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/

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.

2015- A Year in Review

Yes, there's a gif of Tom Hardy saying Happy New Year. The internet is great.

            2015 was a roller coaster of emotions for me. Let’s break it down into categories: family, friends, myself, and writing.

Family:

            My family is large on my mother’s side. I’ve watched my Mom lose a lot of family members but this year was an especially difficult one. My mom lost her cousin, Mary Catherine but Mary wasn’t JUST my mom’s cousin. She was my mom’s best friend and second sister. I’m in awe of my mother the majority of the time. I went with her to the hospital to see Mary several times, I watched this woman who I’ve known my entire life, deteriorate in front of me. The last time I watched something like this I was 13 going on 14 and it was my Grandpop. I hope I don’t have to see it again for a very long time. Mom stayed strong, as she always does. If I have one ounce of her strength, I’ll be eternally grateful.

            My padre gave me a great gift this year. He paid the adoption fee for my kitten, River, after I found out I had to shell out $600 for a security deposit to my apartment complex just to have her. I’m so appreciative for what he did because coming home to River every day is the highlight of my life.

            My big brother. Four and a half years apart and it shows most of the time. I don’t think he really knows how much I admire his life. Although, we don’t’ talk often, I know he’s always there if I need him and vice versa. He proved that this year when I called him out of the blue, hysterically crying and begging him to promise me something. He did promise me. He’s a great big brother.

Friends:

            Oh my friends. They’re the best. I always loved the saying “friends are the family you create for yourself” or however it goes. My friends are all super different from one another but equally odd and I think that’s why we fit together. One of my best friends moved home this year and we’re all so happy to have him back in Philly. My friends have spent a lot of time trying to figure their lives out and I think they all made significant progress this year. While none of us are completely put together (far from it), and we’re not all on the same path or going the same speed, we’re all heading in the right direction.

Myself:

            Hmmm, what to say here…well 2015, I can’t say I’m sorry to see you go. I dealt with death this year which always hits me hard. I think about death more than I think the average person does. I think about it at the most random times and for long periods of time. I try to move past it with humor and sarcasm and I do a pretty good job most of the time.

            Love life. Oh my love life, or lack thereof. Actually that’s not true. I fell in and out of love this year. Slowly, quietly and without anyone really knowing. ß My favorite way of doing anything and everything.

            I moved into my new apartment this year which I love. I bought my very first set of living room furniture and I’m slowly getting rid of all my hand-me-downs. Next, I’ll be purchasing my own kitchen set then possibly a new bedroom set until my entire apartment finally feels like me.

           My River came into my life. When I adopted River, so many people said to me, “I didn’t know you were a cat person” but it wasn’t about being a cat or dog or bird or turtle person. It was about a feeling I had when River was placed into my arms. I wanted her to stay there forever. It’s been two months (tomorrow) of living with her and I love her more and more every day.

            I lost almost 20 pounds this year and gained severe happiness. Partly because of the weight loss and partly because I’m becoming older and more comfortable in my life as a whole. I’m okay with the fact that when I talk about Doctor Who most people don’t care or understand. I’m okay with the fact that I’m never going to be super thin; my body just isn’t built for it. I’m okay with the fact that I’m always going to hate my arms. I’m still going to work on losing weight because it makes me happy to see a smaller number on the scale but I’m not going to let myself become obsessed with it or consumed by it. I’m going to enjoy my life while slowly (and it is a slow process) trying to regain control of my body.

            Being in an embarrassing situation is one of my least favorite aspects of life. I try to avoid being embarrassed at all costs. Even in school, I wouldn’t answer a question unless I was 100% sure of the answer because I didn’t want to be wrong and look stupid. To this day, I avoid guessing at anything because I don’t want to be wrong then be ridiculed. Whether people ridicule me or not, I always feel like they are (whole other issue). In 2015, I was embarrassed a LOT. Sometimes I couldn’t take it. Sometimes I tried to laugh it off and calm down the redness I knew was covering my already rosy cheeks. I tried really hard to not let the embarrassing situations ruin my night. In 2016, I’ll try a little harder.

