Passing thoughts

Staring at a blank screen, cursor flashing, and my mind is just as blank. I’m not where I want to be. Emotionally, physically, career-wise; I just feel lost and disappointed in myself. Like, you could be better than this, you know? You could be doing so much more than this, be more, write more, and feel more. Everything always just starts to feel forced: the smiles, the writing, the laughter.

I want to like him and then I second guess myself. Am I doing that thing that I do again? The over-analyzing the other person because I’m holding them up to that standard, comparing them to him up there on the pedestal? You can’t do that – I tell myself – they’re not the same; they’ll never be the same. So what if he doesn’t make you laugh? So what if you don’t have butterflies in your stomach when you’re kissing? So what? You’re still having a good time, so – what?

Everyone here makes me feel insecure. Everyone is a better writer than me, established better in their careers, has more connections, more notches on their resume, bylines to show for it. I’m a fucking great writer, aren’t I? Why can’t I do that shit? Why can’t anyone seem to see how great I am? Everyone here is more athletic than me, going to the gym every day, running marathons, being active. Why am I just so lazy about it all? Where is the fire I can light under my ass to get me to really want to get out there and bust my ass for it? I feel like everyone my age it doing more than I am and I can’t just seem to get it together.

I keep telling myself I’ll try more, harder, to be better. But then I just get to a screen and everything goes blank. I don’t want to do anything about it. I am stagnant.

I know I can, I know I can, I know I can. But I can’t.

I’m preoccupied at the thought of the future, of not wanting to be here, of him. 

Emmett. 

Of wanting to be with him; like he is the key to make the rest of these pieces fall into place. If he were with me, I would be happy. And then we could go somewhere and live together and be happy together. He would inspire me and motivate me and encourage me. Because he gets me – he gets what I’m about and what I do and what I want to do, where I want to be – because we’re so much the same.

I read through his blog the other day and cried. The way he writes makes me so envious, it’s so beautiful and poetic. His entries are sporadic just like mine. Sometimes they are epic novels and sometimes they are short stories. Sometimes they make a difference and sometimes they are just random thoughts. I want to write my story with him, write the story of our future together.

I hate everything else I have to say. It all seems so trivial. The world is so much bigger than we all are and why make a mountain out of our anthills of problems?

I hate my novel because I hate that it feels phony; I can’t convey all these thoughts of loss of a loved one since I’ve never really lost someone I loved. I based the idea on my loss of him but he never really went away, and he was never really mine to begin with. That’s why it’s so terrible. That’s why I have an ending that was just a cheater’s way out since I couldn’t figure out how to end it since things were never ended. It doesn’t even make any sense and it’s just cheap filler. It’s like when you eat something that makes you feel terrible and bloated right after but then you’re starving again a few hours later. Or if you ate something expensive or something that you hoped would taste great but was bland and flavorless, and you felt guilty about it, about how you were so excited for it and then hated it but you still had to pretend to like it anyway.

To be honest - I’m worried that’s how our relationship would be. Bland and flavorless, even though we hoped it would be mind-blowing.

Out of Order

"Out of Order"

Whenever we see or hear that phrase, it can mean a lot of things. It could refer to something that is broken and not currently functioning. It could mean that things are in disarray; out of order from the neat and proper way that they are supposed to be kept, out of place. Or, perhaps one of the most infamous ways this phrase has ever been uttered, from the movie "A Few Good Men": "You're out of order"! - inappropriate, stepping over the lines of decency. I've definitely applied all of those definitions to different aspects of my life within the past few weeks and they are really starting to take their toll on me. My whole universe is currently "out of order".

........

It all started with a boy, as most things in my life tend to start with. I met a boy who was nice and kind and sweet. I really liked him, I really did. But, I am so broken and out of order. There's just too much baggage in my life, skeletons banging to get out of my closets, that I could never expect someone like him to be able to handle that. He would never be able to carry all my baggage. And so, I let things go to the wayside.

And then, I met another boy. The only problem was: Boy #2 was Boy #1's roommate.

Because I'm not enough of a martyr. Because I apparently can't handle enough chaos in my life that I just need to keep piling it on and getting myself into situations that are unhealthy and probably going to end in (ok, always destined to end in) disaster, I moved things forward with Boy #2. (Apparently, they conferred about this situation - aka Me - first and Boy #1 gave reluctant approval for Boy #2 to ask me out.)

