m still trying to find my voice and trying to decide exactly what it is I want to say. I’ve joined a 52 week writing course to help me with this. Of course, sometimes I’ll do three or four of the prompts in one day and then not do any for three weeks but it doesn’t matter because I’m writing.

In this week’s prompt, it spoke about possessions. Prized possessions from different points in my life. Then the very last part of the prompt asked for a short essay from the point of view of a special object. The first thing I thought of was my twenty-year-old copy of The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. I thought this was a pretty neat thing to do and it’s the first piece of writing I’ve done in a while that I wanted to share. Even if it’s only with the few people who subscribe to my site. Here it is. A (VERY) short essay from the point of you of my favorite book that I bought when I was 13.

Being picked from the bookstore is the best day of my life. Sure, it’s a short, kinda chubby, nerdy girl who grabs me and brings me home but that’s better than sitting on the shelf in the store forever. She picks me because her 8th grade English teacher said she had to, no offense taken, that’s how a lot of us books are picked. I hear from other people in the house that my new owner is named Veronica.

Veronica reads me so fast. She can’t put me down. Absorbing the plot, the characters, and enamored by the fact that the story begins and ends with the exact same sentence. She can’t believe it. She didn’t realize you could do that with writing. When she finishes with me, she puts me on a shelf then rents the movie version of me. Thus begins her obsession.

She watches the movie countless times, she reads me at least once a year, my pages getting weak and a little yellow but it’s worth it to see the look on her face. To bring her comfort on those nights when she comes home crying. Or where she stays home because she has nowhere else to go. Loneliness clings to her over the years. A sadness that always seems to ease when she picks me up or when she puts in our movie. A sadness that comes and goes in waves. This room where she keeps me is her my favorite place. The place she spends most of her time and I watch her as she brings her friend Kait over every Thursday to watch Supernatural. I watch as she puts up a black and white poster of the cast of The Outsiders. I watch as all the posters change over the years but not ours. Ours always stays right above the TV, right where she can see it from every angle of the room.

I’m there for her when she needs me the most. When it feels like she’s completely alone in the world, she picks me up and reads me again and again. We eventually moved from her favorite room to a place of her own. She puts me on the top shelf of the bookcase, the shelf where she keeps her favorite novels. She never loans me out to anyone, never wanting them to ruin me. Only her hands can hold me, only her fingers can flip my pages, only her eyes get to read my words a thousand times.

We moved from one apartment to another, and then to her first home. Every time she packs me with care, then I’m one of the first things she unpacks, and I’m always on the top shelf of the bookcase. She goes longer now without reading me, it hurts in a way, but honestly, I’m happy about it. It means she doesn’t need me as much. It means she has a fuller life now. She’s not sitting in the loneliness of her room with only me as her comfort.

It means, she’s no longer an outsider.

Eight Days into the New Year

I’m not sure what will come from me sitting down at my laptop and writing straight from my brain for the first time in a long time. Hell, it might be a random stream of consciousness that makes no sense to me or anyone else.

2022. I can’t believe it’s the year 2022. I can’t believe I’m thirty-two years old. Most of the time I still feel like I’m 17.

The truth is, I’ve always been a cynic. It’s hard to believe in good things when the world and the media shows you nothing but the terrible. I’m trying though, I’ve been trying my hardest not to be as negative. I’ve been trying to hold out hope for the world, for my life, for the lives of those around me. It’s hard. The last two years have been brutal. The pandemic, the anxiety, the depression. It sinks us deeper and deeper with every minute we have to sit in our houses. Especially on those of us who were already dealing with anxiety and depression before 2020.

I’ve always had a weird thing with death. I don’t want to call it an obsession because it doesn’t run my life. But there are times when it runs my thoughts for longer than I’d like. I’m not saying I’m suicidal. I’m not. In fact, I’m exactly the opposite. I’m absolutely terrified of death. Or maybe it’s not the act of dying I’m terrified of but the thought of what happens next.

Growing up Catholic, I was told “be good, you’ll go to heaven”. Well, I stopped believing in God when I was around 13/14. Where does that leave those of us who gave up on religion and higher powers? I’ll tell you where it leaves me: lying in bed every night thinking of this ultimate darkness. This big empty space.

Most of my friends are atheists and they’re very rational and logical in their thinking. They believe when you die, that’s it, you cease to exist, you’re in the ground. The end. That way of thinking scares the shit out of me. How can it be possible that we go through all of this pain and heartbreak in life and all we get at the end of it is nothing? What was the point?

Is there a point?

I know I’ve talked about this before. My lack of faith, my fear of nothingness. However, with the pandemic, and the shootings running rampant in Philadelphia, it’s on my mind a lot more than I’d like. Those shootings, those sudden deaths, I have a hard time reconciling those in my mind. Those people are standing on the street, talking, laughing with their friends and the next second, they’re gone. How does anyone deal with this?

Most people probably don’t think about it as often as I do. Most people can distract themselves. Unfortunately, I’m not most people. Once my brain latches onto an idea, it takes a near miracle for me not to run it through my mind until I’ve thought of every possible scenario. I genuinely envy people who have faith. Whatever they have faith in, whatever their religion is, I envy how they can believe it and trust it completely.

One person in particular comes to my mind. Late-night host Stephen Colbert. Stephen has always been vocal about his belief in God. He’s also someone who has been through true tragedy in his life. I love listening to him talk to other celebrities who think differently than he does. Ricky Gervais is a very outspoken atheist. Andrew Garfield seems to more on a spiritual level and has the belief that we’ll never know anything for sure. Stephen is never judgmental towards these people. He’s open and his discussions with them are thoughtful and honest. If only we could all speak to each other with the same level of respect.

I guess I’m wondering, if you’ve given up on organized religion and the idea of a one true “God”, what else can you have faith in? When people ask me if I’m religious or if I still follow Catholicism, I say I’m not religious, but I like to believe I’m spiritual. This is true. I might not believe in pearly gates or saints or angels or whatever else the Bible publicizes but I do believe the people we’ve lost aren’t completely gone. I think I have to believe this. I have to believe the family I’ve lost is still around.

Is it enough though? Is a vague belief in spirituality enough to push me through? Is it enough to keep me going? Is it enough to calm my mind at the end of the day? Is it enough to believe when I’m gone that I won’t be completely gone? Is that how I’m going to make the idea of death okay? Sixteen years of Catholic school and thirty-two years on this planet and I still have no idea.

Rationally, I know none of this matters. Not in the grand scheme of things because once we’re gone, none of this debate, none of this wondering will mean anything. I have no control over any of this. Which is probably why I’m so fixated on trying to understand. I don’t do well when things are out of my control.

What matters, what truly matters, is what we do on this earth while we have the time. I know this, logically. But how much time do we have left? How much time do we spend doing frivolous things? Or maybe nothing is frivolous if it’s something you enjoy. I enjoy going to the movies, I’m not changing the world, but I’m happy in those two hours in a darkened theater. Is that okay? It has to be, right? It’s my life and it is literally the only one I have so shouldn’t I fill it with things I love? Or should we be filling our lives by doing for others or trying to make small changes in the world?

Perhaps it’s both. In doing for others, in making those small changes, you can also find happiness within yourself.

The truth is, I have no idea why we’re here. Or where we’ll be when we leave. Sometimes that unknown won’t let me sleep at night.

I apologize if I’ve sent some of you into an existential crisis on this Saturday morning, eight days into the new year. However, I’m also unapologetic because I know I can’t be alone in all of this. If my questioning makes you feel less alone then I’m glad I wrote this. I’m also glad I wrote this because it means it’s out of my head for a while and I can go on with my day.

If you want to share your thoughts on these topics, please feel free to do so in the comment section. If you do have faith, if you do believe in something bigger than yourself, please hold onto it. Take comfort in it. Never let it go because once you do, it’s incredibly difficult to try and find it again.

The 80s to a 2000s Girl

I was sitting at dinner recently and I made a comment about how I spent my teen years, ages 13-18, in my bedroom avoiding people and watching movies. One of the people at this dinner said, “That explains so much.” Now, I know what he meant by it and I know he said “jokingly”. You know those people who laugh at the end of an insulting sentence to make it seem like it was a joke? I’m sure you’ve met a couple of those in your life.

He meant it because I’m not one for sharing my emotions and I’m not a very social person. Keep in mind, this guy only knows me in one context and has absolutely no idea what I’m like in my personal life. And yet, I took his words and internalized them as I often do when someone makes a flip remark geared towards me.

As a teenager, I never felt quite right anywhere. I was out of place at my Catholic all girls high school where they were talking about going drinking in the woods, clothes, the mall, and the guys they were hooking up with. My neighborhood friends, who I’ve known since I was 7 years old, were always there for me but I still felt out of place because they all seemed cooler, smarter, and more mature than I was at the time. Hindsight, of course, is 20/20 and the truth is no one had any idea what the hell they were doing in their teen years and everyone was too terrified to mention it.

So, I went to my room. Where I escaped to my movies and books. I’m pretty sure the first time I saw The Breakfast Club was on TBS where the word “Flip” was used to cover up the cursing and basically made the movie unwatchable. Regardless, I was hooked. I started watching every 80s movie I could get my hands on and continued to watch them over and over. Especially John Hughes’ movies. Then someone mentioned the term “Brat Pack” and I started researching all of the actors who fell into this category and began watching their films.

