Out with the Young

What I learned from dating myself

As I sat on my bed, at 4am, waiting for a text back, I realized how lonely it was dating myself. I called a number that would never pick up, a number that would never call me. I text a number who never asked about my interests or thoughts or dreams; it was as if I was talking to myself in a mirror, only scratching the surface. I sat with a body that would never look at me and smile that stupid look and you all know what look I’m talking about. That look you give when you’re with someone and you say, “Okay, I’m happy.” It was always me staring at myself in the mirror trying to convince myself that we were happy. “Okay, you’re happy. This is good.” (Grateful smile) There was even something scarier about dating myself; I was dating myself at 16. The hesitant, scared, ‘freedom’ wanting, no commitment so I won’t get hurt or miss out on things, self. I was dating me when I was selfish. I had come so far in my life to try and scratch that image of this immature me out of history, but here she was… never calling, never really caring. While I still consider myself selfish, I changed the definition. My selfishness means that I changed the definition of love as well. Love didn’t take away my freedom, it created new freedoms for me. Love didn’t hold me back from events or people, if it were right, it would accompany me on all my adventures. Love wasn’t scary or painful, people were. Love is worth it; therefore my selfishness was about my worth. I am worth attention. I am worth someone being proud to be with me. I am worth the call. I am worth the deep silly conversations. You are all worth more than a surface relation in your life.

 

1. I’m not mad at my misfortunes.
   When I say this, I mean, after my most recent breakup, I didn’t find myself angry, vengeful, or hateful. I was sad. I was so sad that I allowed myself to feel less than I know I am worth. I was sad that I put in 100% while I got 0% sometimes 5% on a good day. I was sad because I questioned my being… “Was I not good enough to get to know?” “He didn’t even take the time to get to know me, he didn’t care.” Break-ups are also pretty minuscule when you’re busy at work all day. But I’d get home to wait for the delayed text messages of small talk. I missed the stupid conversations that would lead nowhere and almost forgot how much I yearned for the conversation that would matter. Those never came. Not much really did.
   

2. I was dating my karma.
   I was a total bitch in my last relationship (before this recent break-up). Not really into it, writing people off. Putting in 5% in on good days. Well, I got that back with full force and it sucks. WOW, does it suck breaking up with someone who doesn’t care that you broke up? It’s much easier to move on, but it’s a time-consuming thought.
   
   

3. I learned something about life after college.
   I learned a valuable lesson that college (party) girls will always be much more desired than a struggling 22-year old that’s starting off her career, at least to the younger demographics. Not many boys mature right after college and they’re often chasing the after college party. I learned I SHOULD NOT FEEL BAD ABOUT THIS. Fuck no, I worked too damn hard and have drunk too damn much to linger over someone I was two years ago. Boys and girls should realize we all have to grow the fuck up sometime. I felt so damn proud of myself to be able to say I moved on from that stage of super slutty outfits and throwing up in my toilet to call my night successful.
   
   

4. I learned that dating myself also meant breaking up with myself.
   When my relationship ended, I think so did a little part of my teenage college life did as well. The tantrums, chasing the boy, empty relationships that I would have endured when I was younger were no longer something I could deal with in my future. I needed a dude who would order pizza before I got to his house and watch stupid shit with me all night. A guy who didn’t need to impress his ‘bros’ by fucking rando’s every time they had a boys night. No, I needed someone who could think of another person once in a while. I realized that being with someone who was going to make me important in his life meant I had to let go of the girl who was ok with not being important to someone else. I feel much better without her.
   
   

5. I hope for the best
   Not only for me, for him. I hope he finds what he’s looking for and by that I mean I hope he finds himself. I never thought there would come a day where I would be dumped and an hour later I would be gut hurting laughing with my family. I wasn’t bitter and that is something I’ve always been. Not only with this last relationship, but I think this helped me let go of a lot of crap I’ve been holding onto.
   
   
   

6. Sex and the City never made so much God damn sense.
   I seriously mean this. I think girls often forget how lucky we can be to have genuine girlfriends. I never thought I would have girls in my life that could make me forget about something that made me so sad. I didn’t want to sulk so I packed my things and went to see my roommates. There is nothing better than seeing the faces of people who genuinely love you, even when you’re not being very lovable. There is also nothing better than receiving text messages from your other girlfriends reminding you why they love you. It’s a treasure I learned to cherish later in my life, but I’m glad I found people to help me realize how you’re not really alone in anything.
   