And I really liked Boy #2. He was basically like, the boy version of me. (Except, clearly, I'm way cooler and more attractive. /sarcasm) We became "partners in awesomeness". He thought I was clever and funny and beautiful (all true things, obviously) and I thought he was handsome and smart and brilliant. I admired and adored him. I loved joking and laughing and smiling and plotting with him.

Yet, despite all those awesome feelings and fun times, I kept defaulting to my stupid thing that I do with boys where I keep them at arms length and pretend I don't have feelings because I don't want to get hurt and try to keep everything as casual as possible and pretend like I don't care.

Only problem is: I started to care. And it scared the shit out of me.

"Hmm, I think I might kind of like you...", I once told him, half joking, half serious. 

I kept trying to tell myself things to psych myself out of it, like "Well, I'm never going to love him like I love Emmett. He's never going to be as good as Emmett." or "Oh, I'm not trying to put down roots in Philadelphia. I'm leaving soon. I can't get into anything serious." My friend and I even resorted to making Pro & Con lists about him. (I know we all remember that episode of FRIENDS where Ross makes the Julie & Rachel pro/con list - and we saw how well that turned out at the time. "She's not Ratchum!??!")

But I started feeling like maybe this could be something serious, like maybe I could really fall for this person, like maybe Philadelphia wasn't so bad after all as long as I had someone to share it with. I got butterflies when I was with him and I got sad when we were apart. I always wanted to be around him; sharing kisses and creativity and scotch and calamari. That, my friends, sent me into the panic of the century. I started having anxiety attacks, worrying that I was going to get trapped here in Philadelphia - in a job I hate, in a sub-par relationship with someone who was not the soul mate I envisioned for myself. So of course, I went into self-sabotage mode.

Anything good in my life will always turn to shit. And its 99.9% always my fault.

The whole version of events as to how we met was something that we joked about a lot. It was unavoidable - literally. I mean, I was dating someone who had a roommate who I also went on a date with once. And there were playful jokes about well, maybe I should just go on over to Boy #1's room sometime and try and seduce him - or whatever. Totally and completely not serious, but wheels kept turning in my head. I kept having these "What if?" moments.

What if I had just dated Boy #1 instead? It wasn't that I didn't like him; we had a lot of common interests. What if I could date Boy #1 Mondays, Wednesdays & Fridays and Boy #2 Sundays, Tuesdays & Thursdays and then they could alternate Saturdays? What if I could really get these guys into a polyamorous relationship and have them be totally cool with it? I mean, in the Millenium trilogy, Berger is able to have her husband for one part of her life to fulfill certain needs, and Blomkvist as her lover and for everything else. Why could I have that too?

So, I got fucking greedy is what fucking happened.

I had already started being aloof with Boy #2 and downplaying things and acting like I didn't care. Rubbing it in his face that I'd applied to 2 jobs back home one week and how my boss had asked if he would come with me and I'd recoiled in disgust like, "GOD NO! I mean, it's not THAT serious!" How I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of Philadelphia and leave this shit stink of a town behind - and presumably him as well.

And then, one night, I did the unthinkable: I, while under the influence of several beers and shots of Patron, messaged Boy #1 and asked him to come over.

I mean, I wasn't even really being serious. I wasn't home at the time. I wasn't expecting him to actually come over. I knew he was out drunk too so I don't even know how he'd even get to my house (that I wasn't at). And even if he had shown up, I probably would have slammed the door in his face and laughed.

And then Boy #1 told Boy #2 and he was pissed.

I don't know why I expected him not to be. I don't know why I thought "I was really drunk" was going to be an excuse and he was going to forgive me for it. (Maybe because I once blatantly tried to shove my hands down the pants of a friend of a guy that I was dating - and not really into - right in front of him while shitfaced?) That's an excuse you use when you're 18, not when you're 28. And so I don't really know why I was shocked when he broke up with me.