            My writing. I made major progress this year with my writing. This website is one huge step forward. I don’t update it as much as I should which I’ll try to do more of in the future. I sent my writing to two of my previous teachers who are published authors (Eric Smith and Liz Moore- check out their books). They both gave me helpful and positive feedback on my work which is greatly appreciated and made me keep going instead of losing all hope in this difficult part of my life. I’m only making one new year’s resolution this year. Just one. Any others I think of will just be things to keep in mind as I go through the year.

            This year, my new year’s resolution is to finish a piece of writing. I tend to start things, get halfway through or more than halfway through then I get distracted or I have another idea and I start on something else. I’m the worst with finishing something I write. However, I’m always better when I have a deadline. 2016 is my deadline to finish something I’ve been working on sporadically for a while now.

            All in all, 2015 wasn’t half bad. I’m happy with who and where I am in my life. Here’s to 2016 being even more exciting and productive J

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!

Love,

Veronica

River and Stress (not connected)

    Sorry, I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been swamped at work and I have a new kitten at home so things have been a bit hectic. Let’s talk about the kitten first. Her name is River Winchester (part Doctor Who/part Supernatural) and she’s a calico with a little bit of tabby on one side of her face. Never in my life did I see myself as a cat person. I love all animals and I’ve cat sit for people over the years and they’ve never bothered me. I just always assumed when I was on my own, I would buy a pug puppy and live happily ever after. However, when you realistically think about it, I’m not home nearly enough to train a puppy and it’s not fair to keep a puppy locked up in an apartment or in a cage for 8 hours a day. 

    Adopting a kitten wasn’t something I was planning. There’s a shelter called Lucky You Animal Rescue in Bensalem run by my friend Jackie’s Mom. (Facebook link: https://www.facebook.com/luckyyouanimalrescue/?fref=ts ) Jackie and I went to one of their events on Sunday to show support and see all the animals. It was towards the end of the event when we showed up. We walked over to the Lucky You booth and Debbie (Jackie’s Mom) plopped a black kitten in Jackie’s arms and a calico in mine. These kittens were barely 2 lbs and the calico (named Petunia then) was lying in my arms so cute and I don’t know what came over me but I fell in love with her. I gave her back and tried not to think about her but that was impossible. By Monday afternoon, I talked to my Mom and Dad and my friends about what they thought about me adopting a kitten and everyone seemed on board. I texted Jackie and told her I was in, I wanted Petunia. 

                                                                         Me and River

    It wasn’t until a week after having her that I realized there might have been a psychological thing behind my adopting River. I used to have one stuffed cat. My Grandmom gave her to me and I carried her around everywhere. I used to even put my dog’s collar and leash around the toy and drag her around with me. I lost her in nursery school and never saw her again. She was probably stolen by some grubby handed four year old who wasn’t taught about STEALING….moving on. My stuffed cat looked almost exactly like River. Coincidence? Yeah, probably but I like to think it was fate. 

   River Winchester is awesome. She’s such a good kitten and I love coming home at the end of the day and having her waiting at the door for me. She’s probably the best decision I’ve made in a really long time. 

    Switching gears now.

    There’s been a lot of drama surrounding my life lately. And if there’s one thing in this life I prefer to avoid, it’s drama. Drama with work, friends and people who are supposed to be my friends. I’ve mentioned before how most of my friends come to me when they’re having problems and I tend to take those problems on as my own. But this is drama I’ve been forced to participate in because it directly affects me. It mostly has to do with women in my life. Women equal drama and that’s a fact of life. That’s why the show, Facts of Life, only starred women (totally made that up but it fits). Now, I’ll stick up for other people any day of the week. I’d go to war for the people I love. But when it comes to ME having a confrontation I like to keep my head down to avoid it. I just want everyone to be okay. I don’t like seeing other people cry. I don’t like seeing people about to rip each other’s faces off. This type of drama sends me catapulting back into the hellish halls of my all girl high school. I can’t deal with it. I couldn’t deal with it then and I can’t deal now.

   My only reprieve has been coming home to River and just trying to leave all the other bullshit outside of my apartment. And yet, it creeps in. The hurt from my friends, the stress from different situations and the sadness all penetrate my brain. I would like to blame the kitten trying to eat my hair for my lack of sleep lately but the truth is, my mind won’t turn off. I have problems and conversations and fights running through my head over and over again.