   

7. I said goodbye and I said hello.
   I said goodbye to not only one relationship, but also the whole boatload of them that I had been holding onto. I said goodbye to the expectations of people and said hello to the understanding of what I deserve in a relationship. I said hello to someone I’ve been dying to meet for years. If in the future, I find out I have been dating myself, I’ll be a damn lucky girl.
   
   

Jane’s Guide to Dick

When I was in the sixth grade I was terrified that people could read my thoughts. I’m not lying about this either. I would pat the back of my head in order to make sure a bubble revealing my non-stop thoughts of my body, boys, and my new boobs were not popping out for the world to see. When my class would sit in front of our church assemblies, I would think to myself, “don’t think about that dirty video I once saw on my brothers’ computer” or “ don’t think about the fact that I measure my boobs every day.” Nevertheless, the church made me a dirty thinker and that explains more to me now than it did to me then.

Now I’m entering a new world where women are not scared to tell the stories of their lame sexcapades or that one time they discovered touching their vagina made them feel some sort of relief. I sit here glancing at a world that my age is still a little hesitant to enter. A world I was a little hesitant to enter but that I always knew I should be a part of. I grew up in a house where the fact that I could be having sex was ‘erroneous on all accounts.’ Yet, they wanted me to be a strong independent woman. But yet, they wanted me to censor myself to other people. But yet, they wanted me to stay their little girl. I was torn between a world I was not meant to be in and a world I so strongly needed to participate in.

Early on, I knew I was a sexual woman. Given that, I hated myself for it because other people hated me for it. I even hate myself for calling myself a ‘sexual woman.’ What does that even mean? Normal is a perfect word for it, I think. I was normal! I was curious about sex. I loved a boy so I had sex with him. I thought sex was a good idea with some wrong people and I did it anyway. I was curious about my body so I explored it. It was the nature of puberty and coming of age that I wanted to censor. I didn’t like people knowing I was human. I didn’t like people knowing that yes I made mistakes but I didn’t necessarily regret them. “A woman never kisses and tells.” Well, why the hell not? Why does it matter who I kiss and who I tell, why does it matter who I fuck and who knows? I know now that I would never take back the awkward first time or the terrible second time or the unforgettable other times. I know now that more people talked about my sex life than I did.

The first time I had sex, I cried in the bathroom for 45 minutes afterward. Before I got home, I washed my face numerous times to wash off the ‘glow’ everyone talked about getting when you have sex. Although the probably less than two minutes of my life-changing decision made me dimmer than giving me a ‘glow’. I didn’t cry because I regretted it, I cried because I was scared of what people would think of me now. I knew everyone would find out, but why did I care? When down the line did society instill in my head that my sex life was something to be ashamed of? I made a pact to myself, pretty recently, at the ripe age of 20, that if I was too scared to buy condoms, I was not going to have sex. I was terrified to buy condoms because the one time I did the lady at Walgreens was spitting at me with her mouth closed. I tried to make a joke, a bad joke, something like “Better safe than sorry huh?” and the pitiful look of ‘you fucking slut’ haunted me for the rest of my recent sex life. Or it could have been the time I bought Plan B and an old man made it his duty to tell me how to exactly take the pill with a long line behind me. Trying to feel comfortable with the advice from a man who thought he was my Grandfather giving me valuable advice for the future, I nodded and stuttered that I agreed, only for my card to be declined later. I was scarred one contraceptive at a time.

Now, I’m in a world where if my sex life is bothering you or you think you can poke fun at it, be my guest you intelligent person of the 21st century. Please, downplay my sex life if it makes you feel better; if it makes you feel superior. Understand that I look down on someone who can’t accept that humanity is sexual. That women and men can have one night stands with no judgment. That women and men should stop worrying about numbers and start worrying about keeping your body safe and yourself healthy. Please understand that I think our society needs to focus on safer sex rather than censoring the fact that sex is happening. My sex life is not a taboo. Sex is not taboo. My body is not a taboo subject either. And it shouldn’t be for you.

WHO THE FUCK WRITES ABOUT FEMINISM?

