putting it back together...

My last entry was March 14th and I went silent. It was a picture of umbrellas in the sky and the title was, "When the sky is falling..." This is all information you know. What you don't know is the story and how I needed an umbrella to keep the sky from falling on me. Simultaneously, the sky caved in on me and the ground crumbled beneath my feet. And, I couldn't do anything about it...I was paralyzed by the magnitude of it.

For those of you who have read what I've written before or who know me personally, it probably comes as no surprise. I struggle at times with some intense anxiety and depression. I would give the world to be able to remove it from my being. To sit in a place of serenity and remove clouds of doubt and unrest. I would love to know what it feels like to have no demons to fight or cross to bare. This isn't something I can do though.

I mask my feelings pretty well a majority of the time. I have it down to an art. I know how to fool even those who are professionals at removing the mask. I say I am fine and will laugh it off. This is not to say that I don't know how to be happy and I don't sincerely laugh and enjoy life. I most certainly do....but, when I wear the mask it is difficult to see beyond.

There was no hiding this though. I was shattered and people were finding out. I lost the energy to wear the mask or to pretend. It became piercingly obvious. The self doubting part of myself wanted to believe that no one would take notice or even if they did they wouldn't act. How could they? Why would they? I don't quite know the answer to those questions. What I do know is that they did. They told me I wasn't okay and had to do something about it. They offered to stay with me. They sat on the phone even when I was silent. And, they picked me up. Both figuratively and literally. Despite all efforts to push it away, I was showered with love. It was an outpouring I could never repay or even begin to express the extent to which I am forever grateful. When I was sinking I didn't just have a life preserver thrown to me, but people jumped in after me.

I can't make a false promise and say I am all better and the sky is hung right back where it is suppose to be. It isn't. I have to be honest. The ground is still unstable. But it is getting better every day. What I am learning to accept is that I can not count on some, but there are others who will go to the ends of the earth for me. And, I just have no words for that...a very rare thing.

I'm a story teller. I talk. I write. I love the experience of sharing. I love details and often get wrapped up in them. When I was a little girl, my parents would hurry me along and say, "get to the point," because my stories were inevitably twice as long as they needed to be. I'm not a "point" kind of girl. To me, it is the process of getting there that makes it worth it...not the actual point. I want to draw it out...experience it. I want to take as long as I can getting to the point.

So, while I considered ending this whole process of sharing and writing publicly...I couldn't stop. I am back. Not to write some sad blog about being sad, but to be honest. Share it all. And, that is what you will find here. Good, bad, ugly, weird...all of it. It will be the continuation to my journey.

I give you my story...there will never be any long story short about it...

outlook not so good...

I apologize in advance. I am going to be Negative Nancy for a second here. I am working on finding a solution, but part of that solution for me is being able to get it out in some form or another. So, bare with me for a moment and I will get back to happy nothing little posts soon.

Have you ever really followed your gut and had it be wrong? I think I am sitting in a place of recognition that my gut lied to me. But really, I'm not even sure it was my gut that lied. Perhaps my gut was telling me what to do the whole time and I just ignored it. I'm not even sure anymore. I'm not sure how to trust myself to know the difference.

I'm usually one of those people that once she makes a decision, stands firm in it. And they are usually really good for me. It's true that I can be indecisive and take time to weigh options, but when I take that leap...when I decide...I'm all in. There is very rarely a moment of turning back wondering if I took a wrong step.

I'm looking back now.

I hate this feeling. I am disappointed in myself. Embarrassed. And I feel broken because of it. I have this desire to have someone swoop in and rescue me or be there for me, but at the same time I am so afraid of hearing "I told you so," that I don't even know how to begin to ask for support. I just want to drown in this feeling because I don't know how to make things right.

saving the best of last is for assholes

I've never really been athletic. I don't like to run. Hell, I barely like to walk. And for the record, this didn't start as an adult. I didn't like running around and shit like all other little kids. So, naturally, I wasn't a big team sports sort of girl growing up. There was one exception though, T-Ball.

The town I grew up in in New Jersey was fairly small. My brother and I pretty much knew everyone on our t-ball team and my dad, who was one of the coaches, knew all the other coaches.