I was in love. With the scripts, the actors, the soundtracks, all of it. Friendly reminder, this was around 2004-2006. I should’ve been fawning over Leonardo DiCaprio and Orlando Bloom (and I was sometimes) but my heart belonged to Andrew McCarthy, Judd Nelson, Rob Lowe, and Emilio Estevez. St. Elmo’s Fire was the greatest movie I had ever seen (much to the horror of my movie buff father).

I felt a special connection with the character of Kevin in St. Elmo’s Fire, played wonderfully by Andrew McCarthy. He wanted to be a writer, he was sarcastic and cynical, he gave off this air of not caring when he cared more deeply than anyone else. As a child, I thought being an actor was a great career choice and genuinely wanted it but my crippling fear of being in front of other people put an end to that real quick. Instead, I found where I was comfortable, behind a keyboard. Writing and pouring every emotion I have into words I could never quite bring myself to say.

I don’t remember the exact circumstances but a friend of mine, Ben, when we were in college met Andrew McCarthy and asked him for his autograph to give to me. It’s still one of my most prized possessions and something I hold on to, to remember how the Brat Pack were my best friends for a long period of my life. When I heard he was writing a book, I immediately pre-ordered it (a signed copy obviously).

Today I read Andrew McCarthy’s book, brat: an 80s story. And once again, I felt this connection to a person I never met. In the first chapter he writes about his previous book, “More specifically still, it became a book about how I would come to terms with two very disparate notions that resided firmly inside me—namely, a strong yearning for solitude and an equally strong yet seemingly incompatible desire for a deep and intimate loving connection with another human being.” Sure Andrew, just pull out one of the deepest secrets I keep close to my chest and write it for the whole world! It’s quite possibly the hardest aspect of life I struggle with and I have to fight against my instinct to hide away every single day. It was nice hearing I wasn’t the only one.

Throughout the book he talks about fame and his struggles with insecurity and addiction during the 80s. I was born on the tail end of ’89 and yet I still classify the 80s as my favorite decade for film which is why I devour any books from actors who worked during that time. Andrew wanted to be known for his work, he wanted to be great at his job, but all the fame and attention accompanying it was difficult to deal with. I relate to this on such a deep level. If anyone throws a compliment my way, I feel pride but then instantly look at the ground and wish for it to swallow me whole so people won’t look at me.

It’s difficult to want to be known for something yet be terrified of the praise and feel the need to self-sabotage instead. I think it’s something a lot of people struggle with but once again, not something being spoken about on a regular basis.

I have every line of Andrew’s from St. Elmo’s Fire memorized. This is my favorite one, “Love. You know what love is? Love is an illusion created by lawyer types like yourself to perpetuate another illusion called marriage to create the reality of divorce and then the illusionary need for divorce lawyers.” I’ll admit being exposed to this type of cynicism when I was 15 years old didn’t exactly help my social skills. It’s still a damn good line.

It’s interesting reading how actors feel about their films. I’ve known for years the ending to Pretty in Pink was not the original ending. As I said, I’m a super 80s movie fan and I knew the original script has Duckie and Andie together. Andrew talks about reading the script for the first time on his way to film it and having an immediate adverse reaction to the ending. Luckily, the test audience felt the same way and they had to reshoot it (thank god for the fans).

It was interesting to learn John Hughes wanted Andrew for Some Kind of Wonderful which is my second favorite John Hughes movie. Andrew was smart enough not to take it since he’s right in saying it’s basically Pretty in Pink with the genders reversed. I think I love it so much because Mary Stuart Masterson was my hero tomboy figure from the 80s, when I was growing up in the 2000s and the girls on TV were getting skinnier and skinnier and harder and harder to live up to.  

Reading Andrew’s book brought back the nostalgia of my teens. He explains this perfectly when he writes, “And it’s not just the work: maybe now, more importantly, it is the memory of the work that’s so valuable to people. Because in the memory of those movies exists a touchstone of youth, of when life was all ahead, when the future was a blank slate, when anything was possible.”

Yes, I spent a good deal of my teen years in my room watching movies made twenty years previously and some people might say it made me anti-social. Or say I should have been out being a “real teenager”, whatever the hell that means. But in my room, with those movies, with those scripts, with those deep feelings of being seen for the first time, that’s when I realized my words could make an impact. My words mattered. My feelings mattered.

The “Brat Pack” was originally a derogatory term thrown at a bunch of young actors to make them seem like spoiled jerks. To me, in the early 2000s, they were the people I relied on when nothing else seemed to make sense. For that, I am eternally grateful to Andrew McCarthy, John Hughes, and all the other members of 80s cinema who made me feel important.

Time

I’ve always had a weird fascination with time. It’s a love/hate relationship to be honest. This year, especially, time seems to be the only thing occupying my mind. I’ve said to several of my friends how 2020 feels like the longest year in existence, but at the same time, it’s already August. How is that possible? Now, I’m rapidly approaching 31 and I have no clue how it happened.

I used to measure time through school. Easy enough. In grade school, I still had to get through high school and college. In high school, it felt like four years lasted fifty. In college, it felt like four years lasted thirteen seconds. Then I left college and I have absolutely no clue where the past nine years have gone.

Being a writer has always been a definite in my head. It’s what I’ve done since I was little kid. I’ve kept journals my whole life. I’ve written copious amount of fiction, fanfiction, narrative nonfiction, etc. It’s something I do every single day in some form or another.

I used to put all these time limits on my life. For instance, by the time I was 25 I wanted to be a published writer. When I hit 25 and wasn’t published, the amount of guilt and self-hate I threw on myself was enough to drown me. So, I set a new goal, I’ll be published by the time I’m 30. Well looky here, 31 is less than a month and still no closer. The problem is with the expectations. Things take time. Writing takes time. I might write every single day but it doesn’t mean everything I write is good. It doesn’t mean it’s worth anyone’s time to read it.

Putting time limits on your life, on your goals, it’s a good way to set yourself up for failure and to feeling like a failure. Life is so unpredictable. Things get in the way, deadlines are moved, other things take priority and there’s nothing wrong with that. We have to adapt. I’ve been on this earth for almost 31 years and I’m not a published writer which is something I’ve wanted my entire life. Yes, that breaks my heart a little bit BUT I still write. Every. Single. Day. That’s the part I love. That’s the part I can’t live without. That’s the part that matters. It’s taken me years to come to terms with this and there are days where I still hate it but then I write about it and I feel better. I hope it makes someone else feel better too. I hope you know that as long as you keep doing the thing you love, it doesn’t matter how long it takes for other people to notice it or if anyone notices at all, because you know. You know you’re doing what’s best for you.

Running out of time is my worst fear. It runs side by side with my thoughts of death. The fears of dying and not having left anything behind. Not having left a mark on the world. Not having mattered. What have I contributed if I’m not published? That’s the crap that runs through my mind all the time. It has to stop. We have to stop thinking about things we can’t control. Things in the future, however far into the future they may be, we can’t control any of it.

This past year I’ve been working so hard on not dwelling on the past and not obsessing about the future. It’s difficult because I’m the person who remembers something embarrassing that happened to me five years ago and instantly feels embarrassed all over again. I’m also the person who can’t stop thinking about death and how people can be wiped off the earth in a second. Then nothing. There’s nothing. It’s the nothing that’s the most horrifying.

Here’s what I’ve been trying to do to combat all of this nonsense in my head. I have to live in the moment I’m in. Not feel embarrassed about dumb things I did five years ago. Not worry about what my life will look like in ten years. Enjoy the moment I’m in. Granted, it’s difficult because 2020 is basically one massive garbage fire but I’ve been able to counteract that. I’ve given more to charity in the past five months than I’ve given in my whole life. It sounds like I’m bragging but it’s more about how good it made me feel to give back. To do SOMETHING, in a time where most of us feel paralyzed. I don’t have much, I’m not rolling in money, but if I can give Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon a portion of my check every month, then I can sure as hell give $25 to the Equal Justice Initiative every month. I can give money to Until Freedom. I can give money to the causes I believe in.

Those are the things I can do. Those are things that help others. That’s how I’ll be able to sleep at night. One of the most detrimental phrases is “There’s nothing I can do”. There’s always something to be done. Compliment someone. Don’t say out loud the judgmental comment you have floating around in your head. Give five bucks to the charity of your choice.

That’s where I find happiness. In those small moments where we can give back. That’s where time is on our side. We’re here, we’re a part of a historical year and I want to be on the right side of it. I want to help. Time can go quicker than we’d like but you have this moment, right now, the one you’re in. I hope you use your moment to do something to make yourself happy and who knows? Maybe the thing making you happy, might bring joy someone else as well.