In response to: http://codymroczka.wordpress.com/2014/05/05/an-open-letter-to-all-the-shallow-girls-out-there-be-careful/ (A wonderful writer and friend)
Who responded to: http://elitedaily.com/women/open-letter-nice-guys-dont-stop-trying/

Dear Boy and Girl,
I’d like to rid you of stereotypes such as “nice” and “shallow” because those are characteristics that are determined with adolescence. Don’t get me wrong, when you choose to leave your adolescence, that is solely up to you.

So to the boy who is always “nice”, you will one day be an asshole in some woman or man’s eyes, I promise.
To the girl who is always “shallow”, you will one day be nice in a woman or man’s eyes as well, I promise.

Everyone misconstrues these persecutions in life because they hope for the wrong characteristics of the wrong people. A shallow guy may be shallow to you and nice to another girl and vise vera. It’s called a connection, not a lifestyle. Everyone in their adolescence and twenties are wondering why they can’t find the right men and women. It is because we are a liberated, sex-crazed generation. We need our fill on independence, most of us. You can’t find the right person because the right person is not ready to find you, there is too much opportunity to miss these days. 
So to the men who believe all girls want a bad boy and can’t believe how your niceness is going unseen; we are wondering why your niceness should automatically make you assume we would be available to you? As though you’re all we’ve been looking for. As though we don’t see what is in front of our faces. Perhaps, here’s a thought, maybe we just don’t want your kindness in a romantic way because maybe we just don’t want you. Perhaps you are only the shoulder to cry on, the late phone call for comfort, the laughs. Perhaps you are just the friendship.
And to the women who believe man is out to get you, I think our sex needs to look into a mirror. I say this with grace because I’ve lived with girls. I see the agony we go through if he says one wrong word through text, looks the wrong way or does the wrong gesture. Perhaps you are with the nice guy but society and insecurities have brought you to a boiling point of analyzing all male integrity. Perhaps you are with the asshole who I’m sorry, just don’t want you. You are not the girl he is changing for or choosing to be nice too. Men have the same option to reject us as much as we reject them.

We want to be equal and wonder why a guy won’t text us first, why a girl won’t just say how she feels, wondering why he isn’t texting you all day while he wonders why you’re waiting an hour to answer his text.
We can’t look needy.
We can’t look too interested.
We can’t look uninterested.
Seem unique.
Act adorable.
Act distance, but not so distant that they wouldn’t want you anymore.
Be funny.
Be bold.
Be truthful.
But not too truthful.
Be mysterious.
Be open.
Hope to be the change in him.
Hope to be the change in her.

We are a contradicting people who need to get their shit together.

We are all so caught up in the confusion of sexes, pinning words and jabs to one another that we fail to see we are one in the same, just because you don’t look into your pool of compatibility does not make you a Greater God. One would not be here without the other.

So, Dear Boy and Girl, you can be all the characteristics in the world, but you will be the right ones to the right people

The Movement of Nothing

I’m sorry this post will be a little somber for the spirit of Christmas, but that’s the way life works anyways.

So this weekend, I found out what moving on meant. Not only what it meant but also how it felt. I found out that everyone’s ‘go to’ phrase when you’re crying at a bar with two vodka redbulls in your hands is ‘it’ll be okay’. I get that but right now it isn’t, just move the cup up to my mouth, tell me to forget about it for a while, and tell the DJ to put on Adele so I can dance and cry at the same time.

After my fiasco with crying, vodka redbulls, and a long night of long talks, I went home and laid in my bed. Heels and all and cried more. There was crying everywhere and I blamed it on running into my ex’s friend. If that son of a bitch wasn’t nice, he could have left me alone and not talked about my ex for ten minutes while I chugged my drink and nodded my head. I woke up with a terrible headache, a horrible face, and a lot of shakings of my head while I whispered ‘what the fuck Sam’ to myself multiple times. Needless to say, I hope your Saturday was better than mine.