While I was on the team, I wasn't always really into the game. I'd get bored and walk off the benches to go swing on the swing sets that were next to the field or I would wonder off with a friend. I just wasn't too into it. Add that to the fact that I was the last to bat every time. My dad would lovingly tell me that they were saving the best for last and I had to wait my turn. At four maybe five years old, I didn't like this answer but I accepted it. I was, in fact, the best.

The coaches (and sometimes the parents in the stands) would call me back to the field when it was time for me to bat. This is where things got interesting. The ringer of Bohm's Sod Farm T-Ball team would step on to the plate. Watch out mother fuckers. I meant business. It is true that my business meant missing the tee every now and then. I dare you to try to hit a stationary ball perched on a tee some time. It isn't as easy as it sounds. Back off.

When I did make contact with the ball, it was magic. Suddenly it was clear why they were saving me for last. One for the win. Home run should have been my middle name. I'd hit the ball and take off running. The kids on the opposing team would yell, naturally, as I ran around the bases. I couldn't bother with them. It was my moment. A fuckin' t-ball legend. I'd make it to home and return to clapping and my dad picking me up telling me what a good job I did. Saving the best for last, that's for damn sure.

The concept of saving the best for last was something I really took with me long after my t-ball days were over. It really made sense to me. It seemed like a good motto to live by.

However, it wasn't.

Yes, I didn't learn this until years after my t-ball hay-days. My jersey number, 0....yeah I forgot to mention that one...well, it wasn't just luck of the draw. And saving the best for last? Well, turns out I wasn't really on the team. They were just letting me hit once everyone else did. Nothing I did really mattered. All those "home runs?" Fake. Oh, and the cheering and yelling. It's true that there was cheering from the parents in the stands who knew the real deal, but the yelling from the opposing team's players...wasn't in support. I ignored their "but she didn't even touch the base" or "let me tag her coach" as I ran by them. I didn't pay attention to the coaches holding the other players back to keep them from tagging me with the ball. I was in my own world. High off of the saving the best for last glory of it all.

square state

So, my bestest bestest friend is in town. We are two wild girls let me tell you. We are sitting in my bed drinking coffee and looking at my google analytics for this blog. I went to the map overlay from the day I started writing until today. Let me tell you I was a little too excited. Cambodia? Thank you for spending 20 minutes here! Sri Lanka? Slovenia? Wow. But, let's talk about you America...


I was looking at the US map and I have to say that I was excited- 45 states. But, why do you not like me: Maine, North Dakota, South Dakota, New Mexico, and square state that is not Colorado? That's right, I said other square state. My friend laughed, but then said she didn't know what state it was. There we sat for a good three minutes trying to figure it out. We are very intelligent I'd like to say, but geography apparently is not our forte.

We eventually figured it out. So, I'm looking at you Wyoming. Start reading. Please.

Thank you.

(P.S. As I read this to her before hitting publish she said, "Wait, is Colorado square?" I hesitated, looked at the map and said, "Yes, of course it is.")

Just Say No

For you to be able to grasp the full effect of this post I'm going to ask that you read this: My First Blog Post Ever.

It is very important that you read that first because if you don't you won't understand why you are shaking your head back and forth and giving me that "really emily? really?" look upon reading this post.


I have a habit. Or, affinity for engaging in some late night calling or texting. Not the dirty kind...just the "I might not remember this in the morning" kind. I don't really discriminate. I will contact anyone. If you are saved in my phone, you are fair game. Be warned now. Block me or something.

Anyway, I attended several holiday functions over this past month or two. Many of these functions involved lots of holiday cheer, which I consumed. So, we appropriately queue late night calling and texting at this point. What's the harm you say? A sibling? A best friend here? An old roommate there? Nothing really. Totally harmless. Right? Wrong.

Real fast, I'm just going to say that they really should devote some time in DARE teaching kids about the dangers of drinking and dialing. Maybe Nancy Reagan will jump on board and do some Just Say No shit. She was all over that in the 80's. (P.S. I did just have to google Nancy Reagan to make sure she was still alive and available for said Just Say No campaign. Turns out she is. Also turns out that her real name is Anne Frances Robbins. Like, for real. I'm feel a little duped, Nancy Reagan. If that is even your real name...oh wait, IT ISN'T!)