    People are annoyed about my counting down to Christmas but I couldn’t care less. It’s the only thing pushing me through the crappy days. Thanksgiving (10 days away) and Christmas (38 days) and all the days in between are my favorite. I see my family more and people in general are just happier, friendlier and I try not to let anything spoil this time of year for me. 

    The world is in a state of disarray lately. My only hope is the holiday season will have a lot less turmoil and a lot more kindness.

Prayers for Paris.

Peace.

Patiently Waiting*

            I think about death a lot. Probably way more than I should or way more than a normal person. I may have mentioned this briefly before but it happened again today so I figured I’d write about it. At night, maybe twice a month, I have these pretty horrific nightmares. Mostly they’re about people I love dying and then I’ll wake up and not be able to move because of petrifying fear about five to ten minutes. I hate them and I don’t know what triggers them. You would think that’s bad enough but it’s not. My brain during the day can manage to come up with much, much worse.

            My imagination has always been on steroids. As a child, I would sit in the bathtub forever and play with my toys. Have full on conversations with them and make them talk to each other. I loved my dollhouses and could spend hours playing with them and coming up with scenarios for my dolls. Sometimes life is very difficult for me. People don’t follow a script and it bothers me. I’ll imagine saying something to a person and then I’ll imagine every single thing that person could possibly say but the bottom line is, other people don’t follow my script. I think the only surprises in life should come in the form of Christmas presents. I like to know what’s coming. I like to control what is going to happen in my life. I could control my toys and my dolls, I could control their lives and circumstances with my imagination. As an adult, I control the characters I write because at least they follow my script…most of the time.

            My imagination can give me incredibly vivid scenarios and play them out in my head over and over again. It chooses to center around death a lot of the time. I don’t know when I started thinking about death so much. I think when I was a junior in high school, all of our summer reading had books with dead mothers: The Secret Lift of Bees, Out of the Dust, and The Elephant Man. Dead mothers galore. Then I started reading more and more young adult books with dead parental characters or suicidal characters. I think because not only did I love to read but I was also fascinated by psychology and I wanted to know why people feel the way they feel, why they do the things they do.

            Then a year later my mother was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and the whole possibility of a dead parent thing became a lot more real.

            This morning on my way to work, I started crying. I honestly don’t know what set me off. One second I’m just driving down the street passing by a big building I like to pretend is Wayne Manor and the next second, I’m picturing calling my best friend Chrissy and telling her my Mother is dead. And I’m screaming and crying and I can’t leave her bedside and Chrissy has to come and pry me away from her. Why did I think that? Why? Where did it come from? And why, oh jesus Christ, WHY can I see it so fucking clearly in my head? I can see everything about the hospital room, I can smell it, I can taste the tears on my lips. And all of a sudden, I’m crying softly and slowly in my car on the way to work. I have to tell myself over and over again, it’s okay, she’s alive. She’s at work. My Dad’s at work. David is at work. Everyone is fine, they’re fine. But it doesn’t feel fine; my imagination makes it feel very, very real. As if it’s already happened and I’m remembering a situation from the past. It’s not my past, I don’t even know if it’s my future and yet it’s my present in the car at that very moment and I can’t control it. I try, I try to stop the thoughts as they come hurdling to the fore front of my brain but it’s too difficult. They come and they burry themselves until I can’t do anything but play out the scene in my mind and wait for it to end. Wait for the script to run out. But this isn’t my script. This is an involuntary script being forced upon me by my own brain.

            There’s been a lot of death in my life, directly and indirectly. I’ve lost two Grandpops, one step Grandpop, I watched one of my best friends lose both his step-parents, I’ve watched people lose their grandparents, parents, friends. I’ve watched my Mom lose person after person, family member after family member, friend after friend. My Dad lost almost all of his friends and his father, shrinking his family to a very small size. I’ve been to a lot of funerals. Too many funerals. And there’s so many more to come. Maybe that’s why I think of these things so much? Because I know death is coming eventually and maybe if I know it’s coming, maybe if I can see it all in my head first it won’t be as horrifying when it actually happens. Wouldn’t that be nice? Of course, it’s not like that. I can think of 800 different ways I could lose someone I love and chances are not one of my predictions will be how it actually goes down.

            I love my imagination for so many reasons. It’s how I create characters, it’s how I enjoy movies and books and life in general. I rely heavily on it to get through a boring day. Then there are days like today, days when I wouldn’t wish this imagination on my worst enemy.