So what did I do after a night of crying? I went on all my social networks and did what everyone is guilty of doing. Something I haven’t done in weeks and decided in my fragile state THAT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO CREEP someone who wasn’t in my life anymore. Girls can be idiots. Which leads me to my next point:
—–>>>>>I think social media has ruined the moving on process, truly. I think one of the biggest mistakes we make as human beings is trying to stay updated with someone who isn’t in our life anymore. When we find something we don’t like, it hurts us, it reminds us that were broken and were probably making no progress at all. Yesterday, I found something because I was looking for it. It was my own fault. I questioned why I even do this to myself? Why do I look on his or her twitter or instagram to see what the new update is? I don’t care; I don’t want to know so what the hell am I doing? Am I looking for an excuse to bitch? Probably. I’m a great bitcher or bitch for that matter. I go looking for it, I find it, and then I’m upset. That doesn’t make any sense.  Well, I found something alright and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I ate a pizza in my room in the dark and my mom didn’t even question me. A hundred things ran through my head once I saw a new picture of my ex with his new girlfriend. But not one of them were positive. If you feel negative, you will only think of the negative, I’ve learned. My mom popped her head into my room and told me to come downstairs but all I wanted to do was sleep and think about getting drunk tomorrow. I hauled my ass out of my bed and my mom turned on the loudest Mexican music I’ve ever heard and started dancing. I had no idea what was even going on while she tried to do the washing machine from Selena. She grabbed my hands and made me dance with her and I laughed for a half hour straight. She never let me stop dancing and we never stopped laughing.

That is what moving on feels like. It stabs you in the heart so you can feel it all, but in moments, you’re laughing until you realize how sad you still are. Those moments are what I call physic moments. You’re seeing into the future. There will come a time where those moments will be your life and the sad thoughts will be replaced with some new sad thought or worry. I was happy until the dancing stopped and I was stuck in my room again. Then something else happened. I got a call from someone very important in my life lately who was scaring me all day saying we needed to talk. The cherry on top of the fucking ice cream. When he finally called, I sat on my mom’s bed with a lump in my throat. ‘I just wanted to say I miss you’ he said and repeated throughout our conversation. I was smiling again. I was pissed off but I was smiling. Here was someone who just made me happy for the rest of the day and I was so grateful for him to an extent he will never know. Within my day of sad realizations, there were always moments to remind me that I don’t live in the past and I’m living in this now where things are happening. Then I remembered… so is my ex. So are the people in my past, they are living in this now too.

Realizations…

Seeing the picture of my ex and his new girlfriend isn’t the end of my life. The negative thoughts I’m telling myself are entirely my fault. This morning my friend told me ‘I think the picture is a sign telling you that its okay to let go, that he’s going to be okay and that you are too.’  Yeah, within all my negative and sad thoughts, there was a positive one. Seeing things like that shouldn’t make us want to live in the past, it should make us realize that sometimes you’re better off letting go then reminiscing and here is your sign. If you go looking for it, you’re going to find it, bad news or good; and that goes for anything in life. Be careful with the access to unwanted or wanted knowledge. There is my rant, there is my beauty in letting go, thank you for living in my past moments, start living in your nows.

Make Lemons

I need to write now because its 6am and I’m sitting in my living room with my dad’s robe on, smoking a sober cigarette because I can. Quite a catch I am, huh? I didn’t want to write about this because I don’t like showing the vulnerable side of me but I promised to be true to all of you, so here I am, all of me.

It’s funny. When did we all become such cynical hard fucks? When did we start to put up our walls? Or have we’ve always had them there because of instinct? I don’t know but anyway… I think in one semester I’ve learned more than I have in a lifetime which surprises me how much we can learn in such a little time. Right now, I’m happy and sad at the same time. I’m happy with who’s in my life and I’m sad with who’s leaving it and with who’s recently left, I suppose.

No matter our walls, we all put our feelings on the line for the hope of feeling like we have no barriers within ourselves. It’s true. What’s sad is that I don’t think other people realize that. Sometimes it’s a one-way street… Just us hoping and the other person just living their life with no intentions. Other times you find someone who’s on the same road as you, that’s luck. I read a quote recently that said “Right person, right time, right place, pick two” that’s so fucking accurate right? Don’t mind me being a girl right now. I just think humanity has lost their intuition on believing we’re all going through something. By humanity, I guess my mind is referring to one person but you’re all thinking of that one person right now anyway.