Anyway, let's fast forward to the part where I discovered that douchebag's (mentioned in the post that you were required to read earlier) phone number wad still saved in my phone. That's right...we're going down that road. Totally text him. Four months later. No communication since said facebook message...not even a response. Yep. Who is awesome now?

Making matters worse, he responded the next day. Later that night he had his roommate try to pull some grammar school sleep over tactic on me as he text me and was all "who is this? I have your number saved in my phone, but no name. I'm trying to figure out if I should delete you." His fatal move was disclosing his real name when I responded, "who is this?" Yep, my next text was, "My guess is you can delete me. My other guess is that your roommate got a text from me last night and doesn't know who I am so he asked you to text me to try and figure it out instead of doing it himself." I totally felt like a rockstar and wanted to high five myself for that one. Douchebag immediately text me apologizing. He somehow tricked me into an hours worth of text exchanges during which he apologized like ten times and got me to agree to meet up for drinks some time which I thought would never really happen but as it turns out "some time" is actually Sunday night. (Imagine that last sentence said in one breath. No breaks. Fast like ripping off a band-aid.)

Yeah, you can shake your head. "Really Emily? Really?"

I'm Michelle

I feel like that last post was heavy, so I feel the need to lighten things up with a confession. I was about to type embarrassing, but I then realized that I am not embarrassed about it at all. Come on, I am sharing it with the entire internet. That's right kids, the ENTIRE internet will read this. Jealous?

Okay...here it goes.

I love the Olsen twins. And I may or may not have seen like every movie they were ever in. More like may...okay, totally have.


I think it started when I was little and would watch TGIF with my step sisters. When shows would come on we would quickly say who we were going to "be" while the show was on. Think credits rolling...my oldest step sister would loudly announce, "I'm DJ," when Candace Cameron appeared on the screen. My other step sister would always F'in jump in and claim Jodie Sweeten before I got a chance to. (But really, who's laughin' now...she turned out to be a meth addict...Jodie Sweeten. Not my step sister. Although, I haven't talked to her in a few years so don't take me at my word on that one.) Anyway, I was always stuck being Michelle, which meant I was Mary-Kate and Ashley...or both. I'm not sure how the rules worked. I hated it. I wasn't an effing baby, but at some point things turned around. It may have been To Grandmother's House We Go or Double, Double, Toil and Trouble. I can't quite be sure. All I know is they hooked me. I can't get enough. And if we ever watch Full House together, don't even try "be" Michelle. I'm her. You can be Aunt Becky or something.

my to do list...

For those of you wondering, I only did half of everything on my to do list before I left for New Jersey. Half. Of. Everything. That was like the biggest fail ever. I didn't do one thing completely at all...well, besides pack.

I did all of my laundry, but I didn't put it all away. I cleaned my room, but not completely. I washed my sheets but never remade the bed. And my favorite...I washed half the dishes and put the rest in the oven. Yep. I store dirty dishes in the oven. You should think about doing it too.

my boo boo(B)

So, I may or may not have changed my Facebook status to, "booB!" this morning. It was very mean of the Blackberry people to make the B button the same as the exclamation mark button. Surely they foresaw this problem and got a big kick out of it. I guess it serves me right for trying to use two punctuation marks in a row. I should know better than that.

Happy Halloween!

(Me circa 1985-ish... just before societal pressure kicked in for me and every other girl to wear a slutty costume.)

Collections

I was recently at a friend's house and he went into the other room, leaving me alone for a second to look around. Everything was neatly in its place. Everything was practical. His place is not empty by any means, it is comfortable and warm and very nicely styled. There are awesome little works of art on his walls. A sentimental photo or two. But, it was all very minimal. Clean.

I look around my room as I type this and am almost embarrassed to list out some of the things in my direct line of sight (a stuffed gall bladder, a wooden letter E, a Zack Morris phone, a snow globe of NYC, an Eiffel Tower, a Chilean three legged good luck pig). My room is by no means minimal. I have weird gadgets and whatnot. I'm like the Ariel (The Little Mermaid) of the studio apartment world. I have "treasures" all over my place. I am a collector. A collector of all things.