Equal Justice Initiative: https://eji.org/

Until Freedom: https://untilfreedom.com/

Law Enforcement Accountability Project: http://www.leapaction.org/

Books for Children Exposed to Domestic Violence: https://www.facebook.com/donate/2406311603003411/10158328087541224/

Color of Change: https://colorofchange.org/

5 Months. 8 Paragraphs. 13 Bullets.

I’m not sure where I start with this post. The last five months of my life have flickered by like lightening. Sometimes the days feel like they’re barely moving at all but then you start to add things up and it goes from being a heat wave at the end of August to Valentine’s Day in the blink of an eye. I don’t know if there’s a point to this post other than the fact that I need to write it down so I can stop dwelling on all of it.

I don’t talk to people much about my problems., there’s maybe a handful I confide in. I tell my Mom everything. There’s one friend I talk to every day, she gets the brunt of this and I appreciate the hell out of her. Then there’s friends at work who see me when I’m melting down and they can usually pull me out of a funk better than most.

I write it all out. That’s how I cope. It’s how I can step back, look at the issue, and see if I handled it like a normal person or completely overreacted.

Here’s the cliffnotes version of everything that’s happened since August 16th.

• Bought a house (exciting and nerve wracking)

• Turned 30 (horrible, still not coping, and no one seems to really understand)

• My nephew was born (the brightest point in this whole thing)

• Received sexually explicit texts and photos from multiple unknown numbers for three months

• Contracted shingles due to stress a week before Thanksgiving

• One of the windows of my new house was shattered the DAY before Thanksgiving and three days before we held my Mom’s 60th birthday party there

• My brother, sister-in-law, and I threw my Mom her 60th birthday and that was actually a blast and she loved it

• Went to two funerals

• Multiple people in my family were diagnosed with cancer

• My brother, sister-in-law, and I took my nephew and my Mom for their first trip to Hershey Park (cold but so much fun)

• Rang in the new year/decade single and sad like I have for the last ten years

• For an entire week in January my heart would flutter every 15-30 seconds for hours on end probably due to underlying stress and anxiety, but I’ll find out after I see a doctor

• I gained 15lbs over the course of four months (stress eating) and can’t get it off

I mean, come on, that’s seems like overkill. I understand life has peaks and valleys, but this is a bit excessive for a short amount of time. If all of this happened over the course of a year then I’d probably think nothing of it. Most of that took place between mid-October and mid-December!

I know other people have worse problems. I’m not one of those people who joins in weird competitions of complaining to see who has the shittiest luck. No one has good luck, everyone has problems. Big or small, they’re personal, and there’s no need to measure your problems against someone else’s. If it upsets you, then it’s meaningful and it matters.

My nephew was born on the anniversary of my Grandmother’s death. My Grandmother and I didn’t have the best relationship, which is putting it lightly. I like to think she sent my nephew on that particular day as an apology. Like “I know I was awful to you, here’s something wonderful for you to enjoy”. And he is wonderful and perfect and adorable. Through all the chaos of the last five months, seeing him on the weekends makes it tolerable. Watching him grow and change and develop gives me something to look forward to in this insane mayhem of life. Oh, and before you even start, no, he does not in any way make me want to have children. He cried and screamed for a straight half hour the one day and I almost put my head through a wall. I’ll keep renewing my birth control, thanks.

Through all of this, I still enjoyed Christmas. The bright spot of every single year for me. I love it like a little kid does. I have a countdown to it on my phone every year starting on January 1st. Some years it’s harder than others to get into the Christmas spirit but I force myself to do it because it’s worth it. I hope it’ll always be worth it.

In conclusion, if I could get a month where NOTHING HAPPENS, that’d be great. Even if it’s February, the shortest month of the year, I’ll take it.

Self-Help/Self-Hell

                I read self-help books. There’s an interesting stigma around these types of books. I remember one instance in Pop Culture so clearly. In Sex and the City, after Charlotte’s divorce, they’re all in Barnes and Noble and Charlotte is looking for a book called “Starting Over Yet Again”. As she walks towards the self-help section, Carrie’s voice narrates: “The Self-Hell Aisle”. Charlotte was ashamed of wanting/needing to read this book, so she bolted from the aisle and ordered it online instead. Later, she threw the book out the window. When I was twenty something, this was hilarious. Now, at thirty, this is a gross overreaction.

                Let’s face it, as a species, we do not like to ask for help. We don’t like to admit we’re wrong. We don’t like to admit we’re failing. We don’t like to admit WE might be the problem. All these things fly directly in the face of what self-help books try to teach you. I think that’s a common misconception about these books though. They’re not there to tell you everything you’ve been doing incorrectly in your life. They’re there to point out how you can do what you’re already doing in a better and healthier way. They also help curve your negative habits and give you ways to cope.

                My self-help book interest came when a friend of mine bought me the book “Zen as F*ck: A Journal for Practicing the Mindful Art of Not Giving a Sh*t” by Monica Sweeney. Oh man, I love this book. Mostly because I give a shit about EVERYTHING and I’ve spent most of my life trying to calm down and not care. One of the reasons I loved this book so much is because it’s a journal and it gives you different exercises to do. For instance, you write down all your worries or all the negative thoughts you have about yourself and then you take your pen and cross out each one of them. It gives you a sense of physically getting rid of those negative thoughts by striking through them.

                I enjoy the activities in self-help books. It makes me feel like I’m learning and doing something to help myself, which is the whole point.

                The next book I bought was: “I Am Here Now: A Creative Mindfulness Guide and Journal” by The Mindfulness Project. This one I found very interesting. I’m not a person who notices a lot of things around them like nature. I notice people, I enjoy observing people and their behavior and I’m also very wrapped up in my own thoughts, so I don’t notice other things. This book is all about calming your mind and focusing on something you’ve been taking for granted. For instance, if you go for a walk, don’t take your headphones. Instead, listen to the sounds around you. Birds, the wind, traffic, other people. Be in the moment. Don’t think about the 400 other things you have to do that day. Stop, breathe, focus on what is happening RIGHT NOW. This is hard for me because I find it difficult to turn off my brain but I tried and I did the exercises and I found it informative and calming.

                The book I’m currently reading is called, “You Are A Badass Every Day” by Jen Sincero. I’m only on page 50 but I’m loving it.

                Here’s the thing, this year has been a lot for me. I bought a house which was a HUGE decision. It’s a decision I was ready and prepared and wanted to make but still, parting with a large sum of money you’ve spent YEARS cultivating is enough to send anyone into a panic attack. And it did, multiple times. I love my house though. I love and am proud that I was able to purchase a house on my own.

                Right after, and I mean literally a few weeks after I bought my house, I turned thirty. I did NOT handle thirty well at all. I’m still not handling it very well. Because although I did this awesome thing by purchasing a house, I’m still thirty and alone.

                In other words, my anxiety levels have never been higher than this past summer. Not to mention, I’ve put on ten pounds since May and I am FURIOUS about it. I worked my ass off to be down into the low 170s and now I’m back in the 180s and I could literally scream every single morning I step on the scale. One big way to stop that would be to NOT step on the scale every single morning but that’s impossible for me. I’m well aware I did this to myself. I eat my feelings and I know it.

                The weight gain and the anxiety have been unbearable lately. Thus, the self-help books. I need help. I hate saying it, I hate admitting it, I hate NEEDING it. I’m an independent person, I don’t like to ask for help because I feel as if I should be able to handle, deal, and fix my problems by myself. That’s not reality though. Everyone needs help, everyone needs to feel heard, everyone needs to realize you can’t do everything by yourself all the time.

                One of my biggest issues is my brain overthinking. I tend to think out every possible scenario of a situation, so I’m prepared for any outcome. I know this is a problem and I actively fight against it. In Jen Sincero’s book, she writes, “Clinging to fear, doubt, and worry doesn’t protect you from things you’re fearing, doubting, and worrying about anyway-- but it does make you experience your worst-case scenario before it happens, if it even happens at all. It’s like hitting yourself in the head with a rock all day so you can be prepared in case something falls out of the sky and hits you in the head…All worrying will do is make you live through misery twice.”.

                Now, obviously not worrying about something is easier said than done but having that association of hitting yourself in the head with a rock is helpful for me. If I start to spiral, I can think of that and how silly it is and how I’m hurting myself by worrying constantly.

                I also have these horrible thoughts sometimes about death. It’s been happening more frequently. I’ll be sitting at work or at home doing something and BOOM, I’ll have a thought of, “Jesus, I could die today and I will have done nothing with my life”. Or BOOM “I could die today and that’s it. I’m done. I’m gone. I will never walk, talk, laugh, or see my family ever again. I’ll vaporize and be nothing but a memory.” DO YOU SEE WHY I NEED HELP!? I probably also need faith in some kind of afterlife but that’s a different topic for a different day.

                Anyway, Jen Sincero writes, “…remember that you can move this thought out as quickly as you allowed it in”. What? That’s a possibility? Because when I have thoughts like this, I dwell on them for HOURS until they torture me. The thought of being able to stop, breathe, find something else to focus on honestly never occurred to me. Also, my two biggest problems, the overthinking and the awful thoughts, feed off one another. I have one bad thought, I’m going to overthink it to death.

                The idea of being able to stop the thoughts and move onto something else, something that brings me joy, is new to me and you can be damn sure I’m going to try it every chance I get.

                I let things overpower me: thoughts, people, the world. I let them in and then I let them take control of my mind. Being told I can move them out as quickly as I let them in is a huge deal.