I wish I could be that person who could easily tell someone I’m going to miss them; this generation has lost that strength. Everything is about technology and not saying what needs to be said. Where are the people who love conversation and saying what needs to be said?  We rely on alcohol to show our true selves and that’s so sad because life is too much of a mind fuck not to share it with someone else, friend or lover. EW, did I really just say lover? I’m a grandma stuck in this 21-year-old body. — I’m going to get to the point right now; I wish I had told someone all I needed to say much sooner before I let it eat me up and make me into this emotional thing. I wish I had told them that I cared and that I was going to miss them with every bone in my body and that I wanted to hold onto every moment with them before they left. This person thinks no one will miss them, but what they don’t realize is… everyone can always feel when someone leaves. I wish I could have told them that or made them realize that. “What I meant by that is; life is easy with you here… and when you’re gone, it will be hard again.” Rejection. Rejection held me back.

Maybe I was born in the wrong era because I don’t know when everyone got so scared to ‘talk’. My hope for everyone reading this is that you are the person who can be true to yourself. Say stupid things, important things, anything because you feel it. That’s living. We look back and regret the things we’ve never said and the things we’ve never done because of fear and rejection. Fear and rejection are just temporary things, they are just moment feelings. When you’re about to ride a roller coaster, you’re scared. That’s fear. When you’re riding it, you might still be scared but you’re having the time of your life because you did it, because even though you were scared, you went through with it. You learn in the end that you’re happy you did what you did. Life is not much different everybody. Not much different at all.

(I literally just stopped writing and went to subway for milk because my poor ass doesn’t have any milk and I really wanted hot chocolate. Subway does sell milk if anyone was wondering.)

In the end, I need everyone to know, no matter how ‘tough’ you are, you feel. Everyone fucking feels, everything. It’s never a one-way street even though it might seem that way most of the time. We are all actually lucky to not be alone, you just don’t see it that way. It’s okay to be sentimental fucks, alone or with someone who doesn’t care if you cry onto their lap while listening to Rascal Flatts, I swear that’s not a personal story….maybe it is, yeah I’ve done it. I hope what you can take away is not to be scared for a moment and just live in it with eyes closed. You will learn from anything you do, it will help. If you’re not going to take my advice, I suppose I’ll take my own. My hot chocolate is done, goodnight and good day everyone.

I Love You, Everything Burrito

I said I was going to be myself in this blog, so I will be. Many people have a tendency of losing things and I have a tendency of losing people, by force, or by choice, I lose them either way. I like to run away a lot. I once had a bad break up with a very insignificant person and flew to Mexico that night.  This summer I flew to England for a month to stall something that was bound to end. I run away. I’m not a girl who falls in love with one person forever, that’s what my friends are for. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m a wildflower and when someone tries to keep me, I will die. I’m a girl who is in love with the world and will run away from people just to be with it. Should I not find some pride in that? That I consume myself with the thought of leaving instead with the thought of loving and settling down. One day, someone will change that and until then I’m okay with where I have gone in life, alone.

I’m a girl who wears all black very regularly but not in the Goth way but in the ‘I wish I was fashionable’ way.

I guess this kinda portrays the Goth side but you’d be a damn liar if you didn’t relate

I’m on my fourth cup of coffee and it’s 1am. I don’t want kids because I read somewhere that once you have a kid your pet takes the back burner and that thought makes me really sad. Honestly, like how can that even be possible?

Exhibit fucking A

I’ve come to realize, I’m friends with hopeless romantics who are wildflowers as well. Girls who love to be swoon for a moment but would rather it just be for a moment than forever. My friends are independent creatures with too much love for drinking wine every night or online shopping or eating a lot. I pride myself on them. My friends and I are picky. You may call us bitches but so be it because some people may think we are. We gossip endlessly with my mom and sit outside of parties having one too many cigarettes, ranting about how we need to go somewhere with our lives. What I’m trying to say is, when did girls stop being picky? You meet so many new people in college and it makes me wonder how low people’s standards go. When did it become okay to settle? You’re young, settling and staying with someone you truly want to be with are two incredibly different concepts. <Someone told me that and I find it impossibly true. I’m picky: I like beards, a boy who can dress well, a boy who can make my stomach hurt from laughing, a boy who makes an hour on the phone feel like 10 minutes, a boy with funny taste in music and funnier taste in movies, a boy who wont judge me for ordering a pizza and Chinese food because I couldn’t decide, a boy who cooks me the world, a boy who will fight with me when a fight needs to be had, a boy who challenges me, a boy with flaws that I love, and it’s a bonus if he is left handed. That’s a weird characteristic, I know but I’ve told my mom I want to be married to someone left-handed because I’m so jealous of them.