I know that the timing of this post doesn't hep the whole "I am not a hoarder" argument, as it comes dangerously on the heels of the In My Bed post. But really, I am not a hoarder. I just collect things, which I get is probably the same argument they use. But really, I'm not. Hoarder I am not. Collector I am.

This practice I have of collecting is not discriminatory. No, no, my friend. I don't just collect items in my apartment. I also collect friends and exes and a whole host of other things as well.

I guess this whole topic also comes up because I was having dinner with a friend tonight and we were discussing how to end relationships that are toxic. It's hard. I think I have shared quite a bit about my view on friendships, dating relationships, etc. I know you may have gotten a skewed version of me if you simply read about my bad dating experiences and how I walked away from those so easily. Don't be fooled though. I put my heart into stuff. I will give all of my soul to fix and mend things...even when it isn't mine to mend...meaning that I have many times in the past taken on fixing the wrong doings of others and have taken on some of the responsibility and burden that comes with "breaking" things. I collect the relationship in my heart. The person. I don't know how to let it go sometimes.

I'm doing much better at purging the bad stuff in my life than I used to. I guess you could say that I am becoming more selective on what it is that I collect and place sentimental value on. When something becomes toxic in your life, it is okay to walk away from it. This is a lesson I've learned with time. With lots of time. Walking away doesn't mean that the thing or the relationship or the person didn't have value at one time. That it wasn't the best thing for you...at one time. But, time moves on and things change. Things evolve. Short of Alzheimer's or serious head trauma, memory of relationships or treasured possessions can't be taken away. I've had relationships that meant so much to me, but what I've learned or had to learn was that ending them is sometimes the best and healthiest thing. Cutting ties doesn't mean that at one point in time they weren't important. They just can't live on and hold the same value for all time. Things change. Not having them in my life anymore doesn't cheapen the past. It doesn't make it disappear. It will hold a special place forever in my history, but it needs to live there...in my past.

I know this is a little all over the place, but I guess the point is to say that as I've come to realize with relationships the same can hold true for personal possessions as well. I can purge belongings from my life and not strip them of their one time importance.

So, I'm not suddenly going to become completely minimalistic. I'm not going to have a closet that will ever just have clothes, shoes, and maybe a box or two. I will always have stuff under my bed and knick knacky stuff on my shelves, but perhaps I will move forward with caution about what I choose to keep. Perhaps I will purge a little. Perhaps I will realize I don't need to hang on to that t-shirt from the company softball team from a company I don't even work for anymore. Perhaps I will realize that while I loved trolls as a kid, I don't need my entire collection as an adult. (don't tell my mom that though because it lives at her house and I am not quite there yet....this is all hypothetical)

I guess I just got to thinking after looking at my friends apartment and talking over dinner tonight:

If I make room by getting rid of some of the collections I don't really need to hold on to except in memory, what good things will I be making room for in my life?


And, just because I know you are wondering...below is a picture of my amazing stuffed gall bladder. It was a gift from a dear friend who knows that I needed one given that my original gall bladder was surgically removed.

rain, rain, go away?

I just go off of the phone with Rebecca. While we were on the phone she asked, "Is it raining there as much as it has been here? I feel like it hasn't stopped for a month."

I responded, "No. It hasn't been raining that much." I then paused and said, "Well, I don't really go outside everyday, so I could totally be making that up."

Note to self: go outside or open blinds at least once a day.

i'm not gonna make it in today

Sometimes when I get really bored I make up lists. It is a strange practice, I know. I'll give you an example: one day I had a terrible day at work and the train was overly crowded and I was generally in a funk...I made a choice to turn that funk around by making up a list of things I hate. I know that it seems odd, but as I wrote about hating when people take up two seats on the train, stubbing my toe, doing dishes by hand, people who pronounce really common words incorrectly, porta-potties, people who say they aren't hungry anymore after finding a hair in their food, etc....I started to feel better. You see, I just started laughing at all these things that got me fired up and I was suddenly in a better mood.