                Now, what can we learn from all of this? As much as my Irish and Italian heritage is telling me to bury all the bad things deep, deep, deep down until I die, I can’t. It will eat me alive if I do. It’s okay to read self-help books. If you buy the ones with exercises, they’re enjoyable and give you more of an eye-opening experience when you see what you’re thinking and feeling written out right in front of you. Obviously, you have to find the right one for you because certain things don’t work for everyone so try a few out and see what you can get from them.

                I’m not saying these things are a magic cure all. As with everything in life, it only works if you put the work into it. It’s okay to need help. It’s okay to not be okay all the time. Working on bettering yourself is not something to ashamed of; people work on their bodies to look better, you need to work on your mind to feel better.

                The self-help section is not a self-hell section. Self-hell is where I currently live and I’m consistently working on my way out.

Seasonal Depression in Spring/Summer

                The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, the days are longer, and I couldn’t be more miserable if I tried. Clearly, I’m not a doctor and I dislike doing research which means everything you’re about to read is from my personal experience and shouldn’t be taken as gospel on any subject.

                For those of you who are asking yourselves, “How can you possibly be depressed in such beautiful weather?” Be patient, I’m about to tell you. Yes, the weather is beautiful TO YOU. To me? Beautiful weather is gloomy skies, a chill in the air, and the threat of precipitation in any form. Unfortunately, for the next four months I must deal with ungodly high temperatures, sunburn, and sweating my ass off. Not my idea of a good time.

                There’s more to it than the general annoyances we all endure in the Spring and Summer. As I said, the days are longer and I don’t handle this well. To me, longer days means more time alone in my apartment. More alone time is NOT what I need right now. I’ve been taking naps almost every single day when I come home from work. I feel exhausted for no reason and taking naps makes the day go faster so I can go back to bed. I measure time by how much longer until I can crawl into my bed. Three more hours, two more hours, FINALLY!

                Depression runs deep on both sides of my family. However, I’m 50% Italian and 50% Irish so no one talks about anything. I’m the chatterbox in my family, the one who refuses to keep their mouth shut, the one who says what everyone else is too afraid to say. I have to talk about this because if I don’t then it only becomes worse and I sink deeper.

                Let me explain how I feel in the Spring/Summer. For one thing, I have a very difficult time sleeping at night. If I’m even the least bit hot I wake up and can’t fall back to sleep. If I wake up in the middle of the night and the birds are already chirping, I can’t get back to sleep unless I put ear plugs in and even then, it’s iffy. My apartment has central air but it doesn’t circulate well (especially in 90 degree weather) and I spent most of last summer sleeping on the floor of my living room. Not fun.

                Then there’s the whole clothing aspect of the warmer months. If you know me at all, you know I struggle with my weight and have for much of my life. Now it’s shorts, tank tops, and bathing suit weather. I would rather burrow into a hoodie, jeans, and under six blankets than wear those things. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made unbelievable progress over the past two-three years and I don’t just mean on the scale. Yes, I’ve lost almost 40lbs. But I’ve also reached a place where I can look in a mirror and not immediately cringe or cry because even though I’m still big, I’m happier and that’s more important than the number on the scale.

                Honestly, I am doing much better, but I hit my biggest setbacks in the Spring and Summer. I’ve gained some weight back and it’s completely derailed me. It’s not a lot of weight but that never seems to matter, does it? All we see is a bigger number and it sets us off. Hell, I even managed to keep my weight steady during the holidays but as soon as Spring hits, it’s up again.

                Sometimes I genuinely sabotage myself. When I see a higher number, my first thoughts are, “Oh fuck it then, I’m going to eat whatever I want. Screw this. It’s not worth it. It’s never going to be worth it. You’re always going to be fat, come to terms with it and do whatever you want.” Logically, I’m aware this is a TERRIBLE overreaction but it’s the easy reaction. Giving up is so easy and it feels SO good. For about a week before the self-loathing kicks in again. I’ve tried incredibly hard over the years to turn those thoughts around and not let myself ruin everything I’ve done. It’s tough to be kind to ourselves.

                Obviously, with all these thoughts running through my head the last thing I want to do is put on a pair of shorts or sit by the pool. There are very few people in my life (mostly my best friends) who have seen me in shorts, even fewer people have seen me in sleeveless shirts. Sleeveless shirts…I mean WHY?! Why is this a thing? I HATE them. Well, that’s not true, I hate my arms. I hate my arms more than any other part of my body and I’d be perfectly content to never let another human being see them. It’s bad enough I have to see them.

                Are you starting to get it? Are you starting to understand why someone with these types of thoughts wouldn’t exactly thrive in the warmer weather?

                You might be saying to yourself, “Shouldn’t this warmer weather motivate you to work harder to achieve the results you desire?” Here’s my answer: NOPE. In fact, I have the exact opposite reaction. I want to hide. I want to hide away until the leaves start to fall. You know why? Because every time I try to set a goal for myself like “Oh I want to lose five pounds before July”, if that doesn’t happen, the disappoint sets me back MONTHS and then I’m miserable again.

                I’m already hard on myself. I beat myself up harder than anyone else. For instance, my Dad took a picture of me when I wasn’t paying attention and I was making a funny face in it. He sent me the picture, with absolutely no harm intended in any way, and I started crying. Because I had no neck, I had 18 chins and that’s ALL I could see. I told him, “Oh my god, delete that immediately and never show it to me again. That’s disgusting.” I called a picture of my own face “disgusting” and I meant it. Can you imagine what runs through my mind when I see a picture of myself in shorts and a sleeveless top?

                I wish I had solutions for any of this. I wish the first thoughts in my head weren’t always negative. I wish I didn’t care what other people think. I wish I thought better of myself. Don’t we all wish to think better of ourselves?

                These upcoming months are my worst. These are the months where every insecurity I have is amplified to the highest degree. I still have good days. I have days where I laugh and smile and have a great time.

                The reason I wrote this is because I want people to be mindful that not everyone loves Spring and Summer. Not everyone wants to sit on a beach all day. Not everyone wants to dress weather appropriate. Try to keep that in mind before you say something like, “Oh my god, aren’t you dying in those jeans?” Yeah, I am sweating in them but they’re also the only reason I’m standing outside right now and not lying in bed so give me a break.

                It’s rough for me right now. It’s rough for a lot of people.

                Be kind to yourselves and I promise I’ll try to do the same.

Writing Prompt #3: If you could go back in time exactly 10 years and give yourself some advice, what would you tell yourself?

                Exactly 10 years ago, I was 19, quickly approaching 20 which means I was a sophomore at Holy Family University. I’m trying to think about what my state of mind was like back then. I could probably pull out my old journals to cheat and see what was going on with me but I won’t. I remember thinking twenty was a dumb age to reach because you’re no longer a teenager but you’re not 21 so who cares?

                Knowing myself though, I can tell you I was still overweight at 19. Most definitely in the 190-200lb range, if not more. I was probably wearing old shirts from my brother and my Dad because shopping was a nightmare and I’d rather look man-ish instead of braving the mirrors of a dressing room.

                My friends ten years ago are almost identical to who they are now. My core group of friends which consists of mostly men and my best female friend. Then there were the people I saw occasionally but still cared about, also the same people as now. Not to mention, my school friends. By sophomore year, I was in the same classes with the same six to eight people and we all became close (only talk to a couple of them now).

                I did get rid of one completely toxic human being from my life. Almost exactly a year before, around Spring Break when I was 18, I had to cut this person out. I had known him since I was kid and he became my best friend the last few years of high school. In college, we had a huge blowout where he said awful, horrific things to me so I said we’re done. Once and for all. It was the first time I ever did this to someone and to this day, I believe it to be one of the best decisions of my life.

                Advice. I’m supposed to be giving advice to almost 20-year-old Veronica. Well, my first piece of advice would be to have a more fun in college. I think because I was so traumatized from high school being the worst four years of my life, I was expecting college to be more of the same. It wasn’t, thank god. Once I was in my core classes for my English major, I found my fellow nerds and it felt so much easier to relax around them. However, I was still tense from the pressure of having maintain my scholarship. My skin was at its absolute worst in college from stress acne.

                My second piece of advice would be to not care so much about what other people think. I spent a lot of time in college trying to be smarter, wittier, cooler than I actually am. I don’t know if it’s because I was around new people and wanted to be a new person or if I was massively insecure about who I was. No wait, I know exactly which one of those it was. I was massively insecure- 100%. When you’re insecure and self-conscious about who you are, you try to adapt to the people around you because they seem more confident. They’re not. Everyone’s insecure. It’ll help you a lot if you keep repeating that to yourself whenever you’re starting to sink.

                Here’s my last piece of advice and this isn’t actually coming from me. One of my oldest and best friends once said this to me when I was having an incredibly low day. Be kind to yourself. Now, this isn’t just for 19-year-old Veronica. This is something I still have to say to myself constantly.  My whole life I have held myself to this higher expectation. It’s not pressure my parents ever put on me or my teachers or anyone except myself. There are certain aspects of my life where I’m always telling myself: you can do better than that. I’m the queen of beating myself up. It’s why when someone does put me down or says something horrible to me, I internalize it so deeply because I’ve already said the same horrible thing to myself a thousand times. You don’t need to judge me when I judge myself harsher than anyone else ever could.