Yes

I want girls or boys to know that it’s OKAY to be alone because I believe society has told us differently. Why are we so afraid to be alone with ourselves these days anyway? Are you scared of what you will find out if you listen to your thoughts or read something you wrote or realize a certain genre of music that makes you weak? What is so scary of the thought of learning who you are? Are you scared you will not like it or are you scared you will and then question why someone hasn’t learned to love it as much as you do yet? It is also OKAY to love something other than the concept of loving someone. Life has given you the opportunity to fall in love with foods, places, people, things, moments, and music. It’s okay to consume your thoughts with selfish loves of other things and make loving someone a bonus.

Notice I am smiling

I understand life can get lonely, but that’s what soul mates are for. Soul mates are around you everyday—they are the people that make your life worth living, the people that add meaning to your life and they come in different people and things. If you find one day that in your entire life, even for a split moment, that you are happy with yourself, embrace it. Swim in the feeling of it because as cliché as I may sound at this moment, happiness comes from anything in life that you see and you’ve finally let it in.

Thats my blog punching you with some knowledge, use it and own it.

God is in the Pancakes

Happy Thanksgiving or whatever day you’re reading this everyone! I need to get the monkey off my back and just goes balls out of my first post. Is ‘getting the monkey off my back’ even a saying? Mind you it’s 5am on Thanksgiving and I’m sitting in a dark room listening to Cold Play right now while trying to, nonchalantly, take pictures of my bunny sleeping. Perfect time to transition into my topic, I’d say.

Yes, apparently this is a thing.

             Holy hell, who wants to take advice from me with an intro like that? This is a break-up entry because dealing with one is worse but making the same excuses for a dying relationship is a lot worse.

The Folk you will Encounter during a Break-Up

1. The Fuckher/him: This is not the person who is so infuriated with their ex that everyone else sucks just as much as their ex and they want nothing to do with anyone; this is the person who can’t seem to keep in their pants long enough so they trick the goods into thinking its still in a relationship with something.

The ugly truth:
 

 

In all honesty: At some point during all the pointless flirting and sex you will hear a song that you’ve tried so hard to forget, and I promise it will not be making you think of that person the other week who’s name may have started with a J or an A.

2. The Miley: Someone who cuts, dyes, or buzzes their hair; buys a new wardrobe, gets their nails done, waxes their body, gets facials, and hell why not, throw in a nose job.

The ugly truth: Congratulations! You look hot, but just because you look like a completely different person, doesn’t mean you are a completely different person and it most certainly does not mean that you’re dealing with a completely different break up.

3. The Invisibility Cloak: Also known as “The Repressor”: What break up? I’m fine. Never happened. Don’t talk about it. I’m okay.
The ugly truth: Unfortunately, it DID happen, and you DO need to talk about it or else one day you will explode at the most unfortunate time. Possibly at a busy restaurant, where you look over to the people next to you and you notice one of them is holding their fork the same way your ex held their fork and that triggers something and before you know it, you’re sobbing into your ribs. The break up process starts a  lot later and will take a heavier toll.

Note* I didn’t put “The crier” because those people cry so much for a month or two about it and realize they’re all cried out and ready to move on. People tend not to want to be little bitches for a long period of time, and honestly, no one wants to be around that either.

              The invisibility cloak is where my personal story begins. How could I write about break ups and solutions without having any personal experience, right? Unfortunately, as time would tell, my break up is a little over recent but still pretty new to me. I read somewhere that it takes half the time you dated someone, to get over him or her. In my case that would be a year and a half and I didn’t have the time or want in my life to deal with that, so I didn’t. It was an emotionless break up for me and I probably seemed like a cold-hearted bitch at the time it ended. I didn’t cry about anything; I didn’t talk about it; I avoided all areas, which would make me think about him; I blocked him off all social medias; I burned all of our memories without flintching. I didn’t listen to sad music, in fact, I barely listened to music; I even stopped writing. It was over and I was better off letting it go and never looking back.

It’s funny how strong people see you when you do things like that. When you act like something doesn’t faze you in the least bit. I was ‘strong’ and I believed it. It wasn’t until a month or two ago, when I looked back at my tumblr that I realized I had a sad bitch deep in my soul that I wasn’t letting out. Everything was morbid; sad, mad, or hateful. I ignored the realization and decided to start listening to music again, only to later realize that all I was listening to was Adele and a station on my Pandora called ‘Sad Songs’ radio. I started sleeping more and losing my drive to go to class. Everything was slow motion all of a sudden and I couldn’t put my finger on why. I figured I was itching to visit somewhere or go see something but that only made me realize that I had such a want to run away.