Well, when I was working I would frequently find myself with too much time on my hands. I prefer to be very busy at work because the stillness becomes mind numbing. I would often pass the time sending emails and surfing the internet. One day I was dreaming of being at home, so I decided to start a list of reasons one would give for not going to work. I decided to also include reasons for being late. And, I have to credit my friends because this list was emailed around and added to throughout the day.



So, next time you can't quite make it in to work...feel free to take one from the vault:

1. Throwing up
2. Migraine
3. Fever
4. Power went out
5. No hot water
6. Roommate went to the hospital
7. Dog threw up (won't stop)
8. "Not feeling well"
9. Family member ill
10. Insomnia the night before
11. Basement flooded
12. Car won't start (wouldn't work for me)
13. Dog ran away
14. Cat ran away
15. Friend had a baby
16. Stomach pains
17. up all night coughing
18. Toilet overflowing and have to wait for a plumber
19. Gas leak at house
20. "Personal emergency"
21. Stomach flu
22. Cramps/ heavy flow
23. Not safe to leave the house
24. Stalker
25. Car vandalized
26. Car accident
27. in jail
28. Abducted by aliens
29. Held for ransom
30. Lost
31. Hung over
32. Don’t feel like working
33. Doctor's appointment
34. Abortion
35. Food poisoning
36. Protesting
37. Panic attack
38. Religious holiday
39. Dizzy
40. Passed out in the shower
41. "Not feelin' it"
42. Diarrhea
43: parents surprised me with coming in town
44: pet died
45: dumped the night before
46: updating my resume
47: job interview
48: I might have swine flu
49. Sprained my ankle
50. I have other plans

P.S. 90% of these are a joke, but some asshole on the internet decided to write an article about how to properly call out...weird.

Really? I only paid like $39.95 a month.

I had a friend call me the other day to ask for advice. This happens to me somewhat frequently, not like from this one friend, but friends in general. I've been told I give good advice or good feedback, stuff like that. This always makes me sort of uncomfortable...not the whole being asked part (I like that) it is the flattery that comes along with it. I mean, it shouldn't. Hopefully I am good at processing stuff with people. I was a counselor in the past and have dreams of doing it again at some point in my life. Let's hope I'm not totally shitty at listening and helping someone reflect on a situation...otherwise there may be some seriously fucked up people out there because during my tenure as a counselor I had well over a hundred clients. Let's not think about that too much. That sort of freaks me out.

I guess we just aren't taught to think about our strengths that way. For some odd reason we are socialized to turn compliments into less flattering statements. Tell a girl you like her outfit and most of the time she will say something like, "oh, I've had this for a while," or "I totally paid like $20 for this." We downplay things. We can't just say, "Thanks," or "Thank you" (either works). So, it is the practice of constantly downplaying one's successes or strong points (not that some one's outfit really counts as a success or strength, but it worked for the sake of making a point), it's this practice that causes me to say stuff like, "I'm probably giving terrible advice," or "Not that I really know what I'm talking about, but did you ever think blah blah blah?" Why the hell would I start a sentence like that? Someone at some point thought I was good at that shit. Hell, they gave me an office...with a couch! I clearly did something right.

But then it happened.

During the course of the conversation with my friend I said something like, "This is just like what happened on the Hills with Lauren..." Seriously, someone please scratch a record and make a crowd of people turn around and look at me. somebody drop your drink and your jaw. please. I deserve that embarrassment. Did I really use a Hills reference when talking to my friend, "oh this is just like the Hills..." I almost just threw up in my mouth thinking about it. What the fuck kind of counselor am I? And the truth is....I did think it was just like the Hills, which is why the whole situation is even worse and totally out of control. If I had a license (LCSW) I should really have it taken away. I guess it is good I don't have one yet. I mean, it's really good I don't have one because I would be talking about the Hills to my clients! Let's hope I get rid of all the stupid pop culture references and use them up on my friends because, seriously? I mean, not that I want my friends all fucked up and stuff, but they aren't paying for this crap that I'm saying.

So, for those of you keeping track...this was reason #437 why it is good I don't have cable: it will (hopefully) decrease the frequency with which I reference stupid reality television shows in everyday conversations.