                Be kind to yourself. I get so angry, back then and now, whenever I can’t do something. Whenever I can’t figure something out. Whenever I see other people having an easier time doing something that I find difficult. I berate myself as if it’s the end of the world and it’s NOT. It is not the end of the world if you screw up. It’s so important to remember that. The world will not come to a crashing halt if you don’t do something the way you were supposed to or if you did something incorrectly, or if it’s taking you longer to do something than others. In the words of mother, “Relax. It’ll get done.”

                In conclusion, 19 almost 20-year-old Veronica, here is my advice:

                Be kind to yourself.

                Relax.

                It’ll get done.

Writing Prompt #2: Does religion play an important role in your life? Why or why not?

                Religion. I have such a love/hate relationship with religion. It played a very important role in my childhood and adolescence. I went through 8 years of Catholic grade school and 4 years of Catholic high school. I also did 4 years at a Catholic college but that’s because they gave me the most money for a scholarship.

                Catholicism at its core is ridiculous to me. You’re telling a bunch of CHILDREN to be good and they’ll go to heaven. But if they’re bad, they’ll go to hell. NO PRESSURE, KIDS! Get out of here with that crap. Catholicism is all about putting the fear of God into people. You want me to fear God but also to obey him in every way? No thanks, I’m good.

                Let’s separate God from religion and talk about whether or not I believe in God instead. It’s taken me years to decide what I do and do not believe, and the truth is, I’m still not entirely sure. I used to say I toed the line between Agnostic and Atheist. I dangled between believing in something and not believing in anything.

                I’d say it started after my Grandpop died. He was my favorite person and he died the summer before I turned 14. The summer before high school, the four years where I think I could’ve used him the most. My Grandpop was religious. I mean, he went to Church and he prayed and he believed in God. He truly believed which always astounds me when I meet someone who wholeheartedly believes in God. When he died, I was so damn angry. Angry the God he trusted and believed in so much would take him from his family.

                After his death, Church became useless to me and God was nothing more than a pain in my ass. Especially because my Mom believes in God. Even after her father died, even after her best friend died, even after her cousin who was like a sister to her died. She still believes. How? Why? In what?!

                In my late teens, my Mom was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. That’s when I basically threw my hands up in the air and said, ‘screw it’. There’s nothing and no one looking out for us. If there was, they wouldn’t do this to my mother. Not to mention the fact that the world is terrifying. The gun violence, the rapists, the murderers, etc. It makes it impossible for me to believe there’s a God watching over us.

                Now wait, I know some of you believers are probably getting sick of me talking about how much I don’t believe but stay with me here. As I’ve aged, my views on this have altered slightly. I’ll be thirty this year (I’m not handling it well) and if you met most of my friends, they’re all atheists and they would love to talk to you about it. They’ll tell you when you die, you die, that’s it. You cease to exist, you are nothing but a dead body in the ground. The end.

                Um… does that not freak anyone else out?! I can barely think about it for too long because it gives me insane anxiety. That’s it? When we die, we’re just gone? Life is over and it won’t have ever mattered whether you lived or died because now you’re gone. You cease to exist. But about souls? Do we have souls? If we do, do they move on somewhere else? Where is this place? Is it a nice place or it is a place Dante himself could only write about?

                I think about death way too much. I mean WAY too much. It crosses my mind at least once or twice a day. Not only my death but other people I know and their death. If I don’t believe in anything, then the assumption is when I die, there’s nothingness. I don’t know how you feel, but I do NOT like the sound of that.

                Here’s what I’ve come up with: I don’t believe in anything, but I desperately wish I did. I think I would be able to sleep better if I had something to believe in. But I can’t believe in the Christian God, I can’t. It’s too farfetched, it’s too out there for me.

                When someone asks me if I’m religious, I always say “I’m spiritual, not religious”. I do believe in spirits because I’m not naïve to think human beings and animals are the only things on this earth and in our vast cosmos. In times of crisis, when other people pray to their gods, I pray to my Grandpop. I believe no matter where he is, heaven, hell, or another spiritual plane, he can hear me no matter what. I have to believe in that, at the very least, to get through the day.

                I don’t know what to believe in. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to believe in anything having to do with gods or religions.

                All I know is, I struggle with my beliefs and my faith because I’m not sure I have either one anymore.  

Writing Prompt #1- What would you like to put in storage?

Hello there.

It’s been a while since we last spoke. My fault, of course, for my lack of commitment and the general insanity and unpredictability of life.

Anyway, we’re going to try something different this year. A while ago (June 24th, 2016 to be precise), I bought a book called 300 Writing Prompts (published by Piccadilly). I’ve barely made a dent in those 300 and I thought now might be the perfect time to start. However, instead of only writing them in the book, I’ve decided to also write them here.

Starting with today. New year…well, new year, same me but we’re going to give this a try and hope for the best. Here goes nothing:

Writing Prompt #1: What would you like to put in storage?

All of my old childhood toys. My Grandmom would buy me a new collectible Barbie doll every year either for my birthday or for Christmas. I still have all of them, some in worse condition than others. I didn’t understand the whole concept of “collectible” as a child and I would try to pry quite a few of them out of the box. This is something that’s carried into my adulthood as well since those Pop Vinyl things are also collectibles and yet the entire Breakfast Club cast is out of the box and gathered on my cubicle at work.

I have other favorite toys. My stuffed Winnie the Pooh. The very first teddy bear someone ever bought me when I was born. A stuffed Pluto my brother brought me back from his first trip to Disney. My stuffed hush puppy who I dragged around with me everywhere. I loved all of these and I hate how they’re piled on top of each other in a storage container right now. It makes me think of Toy Story and they’re all waiting for me or someone new to come and free them.

I don’t plan on ever having children. *insert gasp of most women my age here* But that’s something I’m 99% sure of in my life. Even so, I don’t want to throw any of these away. The real hope is my brother and sister-in-law will have children. Then slowly, over the years, I’ll introduce those children to my first and oldest best friends and hope they find as much joy in them as I always did.

Until then, occasionally I’ll open the storage container and hug my old friends. Let them know I’m never too far away from them or my childhood self.

Spring

      You probably think, judging by the title, this is going to be a nice upbeat post. Silly ol' bear, don't forget who it is you're dealing with here. 

      I’ve been overly emotional lately (I know, I didn't even ease you into this). It happens occasionally and I usually don’t think about it too much. This time it’s a little out of hand. I’m angry and cursing within seconds of a single frustration. Or something I perceive as an attack (no matter how small) causes a deluge of tears.

      I cry in the car a lot. The car is where my brain tends to run away from me so it makes sense most of my breakdowns would take place there. Not to mention, my car recently broke down and that caused two full hours of non-stop crying in my car at midnight in the freezing cold waiting for a tow truck. That night was preceded by a particular awful day so yeah: EMOTIONAL.

      I was trying to figure out why I was being like this. At first, and this is the god’s honest truth, I thought it might be because I started rewatching Dawson’s Creek. Have you ever watched the Creek? It’s dramatic as hell and there’s a lot of sad episodes. I’ve always felt things too deeply, even when they’re not happening to me. When other people cry or are upset, it’s as if I can feel their pain as deeply as if it was my own. So I figured maybe this show is just hitting me weird, it’s been a while since I’ve watched. It’s a bad reaction or something.

      Then I woke up the other morning at 4:30 to the sounds of birds chirping outside my window. Now if I were a Disney princess and woodland creatures helped me dress in the morning, this might be seen as a plus. I hate it. I HATE the sound of birds chirping. It wakes me up almost instantly and, as I said, I’m instantaneously pissed off. It’s hard to go about your day when you wake up in a furious mood.

                I went to my journal and started writing. Started writing down every little thing that was frustrating me or making me upset. My family, my friends, my job, myself. Myself. Myself. Myself. Then as I was writing, it hit me what was going on. It’s Spring. Again, if I were in a Disney movie, Spring would be a wonderful thing to behold. But jesus Christ, I hate Spring and Summer. They are the worst seasons for me.

                Spring and Summer are usually when terrible things happen in my family. People die a lot in the Spring and Summer. People’s diseases get worse. It’s never good. It’s reached the point where when I look at my phone in the morning, I’m expecting to see a message from someone telling me something awful has happened. My dog will be eleven years old this yearand my worst nightmare is waking up and finding out she died. Which brings me to my other issue: my imagination.

      I do this thing where I can imagine perfectly how something is going to happen. A death, a situation, a fight, whatever. I can see it all as clearly as if it was being projected onto a movie screen. Which means I can live out horrific conversations and situations over and over again BEFORE they even happen. I wish I didn’t do this, I wish I could make it go away. For a long time, I used to consider it a blessing because I could be “prepared” for whatever was going to happen to me. But the truth is, you’re never prepared. I could play the situation three thousand times with different results and I’ll never actually be prepared. It’s as if I have to live through these things repeatedly and it doesn’t help anything. It sure as hell doesn’t help my sanity. There’s nothing I can do to stop the thoughts besides try and find the fastest distraction possible.