Things like this would happen occasionally

It wasn’t until I went to my British Lit class where my teacher spoke about an opportunity, to write a letter to someone who’s passed away or is alive but write as if they have passed away, for extra credit. The second he proposed it, I turned to the back of my spiral and started writing a letter to him: my ex. Before I knew it, my throat stung and my vision obscured from my eyes filling with tears. I went into the bathroom and sobbed like a child for easily a half hour. I had never felt like Ron Burgundy more in this moment. I was one with the feeling of being in a glass case of emotion.  Knowing I was going to go back into my classroom with swollen eyes, I put my head down, grabbed my stuff, and excused myself from the rest of class.

Real photo of actual event in bathroom stall.

It was raining when I got outside and I felt like I was in a really depressing movie as I walked in the pouring rain, crying, listening to Adele. I really wish someone could have video taped me for a music video or something because that is exactly how it probably looked. Actually, probably not, I’m a hideous crier and was doing a weird walk/run so I could get home faster. When I got home, I came to terms with that fact that I had for sure repressed my break up and it was biting me in the ass, hard. Now what?

NOW WHAT IN-FUCKING-DEED. Meeting someone new, changing myself, or any other alternative was not going to work anymore. I had to DEAL with the NOW of my emotions. The last thing anyone should ever do, HEED MY WARNING, is text your ex because you’re feeling down. I knew I couldn’t text him but what do you do when the one person you used to talk to when you ever felt this down, is gone? I wrote. I wrote letters upon letters to him that I know he would never read but it was an opportunity to talk to him again, to get everything I needed to say, out. The feelings that you’re supposed to have right when you break up were all coming to me now. My life hurt without him, physically. I woke up thinking about him, tried all day not to think about him, went to bed, only to wake up and do it all over again. It was exhausting but that was the process. It wasn’t until the other week I realized I was writing a paper with our song playing in the background. The beauty of it was that the song was already towards the end and I hadn’t noticed it until then.

            I know the song thing doesn’t seem very big but it is a very big step for me. I knew the letters I wrote to him would eventually dwindle; they will eventually stop all together one day. As much as anyone will deny it, our hearts love to be dramatic, it gets our blood racing. So, be dramatic within yourself, feel it all, who cares? Thats how life happens people: it fucks you and you deal with it wether you want to or not. Life’s helping hand is time, take it, bask in it.

*If you’re interested in seeing the depressing Tumblr I was talking about in my post, heres the link. I’m naturally a dark soul with a sunshine outlining so take me as I am. Fabulous.

Tumblr: samii-love.tumblr.com

The Familiarity of a Stranger

That’s me down there: No, not the girl with her arms out, the creep in the back with the hot pink shirt on. I’m kidding, I’m obviously the one with my arms in the air because if I weren’t, this would definitely be a creepy picture to introduce myself as.

None of you know me, even those that do. So let me introduce myself. I’m Sam; full name Samantha, nicknamed Sammy which I switched the spelling of to Samii in third grade to make me unique. The spelling never stuck much but that’s a whole other box of issues I’ll open up to you poor souls later. Before I begin this blog I am going to warn the audience reading. This will be postings of my true life; my bland, honest, dark life. Not many “writers” do this because people who engulf themselves in their writing see it as a form of vulnerability. Writers are allowed to be whoever they want to be when they write. I am being myself; the hardest character in one’s story to write. I am doing this for myself, yes, but also for everyone out there who thinks true feelings are meant to be hidden. I’m not sappy, and I am nowhere near fucking cliche although that sounded cliche. If you hate oxford commas, the dirty truth, and fucking nonsense, this blog is not for you. For those that don’t mind, sit back, and enjoy the messed up ride I call my life. Maybe I am cliche, fuck.

Twitter: @samila_kunis
Instagram: samanthabridget

• I honestly don’t even recommend following me on Instagram because every time I creep myself I remind myself how utterly shitty I am at picking filters and taking pictures.
• I guess I’m pretty fucking gold on twitter, so have at it.