            Days when I picture my loved ones dying.

            Days when I picture their funerals in perfect detail.

            Days when I can picture the burial, the casket, the crying, the heart wrenching loneliness of losing them all.

            It’s hard to talk about these things with people. I’ve tried and I’ve been called “negative” or they look at me with this face, this face that says “What a weird morbid person you are”. No one wants to talk to me about the death of people who aren’t sick or dying. No one wants to see me cry over something that hasn’t happened and isn’t even close to happening.

            What people don’t understand, what I WANT people to understand is, I can’t control these thoughts. No more so than I can control the weather. I hate not being able to talk about this with people. I hate that I bury it away because it makes me feel like I’m in the wrong when I know I’m not. So here I am, talking about it. Even if I’m just talking about it to a website that maybe 3 people read. These are my thoughts and sometimes they’re scary and sad and involuntary and I hate them.

            There’s a bright side though (for all of you who think I’m so negative).

            The good thoughts always come back. It might take a day; it usually takes me writing out the horrible thoughts first. But they do always come back.

            The good thoughts always come back. I just have to wait.

*I'm horrible with coming up with titles so this one is courtesy of my friend Bonnie, also a writer. We were torn between Patiently Waiting and Patiently Morbid so I wanted to mention both. Thanks, Bonnie!

Moving Drama and Life Assessment

    I turn twenty six on Wednesday. Twenty six years old. I used to think about being in my mid-twenties all the time when I was a teenager. Being a teenager sucked and I would wish for the point in my life where I could be an adult, make my own decisions, design my own home, and buy my own stuff. That’s probably why I started working when I was 15 (14 if you count babysitting). I wanted money to buy my own belongings. Now I’m almost twenty six.

    I moved into a bigger apartment on Thursday night. The whole day was a whirlwind. I thought I was just picking up my keys with Bill and Chrissy and moving in a few small items ourselves. The movers weren’t supposed to come until Friday. Around 3:45 pm, we were about to go pick up the keys when the movers called and said, “You want to do this thing tonight?” Let me just preface this by saying, I was NOT ready. Boxes weren’t sealed, the bathroom and bedroom still needed to be deconstructed and packed and I still wanted to clean the place. But I said, “Sure, let’s do it tonight.” 

   Cue my insane freak out. 

   Chrissy, Bill, and I grabbed what we could, BOLTED to my new apartment, grabbed the keys, dumped the crap we had with us then rushed back to my old apartment. We started throwing everything we saw into boxes and sealing them up. I was panicking. I tend to think I never have enough time to do everything I want to do. Let’s not get into the deeper psychological reasons behind that right now. So I’m panicking and Chrissy, the ever calm one, kept saying, “Veronica! You have a lot of stuff to do but everything you’re thinking of, in reality, only takes five minutes to do. We have enough time.” She was right but I was still freaking out on the inside. 

   The movers came around 7 and I was moved out of my old apartment and into my new apartment by 8:30. These guys were fast and awesome and did a fantastic job. But as much as I loved the movers, I give all the credit to Bill and Chrissy. They kept me laughing when all I really wanted to do was flip out. Chrissy unpacked my entire kitchen, Bill helped moving boxes and bookcases and lamps and everything else. They made the day fun and easy instead of stressful and manic which is usually my default settings in these situations. 
It’s Saturday now, so I’ve been in this apartment for not even 48 hours and I’ve managed to unpack the entire place, my Dad hung most of my pictures, I bought a sofa and loveseat (to be delivered next Saturday), and a coffee table and end table which my Mom and I put together (after Bill helped carry them into the apartment). This is the first living room set I’ve ever purchased and it’s mine. It’s my taste and I used my money and it’s going into my apartment. No more hand me downs. I’m finally at a place in my life where I can afford to buy nice things. I can afford to invest in real furniture. It’s an amazing feeling.

   The night I moved in, my friends Greg, Derek, and Chuck came over. And Greg walked in and said, “Living the dream, Veronica!” He also said, “This is a nice kitchen to learn to cook in, Veronica!” I’m ignoring that part and focusing on the “living the dream” part. 