At first, I was pissed and angry. Like, HOW DARE HE! Like I didn't cause this; that this was somehow his fault. And so I sat around being really pissy and angry for a week and hating Boy #1 and Boy #2 for getting me into this situation. Like somehow this all could have been prevented from Day 1 if we just had some kind of weird threesome and then let everything work itself out. To have eased the tension of avoiding Boy #1 every time I came to their apartment. To have stopped thinking about how I was flaunting this relationship with his roommate in his face.

Point is: I hurt people's feelings. And that's what's really fucking out of order.

My behavior was out of order and what I did isn't really forgivable. Shit, I wouldn't forgive me. But that's because I don't forgive anyone easily. (Must run in my family because my Mom is really good at holding grudges for decades.) But I wish I could be forgiven. I wish this albatross wasn't hanging from my neck day in and day out. I wish I could just go back and erase everything that happened - but I can't. I have felt guilt about what I've done, this pit in my stomach that won't go away. I hate myself. I deserve this shitty feeling of feeling like a shitty person because I am one.

And I want to apologize. 

I've really started to like it in Philadelphia, and it was because of you. And now, I feel like I can't even go certain places because they remind me of you or things that we could be doing together. I sit there and I think, "Oh, he would really love this or that." Or, I'll see something that would be perfect for you or have an idea or a joke. And I can't even tell you about it because you hate me.

You inspired me to be something better than I was. The girl just biding my time til I got the hell up out of dodge; you made me want to do more, be more, dream bigger. The cupcake business, marketing ideas, freelancing - you awakened these dreams inside me to help me make my time here so much more enjoyable - and now, I just feel empty again and uninspired. I admired the way you dreamed big - the things that you wanted to create and I wish that I could be by your side supporting you and seeing you through it, seeing your genius reach the light. I wish I could be your partner again. I adored listening to how passionate you were about everything - and I won't lie, that's what I found sexiest about you - your creativity and intelligence. I was like a moth to a flame just wanting to feed off your energy and have that kind of dream for myself too.

I know you hate me right now. And you have every right to. I betrayed you. It was wrong and stupid and I want you to know how truly sorry I am. I am begging you please, if you could just listen with your heart when I tell you that, I know you can't forgive me right now - but I'm going to do everything in my power to make it up to you. No matter what happens. No matter what you decide to do. I hope we can at least be friends again one day.

I'm Sorry, Ricky.

Square Peg in a Round Hole

I am an only child. Growing up, I was very independent and did a lot of keeping to myself mostly. I didn't have many friends growing up. But it didn't really bother me back then. I had my own group that I hung out with. I liked to go out and do things and have fun just as much as anyone else. (I avoided that whole party and get drunk on the weekends thing in HS though; It just wasn't really my thing.) My parents didn't have any friends, and they seemed fine. I never really thought it was strange that they didn't socialize with other Adults or my friends' parents or anything like that. And so, I didn't really think it was a problem. Until I got to College.

College is a time where you are supposed to make friends and branch out and explore the world outside the Parental bubble that has been built around you for the past 17 years of your life. Yeah, that didn't really work out so well for me. My college made us fill out surveys to determine our living and roommate situations. I said that I like things quiet and calm and neat, mostly because I didn't want some crazy party girl slut roommate always coming in at 3 am waking me up. The people over in Residence Life apparently took this as me basically being a nerdy shut-in and so I got placed in a dorm that the year before had been the "Quiet Dorm". It was all the way on the back end of campus. Most people I met had never even heard of it and asked if it was a real dorm. The building was an old house with U-shaped floors, separated single sex with girls on floors 1, 2 & 4 and guys on 3 & 5.

Half the people in my building went home on the weekends, so it was hard to mingle. This left me with little options other than the handful of people I had met at Orientation. Which meant that it was hard to make friends with people who were barely ever around, or to make new friends with people who weren't even sure you actually lived on campus. I started to notice that it was really hard for me to approach people. I guess I was always kind of shy growing up, until people really tried to get to know me. I didn't understand why I couldn't just go up and say "Hey, what's up?" and BOOM! Insta-Friend! I thought I was a pretty cool chick. I was definitely a nice person. And I liked to go out and have fun just like everyone else. So why couldn't I make friends?