      I’ve been watching a lot of stand-up comedy to try and keep my mind occupied. Reading helps too. I’ve been reading more, whether it’s books or fanfiction, they help. Dawson Leery said it best, “I reject reality”. If I can reject it for a few hours then I feel better. Until the next thing sends me spiraling. And I hate it. I hate it so much. I wish I wasn’t like this. As much as I love my imagination, I wish I couldn’t see the worst moments of my life before they happen (some might never happen and I can still see them). I can’t stop them but I can hold them off for a while.

      Writing helps. It usually does. My journal’s been pulled out a lot lately. It helps to have it out of my mind and on paper. This time though, I don’t know, it’s more difficult for some reason. It’s like my default setting is on “Annoyed” and I don’t know how to turn it off.

      For now, I’m going to keep doing what I have been, watching stand-up and sitcoms and trying to do fun things. Starting with the Pink concert on Friday with my Mom. Then going to the movies with my friend on Sunday.

      If there’s one place in the entire world where my brain will actually SHUT UP it’s the inside of a movie theater. My version of church. Everything’s quiet and someone else’s life becomes the main focus for a few hours.

      Perfect.

That's a wrap on 2017...FINALLY

                2017 was a rough year. I’m not going to sit here and list all the reasons why because we all know why. Even if you only pay a little attention to the news, you know this country and other countries took major hits this year. There’s no need to rehash them all. There’s only one I want to comment on and it’s in a positive light.

                To the women of the #MeToo movement: Thank you. Thank you to the women who started it, the women bringing awareness to it, and the women taking part in it. To the women who are still speaking up every single day, you are braver than you realize. To the women who are still suffering in silence, we support you, we love you, and whenever you’re ready, we’ll be there for you. Being a woman in this world is not easy. Speaking up about a time when you felt violated, terrified, and useless is one of the hardest things you can do. I commend every single woman who has gone through it and I stand with you no matter what.

                I’m terrible at transitions so I’m going to keep going without one. Personally, 2017 wasn’t too bad. For the first time in 2-3 years, my family didn’t lose a loved one. I didn’t have to put on black clothes and say goodbye to someone and for that, I’m eternally grateful.

                This year I saw a decent amount of movies. Dunkirk, Beauty and the Beast, and Titanic (released in theaters again for the 20th anniversary) were my favorites.  I also went to three concerts this year. Ed Sheeran- Holy shit. The way this guy can command a stage with only a guitar is astonishing to watch. I’ve never seen anything like it and I can’t wait to see him again next September at the Linc.

                Harry Styles- Such an interesting concert going experience, I’ve already written about it if you want to check it out. His music is beautiful and interesting and his fans are also beautiful and interesting. He pushes people to act with kindness and love. Maybe I’ve softened in my old age but a part of me really thinks this world needs more of this and less hate and bitterness. What? But Veronica, you love bitterness, it fuels you! Yes, I know. I’m growing up. How weird.

                Niall Horan- Or as I call him “My Irish Love”. The lyrics on Niall’s first solo album made me feel connected to music more than I have in years. A few songs I highly recommend: Fire Away, Since We’re Alone, and Mirrors. Actually, no, listen to the whole album. It’s worth it, I swear. I saw Niall at The Fillmore and his opening act was another Irish fella, Gavin James. Both were lovely and a lot of fun to watch. I’m so glad I was able to take part in all three of these concerts because they were different in their music and in the experience itself.

                Twitter highlights (no one is going to care besides me about these but oh well): Rainbow Rowell, one of my favorite authors, favorited a tweet of mine (this is the second time, by the way). Noel Fielding, a hilarious and completely odd British comedian, replied to a tweet of mine. Jonathan Tucker, an actor I adore so much, favorited a tweet of mine. I’m twitter famous! No, not really. These people only liked and replied to my tweets because I mentioned them. I’ve had the same 88 followers on twitter (ahem, @valtimari, hint hint) for two years and I don’t even know 80 of them. Still, it makes me smile.

                I was promoted this year too. The reason this is a big deal is because I can begin my search for a house. Some place I can finally feel settled. One final thing happened this year, it actually took place in the car on my way to work this morning. I had a new book idea. I haven’t had one of those in I don’t know how long. Who knows if it’ll stick or if it’ll be any good but for the first time in a very long time, I was excited about the prospect of writing.

                I don’t really do New Year’s Resolutions. I think if you’re someone like me, who puts way too much pressure on themselves, resolutions are set up to make you feel like a failure if you don’t accomplish them. I never set anything in stone. However… I compiled a list of things that look an awful lot like resolutions. Oh well. They’re more like wishes. Yes, let’s go with that. They’re wishes for 2018.

1.       Buy a house

2.       Cut people more slack

3.       Don’t be so hard on myself

4.       Go to more concerts

5.       Go to more movies

6.       Go on vacation

7.       Write more

8.       Try not to lock myself away as much

9.       Let go of dumb shit

10.   Do everything I can do to make sure 2018 isn’t as much as a disaster as 2017

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Happy New Year!

Love,
Veronica

My Harry Styles Concert Experience

                I never used to be much of a concert person. I’ve seen less than ten in my twenty eight years. I’ve always enjoyed myself but it takes a lot for me to want to shell out the money to see an artist. Which I think makes them more special to me because they’re people I truly love and enjoy and connect to through their lyrics.

                It’s always about lyrics for me. It’s the reader and writer in me. I have to relate, I have to feel something when I hear the song. I usually come across artists through different ways. The same way I go through stages with actors. I’ll watch one movie and then I’ll want to watch everything they’ve ever done and through that, I’ll find more and more actors and so on and so forth.

                Actually, a movie is what brought me to Harry Styles. Christopher Nolan is one of my all-time favorite directors. Over a year ago, he announced his new movie Dunkirk with Tom Hardy and Cillian Murphy (two of my favorites). But Harry Styles’ name popped up in the cast list and I had no clue who the hell he was…because I’m 28 and when he was getting popular from One Direction I was already in college and not listening to any new music. I still very rarely listen to new music.

                But oh YouTube brought me into the world of One Direction and what a world it is. The music is fun and their last two albums were a lot more grown up and easier to relate to. I’m a fan of all of their solo music now.

                Harry released his solo album and two songs stood out to me. Sweet Creature and From the Dining Table. I love them, I love how they feel like classic rock. They’re both ballads but they’re beautiful and you can feel the emotion behind each of them.

                Last night, Harry played Tower Theater in Philly. I was apparently one of the first 1,000 people in line which seems insane to me because it felt like I was behind at least 2,000. But because of this I was given a wristband for the pit area. Never in my life have I been in a pit. It was great at first but then they slowly let in more and more people.

                Right before they lifted his curtain, they all surged forward and I instantly felt like I was being suffocated. I fought my way to stand at the back of the pit and it was amazing. I had room to dance and breathe and I was still less than fifty feet from him.

                I’ll admit, I was a little disappointed in myself for not staying in the pit because I could have been even closer to him but honestly, I’m too old and my anxiety level is too high for that kind of thing. However, the magic of the concert was not lost. I took some pictures and only a couple videos because I looked forward and saw a couple of girls with their phones raised the whole time and I couldn’t believe it. I put mine away and just watched, sang, and danced my heart out. I experienced the concert as fully as I possibly could.

                I’ve never been that close at a concert before and being that close was unbelievable. The best part of the whole show was Harry’s stage presence. He was running around, dancing, and jumping. It was infectious and everyone could feel it. Harry was kind and gracious and so appreciative of everything in front of him.

                The love and camaraderie in the room was palpable and you could especially see it in the sea of pride flags at the concert. I’ve never seen anything like it but it was beautiful and I’m so proud to be part of a generation where inclusion is such a big part of our lives.

                Love is love.

                Harry’s whole slogan is: Treat People With Kindness. You can see how he puts that into the world and how his fans try to do the same thing.

                I could not be happier about my concert going experience last night. So much so that I could barely sleep last night until I could write all this down.

                Thanks, Harry Styles and his entire band, for such an unforgettable night. I can’t wait to see what else he has in store for the music industry.

My 2016

      It’s interesting how many things can change in three hundred and sixty five days.

In 2016:

      I lost my dog, Daphne. Losing an animal is one of the worst pains in the world. And having to watch my other dog, Darla, live without her sister is devastating.

      My grandmother passed away this year forcing me to deal with emotions I’ve spent years burying deep down in my core. Feelings of bitterness, anger, and even hate. Coming to terms with the fact that I grew up with a very different grandmom than my brother did. That’s something I’ve always known but to see his grief, and my parent’s grief…it all became very clear just how different our relationships were with her.

      I lost weight. I gained some of it back. This lifelong battle continues.

      I did gain something else though. I gained a sense of confidence deeper than I’ve ever had in the past. Slowly over the years, my confidence has grown but this year in particular was empowering. I can’t point to one or two events specifically but as a whole, I feel better, happier about who I am and the way I look.

      Unfortunately, everyone has set backs. This year, I took my very first solo vacation. The vacation itself was one of the best experiences of my life and I don’t regret a second of it. Leading up to the vacation though, I constantly had to face this question: “You’re really going by yourself?” The tone of people’s voices, the expression on their faces. It set something off in me. It started off as a joke. I would say, “Well yeah, why not? I do everything else on my own, might as well do this too.”