   Living the dream. Usually whenever someone compliments the status of my life, I thank them and try to change the subject as quickly as possible. One reason being, compliments in general make me uncomfortable. The other reason being, every time someone compliments my life, I can’t help but think about how I’m still not a published author. I haven’t even had time to write on my website because of moving and work being crazy right now and it really bothers me. So I usually discredit anyone who says kind things about my life because there’s still a huge part missing. But I’ve come to the realization, no matter where I am in life, there might always be a part that’s not quite right. Whether it be my writing or a relationship or a job, or whatever. It’s never all going to fall into place but in comparison to where my life has been in the past…yeah, I’m living the dream.

   When all my friends were over Thursday night, I looked at them and felt so incredibly grateful. For everything. I’m grateful to my parents for raising me to be an independent woman and for always working hard for what I want. I’ve been on my own for three years and without feeling the constant support of my parents, I doubt I would have made it. I’ve had two amazing jobs, the first being a legal book editor and now my job as a technical writer. I love the people I work with and I enjoy my job. My current job allows me to save money, move into a bigger place, buy furniture and live comfortably. And my friends, my wonderful friends, are the biggest part of my life. Bill and Chrissy had just come back from vacationing, they’re on their last week of summer vacation and they spent so much of their time helping me move and settle in. Then there’s my boys: Derek, Greg, Chuck, and Tommy. These guys listen to me rant and they help me when I have completely shitty days by inviting me over to sit on their roof and relax. Greg, Chuck, and Tommy also did me a huge favor by taking my second hand couch, ottoman, end tables, kitchen table, chairs, and mirror for their place. 

   Now, let’s reassess. Almost 26 years old, living in a bigger apartment with my newly purchased furniture and working a job I love. An amazing, supportive family I love immensely. And the best friends I could ever ask for in this life. 

   Yeah, I am living my dream. It’s about time. 

Confessions of a Single 25 Year Old Woman

Note: I wrote this when I was 23 but I've gone over it again and updated it a bit. Whether these are still my confessions or not doesn't make them any less important. 23 year old me poured her heart out and I'm sure she wants me to share (or she's cursing me off, whatever).

Usually when I write for my blog, I try to write about something everyone can relate to in some way and I write about situations my friends are in. But today, it’s going to be about me and my feelings as of late. Maybe someone will be able to relate to it but that’s not what I’m focusing on. Sometimes, when I don’t write for a while, my head just gets filled and my emotions run really high and it feels like if I don’t write it down soon my head will explode.

Here’s a little background, like I said before, all of my friends (with the exception of 4 guys and 1 girl) are in relationships. They are all dating, engaged, married, or practically married. I’m happy for all of them, nervous for some, and envy very few of them. It’s never been a goal of mine to get married and have children; in fact it’s a conventional 1950s lifestyle that I’ve rebelled against for years and years. For some reason, the thought of marriage and being a mother makes me anxious and almost physically ill. Even the idea of spending the rest of my life attached to another person boggles my mind.

When I think about what I want out of life there are only a few things I desire: to write, to travel, to take care of my family, and to live comfortably. Most of the time, when I think about myself being older, it’s only me in the picture. I never needed anyone else. And if we were to go into the psychological reasons behind this thinking it would probably be because I’ve always been severely independent. My whole life I’ve felt like no one could hear me or no one would listen (besides some family) and yet I talk nonstop. I’m a chatterbox. My Grandpop used to pick me up from school if I had a half day and he would take me to Burger King and then we would go home. He would tell my Mom, “School must be torture for her. She doesn’t stop talking from the second I pick her up.” But you know what? He listened to me.

 So…I write. Paper has to listen to me, it has no other choice. As I was saying, I never pictured myself with anyone else before…except Leonardo DiCaprio, he might the only guy to change my mind. But now, with all my friends paired up, a quote from Sex and the City keeps popping into my head (stay with me, guys). It was Carrie Bradshaw’s 35th birthday and she wasn’t seeing anyone at the time. She was sitting in the café with her three best friends and she said, “I’m lonely. The loneliness is palpable.” I never thought of myself as being lonely. I LOVE living on my own. I love coming home to absolute and complete silence. I love having control of my TV all the time and being able to decorate and rearrange things at will without having to ask anyone if it’s okay. Not to say, living alone is perfect. Night still freaks me out from time to time. But other than that, living on my own is awesome.