I would get kind of a tingle in my nose thinking about social interaction. My heart would start to race a little. And I would feel like I was about to cry. I had social anxiety disorder. When I transferred schools and moved back home, I started to have increased anxiety and panicky episodes. I went to the doctor and she prescribed me Paroxetine (Paxil) and that began to help me a little bit. But I had already formed a big social group by becoming part of a big subculture: Raves. Raves were fun, giant parties with loud music and lots of people under the influence so it was easy to talk to people and make friends. (Especially if you were under the influence yourself sometimes as well.) I joined an internet forum for Ravers as well and began to meet many "friends" that way as well. I also enjoyed moderate Celebrity status as at every party, I wore a pair of Bunny ears and was instantly recognizable and lovable.

The Paxil worked pretty good for a while. I felt more confident. I was making friends. I was being more assertive. I had a good relationship and a good job. I wasn't feeling anymore anxiety. So I decided I didn't need to take it anymore. The medication had worked, right?

Cut to a few years later. I began dating a guy who treated me like shit. He caused me a great deal of stress and duress through his mannerisms, both towards me and in his everyday life. I started cutting myself off from these new friends I had made because I put myself in this bubble where it was just him. I was afraid of him and what he would do to me, and the hatred he had for my friends and family and the threats he would make against them. And the fool that I was, I loved him and didn't want to lose him. So I lost everyone else. And I lost myself in the process. I began having the anxiety attacks again. I was losing ground and didn't know how to fix it. I went back to the doctor again and she prescribed me Lexapro. The anxiety stopped, but the torture in my relationship continued.

I had burned so many bridges, it was hard to get my life back. I had been living with this animal and when we broke up, I had to move in with my parents who had moved almost an hour & 1/2 from where I grew up. It was the middle of nowhere and I was now 24 years old. It was going to be even harder to make friends. My mom suggested I get a part-time job. That worked for a bit. I stopped taking my medication again because I hated feeling mechanical and medicated. I made some friends and hung out a bit, but they weren't the kind of friends I was looking for. The area I was living in was very suburban and close knit, so it was very much like High School part 2. (Especially when you had 20 somethings hanging out with 16 year olds and drinking with them on the beach at night.) That just wasn't for me, so I cut them off too. Plus, I had finally found an out from this middle of nowhere place: a new job, a new city, a chance for a new life.

I moved to Philadelphia in the Summer of 2009. It was supposed to be my chance to start over. Make new friends, explore new places. (It was also supposed to be a chance for me to Love again, but that is a post to be saved for a later date.) Unfortunately, hanging out with Gay men (my best friend and his friends) didn't really give me much chance to explore my options. The one coworker close to my age in my office was married. Strike 2. And the fact that my love life imploded coupled with a depressingly long and blizzardy Philadelphia winter sunk me into a deep 5 month long depression.

With the warm weather here now, it should have put me in a better mood, but the fact remains: I am 26 years old and I don't know how to make friends. Everyone I meet is married, divorced, engaged, gay or in a relationship. I am afraid of marriage. I am wary of dating. I am afraid to trust and let people get close to me because I have been burned a lot recently. Where do you go to meet people and make friends when you are 20-something? And how do you go up to random strangers and make conversation without seeming like a complete Asperger's/Socially awkward weirdo?

As much of a nice and fun person I (like to think I) am, I wonder - Why would anyone want to be my friend? I don't really bring much to the table. My life is not exciting. I don't have a boyfriend. No siblings. I am not close with my family. And so I try to avoid social situations in which I have to talk about myself or my personal life. I don't really interact with others at my office because I hate small talk and don't really care about asking people how their weekends were or about their families because those are not people I'm interested in being friends with and do not like being friendly for the sake of being friendly. (Even though that is probably something I should be doing to develop my social skills to begin with, and maybe that is the problem.)

Should I blame my parents for never fostering these types of social skills in me? Maybe. Should I blame my ex for ruining my ability to trust and interact with other human beings? More than likely. My anxiety is slowly creeping back. Thinking about even being in a situation to meet people makes me uncomfortable and causes me stress and makes me cry. I do not want to medicate myself anymore. I want to be free of this. To be normal. To have fun and be social and to not have to use the Internet to make friends. (Even though some of the most interesting and awesome people I have met as of late have been from the Internet, and are even cooler in person, but unfortunately live 9000 miles away.)

I live alone in a strange city and have no friends close by or siblings or pets.

I am an only child.