      My own joke started to hurt. It stirred something inside me I’ve repressed. The horrible fear I’ll end up spending my whole life alone. That this is one of many other instances where I have to be alone because there’s no one else around. Having to go to two weddings by myself this year didn’t exactly help quell this fear.

      You know, 95% of the time I’m perfectly content being on my own. I love living alone with my cat. I love having my privacy and my own space. But then there’s that 5%. The 5% of pitying looks on other people’s faces. The 5% of slow dances at weddings where I hide in the bathroom to avoid having to see everyone being so in love. The 5% of not having someone waiting for me when I get home from saying goodbye to my dog or seeing my grandmom in the hospital. Sometimes the 5% gets the best of me.

      Then I went on my vacation. I traveled to the West Coast and I went all around San Francisco. I did everything on my own timetable. I saw everything I wanted to see and I was able to be a complete geek at a Supernatural convention without feeling judged. I met Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, and Misha Collins. I sat in on Q&A panels for a bunch of the stars. I stayed in one of the nicest hotels and enjoyed every second of it. Like I said, not one regret and I would travel alone again in a heartbeat because I now have the confidence to sit in a restaurant and eat by myself. Because I can talk to anyone about anything. Because I no longer care what other people think of me. Only took me 27 years but better late than never.

      One other big thing happened this year. My big brother asked his girlfriend to marry him on Christmas Day. She said yes and now I’m going to have a sister. I’ve watched my brother go through a lot of girlfriends over the years but I knew the day he brought this one home, she was different. He smiles brighter and laughs harder when she’s around. I couldn’t be happier for the both of them and for my family as a whole.

      I’m specifically avoiding talking about the state of the world at this point because I’d probably never stop talking if I start. The only thing we can do is be decent human beings, raise the future generation to be kind and open-minded, continue to strive towards equal rights for every single person, and teach non-believers about climate change and how it’s a scientific fact.

      If you lost someone in 2016, whether it was a family member or a beloved celebrity, it matters and I am truly sorry for you loss. I hope the next year is one with fewer funerals and less tragedy.

      I’m only asking one thing from 2017. I’m asking to continue to grow as a person. It’s what we should all ask for every day of our lives. Hang on to the things you love. Treat people with respect. Go through life with less judgement of others. Be happy.

      Happy New Year, everyone!

Love,

Veronica

I win

    It’s a bad thoughts day. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? One of those days when all you can think about is every negative aspect of your life. One thing triggers another and so on and so forth. I’ve been suppressing the bad thoughts for a couple months now, too much going on to stop and think, assess, and move on.

    This morning all the thoughts came flooding through. It was as if a dam broke in my brain and I couldn’t build the wall up fast enough to keep them back. Life has been a lot to deal with lately.

    My Grandmom passed away in the beginning of September. I didn’t think it was appropriate to write about it before because of the heartbreak my parents and my brother are feeling. Whereas I was completely numb to the entire thing. She and I didn’t have anything resembling a close relationship. Our relationship was filled with snide remarks and general disdain. I used to be bitter about it but I’ve spent the past year doing everything I could for her. It wasn’t for her though, it was for my Dad and Mom. Trying to make their lives a little easier. It was one of the only times in my life, where I was actually the strong one in the family. I was the one who wasn’t falling apart so I could help get things done.

    It was difficult though. Very, very difficult to try and dissect my feelings and figure out why I was okay while everyone else was falling apart. The truth is we all have individual and unique relationships with other people. No one will understand how I felt about my Grandmother and I’ll never know how she felt about me. That’s the way it is. My relationship with my Grandmom was so indescribably different from the one she had with my brother. And that’s okay because he deserves those good memories. It’s better this way. 

    This past week, my Mom had a bit of a health scare. She’s fine but every time something like this happens, my mind throws itself forward and all I can see is future hospital visits, doctor’s appointments, and overwhelming sadness. My over active imagination was fun as a child but I have to admit, it’s a bit of a curse as an adult. I can picture such horrible things so clearly in my mind and it causes me to breakdown. Images and flashes of things that haven’t happened but could one day, completely rip my heart to shreds and cause such a morose feeling. 

    Like I said, one thing triggers another and so on. Today, I woke up and realized I haven’t written anything of substance in months, maybe even a year. Then I thought to myself, “Maybe I should just accept the fact that I’m never going to be an author.” Instantly, I felt tears welling up even thinking about it because it would be like giving up on the one thing I’ve always wanted in life. 

    It would be giving up on my dream. 

    Giving up on my talent. 

    Giving up. 

    I made myself write this today. I didn’t want to, I really didn’t because writing it would mean dealing with it. The longer we shove down our feelings, our sadness, our doubt, the deeper it digs into us. It digs until you’re in this enormous hole swallowed up by the negativity. I’ve been in that kind of hole off and on over the years and it’s hell trying to dig myself out. This time, I tried to get a jump on it before it could take me. 

    Painful is one way to describe how my life has been lately. It’s painful to watch someone die regardless of how you feel towards them. It’s painful to see your Mom suffering and know you can’t do anything to stop it. It’s painful to think your dreams are slipping away from you with each passing day. 

     The pain will eventually fade. It always does. I deal with each death differently and there’s nothing wrong with that. My Mom is my best friend and I’ll always do everything in my power to help her. I’ll always come back to writing because it’s my only outlet besides cursing like a sailor. 

    Will I ever be an author? I don’t know. The thought of not becoming one devastates me so I think I have to keep trying. Keep writing. Keep submitting to literary magazines. Keep pushing myself even when every fiber of my being is telling me to give up. 

    We always worry about disappointing our parents. Honestly, I don’t think I could disappoint mine. They’ve always been supportive of anything my brother and I have done. 

    I don’t want to disappoint myself. 

    That’s the reason I wrote this today…if I hadn’t, I would have let myself down. I would have let the bad thoughts win. Today, I win. By writing, by pulling thoughts from my mind and putting them down and letting other people read and identify with them…

    I win.

Don't Compare

I haven’t written in a while. At least not on this site. I write in my journals a couple times a week, but usually only if something of note happens. I don’t know why I go through writing spurts. I used to think if my life was going well then I wouldn’t write for a while because I wanted to live in the moment. Then as I grew up, it was more the opposite. When my life felt like it was going off the rails, I wouldn’t write about it because I was too busy trying to fix it.

How much time do we spend trying to fix our lives? Maybe not even fix them, but change them. New jobs, new homes, new men/women, new friends, new everything. I’ll be twenty-seven this year and most of my friends are in a transitional phase. It’s interesting to observe, to be a part of their lives during this time. Some are changing jobs, some are getting married, some are having babies, some are buying houses etc.

I have a question. Why do the decisions of other people make us question our own lives? Is that a good or a bad thing? When you see countless people on your Facebook timeline posting engagement pictures, wedding pictures, new born pictures, it can have a weird effect on your thinking. You might start questioning your own life. Should I be doing those things? Am I falling behind in life because I’m not walking down an aisle or having children? I’ve had these same thoughts off and on over the years.

I’ve always known who I am. I may have struggled through my teen years to come to terms with who I am but I’ve always known. I’m sarcastic and I watch too much TV and too many movies and I could talk about them for hours. I finish 400-paged books in a day, sometimes reading two a day. I’m bigger and my looks are a little plain but when I put on my big goofy smile, it forces one from other people and I love that. I write fanfiction for TV shows and movies when I think they’re missing something. I’m ridiculous and dip in and out of other accents or dialects because I think it’s funny. I’m overly emotional, overly empathetic, and I fall in love too easily without really knowing the meaning of the word. I’m quick to anger when I feel myself or others are being attacked. I over think, over analyze, and yes, I’m judgmental sometimes. I don’t want to have children and marriage is a huge commitment to another person that I’m not sure I ever want to take part in. And there’s nothing wrong with feeling this way.

I’ve known all this for years and years and years. But our personalities blend and change with the people we’re in contact with for long periods of time. If you watch closely, if you pay attention, you can see the same mannerisms in all your friends. Therefore, it’s only natural for you to question your life when you see the people closest to you changing their own. When I see my friends becoming engaged and married and having kids, I have to step back, I have to take a minute and remember that’s not what I want. That’s not necessarily going to make me happy in the end. That’s their happily ever after- not mine.

It’s easy to become caught up in the lives of others. It’s easy to lose sight of yourself and what you want. It’s easy to fall victim to the “shoulds”. I’m twenty-six years old. I should be in a long term relationship. I should be getting engaged. I should be getting married. I should be thinking about having my first child. I should be buying a house. I should have my career by now. I should be okay.

It took a little while for me to figure out it’s completely and totally normal to not be okay. It’s okay to not be in a long term relationship. It’s okay to not want to get married and have children. It’s okay to not have your whole life figured out by your mid-twenties. For Christ sake, it’s our MID-TWENTIES. It’s practically a prerequisite to be fucked up about everything. And no one has the right to make anyone else feel bad about their life choices.

You want to get married and have kids? Or get married and not have kids? Good for you!

You want to travel the world and never settle down? Go for it!

You want to be a stay at home mom? Congrats! Because that’s the toughest job in the world.