 Where does the loneliness come in, you ask? Well when I go out with my friends and I become the third, fifth, or seventh wheel, that’s where it comes in. I love my friends, they know I love them and I would do anything for each and every one of them. But even when I’m in a room filled with them, I still feel utterly alone because at the end of the day, when they all go home, they have someone to talk to, someone to listen to them. I’m probably not painting my friends in a nice light which isn’t my intention. I know there are people I can go to talk to and they listen but none of them really get it because they all have someone. No one really gets the loneliness because none of them are alone. I’m not saying if I had a boyfriend it would solve all these problems, I’m not naïve enough to believe that load of bull. What I’m saying is, I miss when my friends were just my friends and not my friends plus *insert name here*.

 Sure, sometimes I can pull them away from their boyfriends for a night but there’s usually one that wants their significant other to come. I don’t know why, they generally just sit there and say nothing like a block of wood. (I’m aware I’m probably insulting people here but I’m telling the truth).  However, a lot of the time, they never go anywhere without their boyfriends or girlfriends. Don’t get me wrong, I like a lot of their significant others, they’re good guys and gals and I enjoy hanging out with them but I miss my friends. I miss when everyone was single at the same time and nothing else mattered. Our twenties are supposed to be fun, right? Staying out all night, drinking, or just having a good time with your friends? Gotta tell ya, those times are rare these days. Now it’s trying to schedule time with your friends between everyone’s jobs or trying to get them to leave the confines of their homes for a few hours on the weekend.

I guess one of the upsides of having a significant other is someone is obligated to listen to you. No one is obligated to listen to me. And I’m not saying this to throw a pity party for myself; I hate people that do that shit. I’m saying it because this is how I actually feel. I feel sad sometimes when my friends tell me all the things they’re doing with their boyfriends or girlfriends. Because it’s the stuff we all used to do together. This is me really nostalgic for when times were easier and life wasn’t complicated and no one was engaged or married or in seriously committed relationships. I understand things change and people grow up, I just didn’t expect it to come this early in life. Truthfully, I don’t believe I’m ready for it.

 This is the part I think most of you have been waiting for in this whole entry. Do I wish I had a boyfriend? Occasionally. If I were to have a boyfriend, I would more or less like him to be part time. Which probably sounds horrible but it’s the honest to god truth, I hate clingy people, I hate people that have to text someone 24 hours a day because trust me, you have NOTHING interesting to say ALL DAY LONG, neither do I. I would hate someone being in my apartment all the time. I’m not a romantic person, I don’t like roses or candles or any of that junk. Romance in my book is you shutting up for two hours so we can watch a movie then AFTERWARDS discuss it. Does it frustrate me that I can’t find a boyfriend? Of course it does, I’m a woman, it’s something we spend more time thinking about than we admit. Even me, the person who thinks relationships are awkward and weird and pointless 75% of the time, occasionally wants a boyfriend. You know, at 15 years old, I thought by 25 someone would love me, someone has to by then right? Well no, that didn’t happen. Here’s the part where it becomes a little intense:

 Growing up, I never had a lot of self-confidence in the way I look. Bullied through high school didn’t help either. I’ve always had a pretty good sense of myself though. I knew I wanted to be a writer at an early age, I knew movies would always be my second love behind writing; I know I’m sarcastic, and I can be harsh sometimes. But I also know that I’m a really good listener and pretty good therapist when my friends need one. My best friend used to call me Oprah for god sake. So I always just assumed once I became comfortable with how I look then everything would fall into place. But when you have gorgeous friends and cousins who look like models, it’s hard to be happy with how you look. “When will my reflection show who I am inside?” Perfect lyric for this paragraph from the movie Mulan.

 However, within the past few years, I’ve started to care less about what other people think of me. I’m 25, I write, I’ve worked as an editor and a technical writer and I do a damn good job, I’m self-sufficient and I’m a pretty good person. And you know what? I like the way I look. I like that I have breasts and hips and an ass. Are they slightly bigger than average? Damn straight and guess what? I’m proud of it. Are there still parts of my body I’m not comfortable with? Of course, everyone has those and it’s something everyone has to come to terms with eventually. My point is this, you know that saying, “You have to love yourself before others can love you”? I call bullshit. Here’s why: I really do love who I am in my life right now. I have my life together and I’m finally, FINALLY, comfortable when I look in the mirror. So uh…where exactly is the love?

 I’ve come to believe everything having to do with love and relationships is completely random and up to fate. It has nothing to do with where you are in your life or if you love yourself or not. It’s a day to day random occurrence that no one has any control over, ever. And I believe if every single girl thinks of it in those terms, then it’s a little easier to get through the day without beating herself up. Personally, I’m hoping to meet mine in Ireland, he’ll be rich, with a thick accent and we’ll live happily ever after. See that? That’s a joke because this post was really hard for me to write and I need the jokes like I need oxygen. There you go, folks. That was more of me than I have ever put out here before. Cherish it, ignore it, scoff or laugh at it, but do me a favor? Just listen when other people speak. It means a lot to them. 

Honesty

Quick Note: I wrote this a while back but it still rings true for me.

I used to have a really hard time being honest with people. Usually it was white lies I would tell but then as I became a teenager the lies became bigger. I would tell them for a few different reasons. The number one reason I would lie is because I wanted to make my life sound way more interesting than it actually is. I could never tell the lies to people like Chrissy or Kait because I’m too close to them and they would know. But to people at Huberts, to "friends" I didn’t see very often, they would get complete and utter lies and fabricated stories. Anything to make me sound like I was a normal teenager.

I didn’t want to be the nerd. I didn’t want to be the girl who stayed in every weekend. I didn’t want to be the bookworm or the freak who’s obsessed with movies and television. The loser. The loner. The freak with no friends. But that’s who I was to the girls at Huberts for two years before I started lying to them. Stupid made up stories just to get them off my back. To get them to stop making fun of me. To get them to shut the fuck up.

When my Mom was diagnosed, I stopped lying. My life, our lives, were no longer boring. I didn’t need to lie because my life now had “excitement” or “interest” whatever you want to call it. So I turned to honesty. Brutal honesty some would call it. I stopped caring what other people thought of how I lived my life. I preferred to go to the movies on prom night because I hated the people at Huberts and I didn’t want to spend any more time with them than I had to and I was damn proud to tell people. I preferred to read than drink from a keg in the woods and that’s okay. I preferred to sit and talk to my family for hours on end then sit in a basement and get high and that’s okay. It took me a long time to realize that.

I’m very honest when I tell someone how I feel about a situation or a person. Sometimes people get really mad at me. Some people won’t talk to me for days afterwards. Some people admire it. Some people act like they admire it but secretly hate me for it. I don’t let negative people stay in my life anymore. People call me harsh. People call me a bitch. People call me unforgiving. Honestly? I don’t give a shit. I rather not have someone constantly poison my mind with their horrible negative comments. It’s easier for me to cut people off. Sometimes I get upset about it. Most of the time, I get over it fairly quickly. 

 The person I have the hardest time being honest with is myself. Which sounds cliché but it’s true. I lie to myself all the time. Tell myself I’m okay, tell myself I can deal with certain situations, tell myself I don’t care as much as I do about someone. Sometimes they’re lies, other times they’re partial truths. I’ll play out different situations in my head over and over again, making sure I’ve planned out every conclusion to an occurrence possible. Half the time I don’t use any of them because I’ll be too scared to go into the situation in the first place. Or I won’t use them because it’s a made up situation. You see, I never really stopped lying in a way. I used to tell other people made up situations, made up stories. Now it’s something I’ve created in my head, a story, a scene, really. A scene I wrote, starred in, and directed. A scene to make my life seem more interesting in my own head. A scene to placate my boring reality. Sometimes I’ll go entire days where I’ll live in those scenes. Act them out over and over again. Mostly in my car when I’m driving, I’ll rewrite them, I’ll act them out in my head, rewrite, act it out, no, not perfect yet. Another rewrite, act it out. Still not right. Another rewrite. Act it out. Perfect. Finally. Next scene.

Probably seems utterly insane to normal people but I’ve always wanted my life to be like a movie. So if I have to live two lives, one in reality, and one in my head where things are easier, more fun, and interesting then that’s what I’ll do. That’s what I have to do for my own sanity. Be honest in reality, lie to myself in my imagination. It’s my normal and that’s okay.