You want to have kids and still keep your career? God bless ya! That sounds really friggin hard too and I know I couldn’t do it.

You want to play music every weekend because it helps you escape from your mundane weekday job? I’ll come to your gigs and cheer for you!

You want to be single the rest of your life? Do it! Live your life the way you want!

Whatever you want to do with your life, try to keep it clear in your head. Try not to let the decisions of other people influence what you know in your heart you want for yourself. Don’t compare your life to other people. I know it’s hard, it’s really hard.

Guess what?

You are not less of a person because you want different things.

Sometimes we forget who we are and what we want but we can always find our way back. 

Back at it again...

                This morning was weird. First, I woke up around two and then again at three because I made the mistake of leaving my bedroom window open and the shade up. River, my cat, decided she wanted to play with, hit, and bang the shade every five minutes. When it became intolerable, I closed the window and the shade and she finally settled down. Then I woke up again at six (twenty minutes before my alarm!) to the sounds of birds chirping. Most people love this. “Oh it’s Spring! Birds are chirping! How wonderful! It’s like being in a Disney movie.”

                I have enough trouble sleeping; I don’t need the entire animal cast of Cinderella outside my window at 6 am. I hate the sounds of birds. Maybe it’s because we had two birds growing up and they were the most annoying animals on earth. Maybe it’s because I have enough of a hard time sleeping and having birds chirping starting at 3am doesn’t help. All I know is I hate the sounds of birds. They’re probably my least favorite thing about the Spring and Summer. However, thinking about Spring and Summer gave me an idea for my writing.

                A year ago, I wrote a collection of YA short stories and I thought I was finished with it. But thanks to the wonderful constructive criticism of some of my old teachers, I know now that I have to add more to them. Today, for the first time in about six months (probably more), I had a new idea on how to expand on them, how to make them better, and how to actually finish them off right.

                Then, as if Fate knew it was the right time for me to start writing again, the Simple Minds song, Don’t You Forget About Me came on my Pandora. Nothing in the world makes me happier than listening to that song at the highest possible volume and rocking out to it. It was my sign from teenage Veronica, telling me it’s time to get back to work.

                One of my biggest issues with my writing is finding the time to do it. The only writing I’ve done lately is in my journal and that’s just so I can get through the day without snapping on someone because my head is too full with all the family stuff going on. I stare at Word documents all day long at my job. I edit and write for eight and a half hours a day. The last thing I want to do when I come home is open up another Word document and start writing.

                I used to have a writing contract with a friend of mine to make sure I wrote something at least once a day and it worked for almost a full year, I believe. I think I need to start something along those lines again. I always work better with deadlines so if I give myself a timeline, I’ll be more likely to stick to it then if I try to just go with the flow.

                All of this is just a long-winded way of saying I’m going to start working on my stories again. Hopefully up the word count and take all the notes people have given me and make them better than before.

As much as I hate to say it, I think I have to thank the birds and the changing weather for waking me up from my Fall/Winter coma.

                In the words of Dean and Sam Winchester, “We’ve got work to do.”

My Goodbye to Harper Lee

                We now have to live in a world without Harper Lee. I’m not okay with it. Her words were so poignant, their impact so grand which is in such deep contrast to the small elderly woman with the wide smile we see in all the photographs being posted of her.

                I first read To Kill A Mockingbird (TKAM) in the 8th grade. I was 13 and it was the year I found TKAM and The Outsiders. My two greatest loves in this world. Before then, I always dabbled with the idea of writing but after reading those books, the notion of being a writer was solidified in my mind. I wanted to do what Harper Lee did. I wanted to make a difference. I still do.

                “You just hold your head high and keep those fists down. No matter what anybody says to you, don’t you let ‘em get your goat. Try fightin’ with your head for a change.” These words were spoken to tomboy Scout. One of the first literary characters I ever saw myself in. My whole life, I’ve been gearing up for a fight. Always defensive. The quote above makes me stop and think. Think about whether or not I want to be in a fight. Whether or not someone is even starting a fight with me or if I’m being too sensitive. It’s usually the latter.

                I have yet to find another literary father figure I love and admire more than Atticus Finch. Despite, a lot of people’s opinions on Go Set A Watchman (GSAW), I loved it. People seemed upset about the way Atticus is portrayed in a different light. But the truth is, in TKAM, we all saw Atticus through the eyes of a little girl. We saw her father, her hero, the conscious of Maycomb County.

                In GSAW, Harper Lee makes us grow up. She forces us to see our parents for who they really are, the good and the bad. I didn’t feel betrayed by this portrayal. In fact, I felt as if Scout had come full circle. She loved her father, she admired her father, she hated her father, she forgave her father. We all have to do it and I, for one, was glad to have my friend Scout back to help me through it.

                I have loved a lot of books in my life. But TKAM has stuck with me through it all. It’s been there for me during periods of my adolescence and adulthood.

                It’s there when I need a friend. It’s there when I need to feel the sweltering heat of Maycomb instead of the cold winds of Philadelphia. It’s there when I need to feel like a child again. Or when I need Boo to look out for me.

                Harper Lee is gone but she accomplished what this writer wants to accomplish. She left us her characters. I still have the ability to go home tonight, pick up one of the three copies of TKAM that I own, and dive back into that world. To run around with Jem, Scout and Dill. To stand up in the balcony of the court house because my literary father is passing.

                I will never forget her or her words or the impact she’s had on my life. I’ll leave all of you writers with this Harper Lee quote.

                “Any writer worth his salt writes to please himself…It’s a self-exploratory operation that is endless. An exorcism of not necessarily his demon, but of his divine discontent.”

                Stand up writers, Harper Lee is passing. 

No One Told Us

           When you’re young, you always talk to your friends about all the things you’re going to do together when you grow up. Unfortunately, no one told us we don’t always grow up at the same time.

           My best friends and I are on completely different playing fields. Some are back in school, not working or working but not being paid enough to do anything but pay their bills. Also, a lot of my friends like to drink whereas, I’m completely fine not drinking for long periods of time. To me, drinking has never heightened my happiness or improved my night, that’s done by the people I’m with and the activity we’re taking part in.

           How unfair for us all to be the same age, or within a couple years of the same age, and yet be on completely different levels from one another? I wanted to experience things together. I wanted us all to be able to go out and do things. Go to the zoo, go to dinner, go to plays, travel, go on vacations together etc. But because of everyone’s different financial situations and let’s face it, everyone’s varying interests in what constitutes a “good time”, almost none of these things are possible for us.

           So what do you do?

           Do you wait? Wait for your friends to not want to drink so much? Or wait for your friends to finish school and try to find jobs so their financial situations change? Take it from me, you’re going to be waiting a long time. The sad fact is, the people you grew up with, your best friends, may never be on the same page as you. I’ve come to this realization a lot in the past year. The things I once found fun just aren’t anymore. I want to branch out to do things I’ve never done before but I want to do those things with my friends. I can’t and I don’t know if I ever will. No one told us we wouldn’t grow up at the same time.

           So what do you do?

           Now the obvious thing to do would be to go out and make new friends. Find people who share your interests and can take part in activities you deem fun. However, if you’re anything like me, this is one of the most difficult things to achieve. I’m terrible with meeting new people. I want to meet people and usually after someone introduces me to new people, I’m totally fine with talking to them and having a good time. But my crippling fear of not being liked stops me from approaching anyone new. Not to mention, I’m not very funny. I mean, I can get a couple of pretty good one liners in here and there, but I’m not someone anyone would classify as “the funny one”. And it takes a while for me to be comfortable with someone to even start showing my true self. All in all, meeting new people is really hard for me.

           I’m invited to this open book club thing every month and I want to go, every single month, but because none of my friends will be there, I stop myself. I need back up in case I can’t speak to anyone and then I’m just standing there awkwardly and alone. Being awkward and alone is my worst nightmare and you want to know why? Because awkward and alone is embarrassing.  Anyone who knows me or follows this blog knows, to me, feeling embarrassment is the worst thing in the world.

           So what do I do?

           I would love to be able to walk into a room full of strangers and start talking to them. Several of my friends would have no problem with this. I’m not that girl. I need a friendly face with me, at least the first time, for me to become comfortable and to start branching out a little bit.  

           So what do I do?

           Unfortunately, I can’t offer up any solutions to people in a similar situation. I know from talking to my best friend, she feels this on a completely different but equally depressing level. She doesn’t have any money to do anything she would love to do because she’s back in school and has to pay her bills. She has no time for fun because she has massive amounts of homework and when she finally doesn’t, she’s exhausted. Also, like me, she doesn’t find the same things as fun as she used to, we want more culture, more excitement in our lives.

           So what do we do?

           I could say I’m going to go out by myself. I could say I’ll go to the book group on my own and talk to people. But the truth is, I can’t even fathom that at this point. For now, I write about it because writing always makes me feel a little better.

           I hope one day I can go to the book group. I hope one day to take a vacation with my best friends. In the meantime, I work on my fears of insecurity around new people, and I work on trying not to feel embarrassed at the drop of a hat.

           I wish someone told us though.

           I wish someone mentioned we don’t always grow up at the same time.

@Valtimari