Knowing For Sure

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It’s really hard feeling a sense of rejection from those around you.  Growing up, my dad left, my best friend moved away, I was bullied into tears, suicidal thoughts, and an eating disorder; and many I came in contact with throughout high school simply knew me as a bitch.  I threw up walls, trying to reject them before they had a chance to truly hurt me.  I stayed in an emotionally abusive relationship because it’s all I thought I deserved or would get in life.  I was taught that everyone leaves at some point.

After months of therapy, I was able to get a grasp on myself and on those around me.  To give people a chance and to have faith that they weren’t going anywhere.  Two people in particular, my best friend and boyfriend, were never leaving me.  I was adequate and I deserved to keep them.

But it’s so hard to keep those beliefs.  To stay strong in believing that you deserve only the very best when the world around you is hating so hard.  How do you keep putting yourself out there over and over and over again only to realize that they aren’t as committed as you are.  That maybe you pushed your desires on them too hard and fast.

Trusting people has always been a struggle for me.  Letting people into my heart and my life is nearly impossible.  What’s even harder is trusting someone with your soul and realizing that maybe they don’t want it.  Maybe you were right to wonder how long they were sticking around.

And then you just feel stupid.  Or maybe the fight is worth it.

But how do you know for sure?

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Friday Night Magic

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Last night was my first real Friday Night Magic (FNM).  For those who don’t know, FNM is an event that occurs every Friday night in comic book and video game stores around the country.  At these events, participants play a card game called Magic the Gathering with other fellow enthusiasts.  This particular FNM costs 5 dollars and leaves you with at least one booster pack of your choice with the potential for more as you win more.This game is made by the same people who make US Pokemon cards as well as Dungeons and Dragons.  So basically, it’s super nerdy and has a cult following.

I was introduced to this game by my boyfriend and mocked him for it so much.  That is, until I played my first game.  It’s centered around creatures and magic (obviously) and is full of strategy and logic.  The cards make the rules and so pretty much anything is possible.

For any of you who have never heard of this game, find a friend who plays and learn.  It will be one of your least regretted decisions you will make in your life.  You get to have an insane amount of fun.  With super nice people.  WHO WON’T JUDGE YOU FOR BEING A NERD! Because trust me, you have to work to be a bigger nerd than these guys.

Falling off the Wagon

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It seems that when I fall, I fall hard.  I had some emotional and physical stress over the past few days, starting the night that I missed my first blog.  I woke up Wednesday morning and it just hit me with a gigantic “fuck!” I couldn’t believe that I missed a day of NaBloPoMo.  Not just for the prizes, but also for myself.  I was really proud of what I was doing and what I had accomplished only to let it slip my mind at the presence of any real turmoil.

And it didn’t stop there.  I let myself spiral downward into the beliefs that no one really cares if I post or not, and because of that, we are now 4 days later without a single word typed.

Today I start writing again.  Hopefully daily.  Not for NaBloPoMo.  Not to win anything.  Not even to attract a million followers.  But just for me.  Because I am the only one that I need to please.

Whiney Bitch

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As I sat down to write today, I faced to dilemma that I face almost every day when I try to produce these blog entries: what the fuck am I gonna write about?  My usual solution is to turn to the list of suggested prompts for the month, but today’s just didn’t produce an answer that could be developed into something interesting to read.  My next idea was to write about the current events of my day and/or week (bed bugs, inability to pay rent, almost thought I was getting evicted, arthritis, it’s supposed to snow in fucking South Carolina tomorrow, etc.) and then I realized that I always seem to be complaining about something and you’re all probably tired of it.  I promise you all, I am not really a whiney bitch, at least not as much of one as this blog makes me look.

When I put my life into words, the things that stick out are almost always the stresses of my life, which happen to be excessive right now.  I try to create something that someone would actually want to read, be able to relate to, and enjoy.

I rarely get feedback on how my writing affects all of you and so it’s hard to decide how to shape my thoughts.  The end result is me simply writing for myself, to relieve myself of the stresses of life.

In summation, please do not hold this limited view of my inner thoughts against me, and please write comments or send emails with any suggestions, questions, or thoughts in general.

And happy veterans day to all who have served!

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Reapplying For College

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As you know, I am at the point in my life where I am drastically changing its direction and forging myself a new path.  Which is great.  But then I have to start facing all the things that I have to start doing in order to accomplish my goal.  By far, the most difficult for me to wrap my mind around is college applications.

I thought that when I did this three years ago that it was a necessary evil that would forever be in my past once I made it through those few months.  And yet, here I am filling out all of those little boxes once again and trying to remember when I took the SAT or how long I lived at my old address or what my GPA was.  All of these trivial things are all of a sudden important again but have already been vacated from my mind.

And then there’s the personal essay.  I am terrible at personal essays or at writing about myself in general.  I hate opening up to people and exposing the sensitive parts of me because I am terrified of rejection.  And this would be the ultimate rejection.  It’s just so much pressure to present yourself in just the perfect way to make these people like you and want to have you in their college.  It was hard enough my senior year of college, but now it’s so much worse, because now I have to explain why in the world I want to teach 5 year olds instead of cook in a five star restaurant.

College applications are just full of pressure, judgment, and fear of rejection.  None of these things I do very well with anyway.

Today I once again began the search for a college education.  Let’s hope this is actually the last time.

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Fuck Life.

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Being a grown up fucking sucks.  A lot.  No matter what you do, or how hard you try, there’s always some life situation waiting to fuck your shit up.  I woke up this morning in the best mood I’d been in all week.  The sun was shining, our bills were on their way to being paid with no over drafting and then BAM! All of that was shit.  Except for the sun.  It’s still shining.  But apparently the bills aren’t up for the whole getting paid thing.

And instead of finding out Tuesday, like I should have, I found out today.  And only because I called the bank myself about a fee I shouldn’t have had. So fuck being a grown up.  I try so hard, but I still suck at it.

I don’t think it’s possible to be good at it.  All I want is to get far enough ahead that we can pay off the 1000 dollar loan we have with my boyfriend’s parents, get engaged, plan a wedding, maybe go on a few small weekend trips.  But no.  Not gonna happen.

Because life sucks.

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Late Night Blogg

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Blogging every day is so easy.  And yet so hard.  That is what I have learned.  I have learned that I can in fact do it.  And that a few people actually like what I have to say.  Way more than I ever thought would.  I am so freaking proud of myself.  I’ve never finished anything in my life.  Except one game of Pokemon.  Pokemon Pearl to be exact.  And I’m only one week into this project and I’m already so impressed with my ability to actually do this thing.  Even though sometimes I almost forget.  Like tonight.  Which is why this is mostly ramble talk.  It’s really late for me.  I didn’t sleep much last night and have to get up early all the time now.  So I’m sorry this post sucks.  But I wrote it.  And that’s enough for me.  Good night world.  Sorry to disappoint all 16 of my followers.  Maybe you don’t really care.  I dunno.  But I love you all!

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A Rose by Any Other Name

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I kind of hate my first name.  A lot.  When I was in school, I was never the only Sara in my class.  And most of them spelled their name with an “h” so my name was ALWAYS spelled wrong.  It was so indescribably frustrating to constantly be spelling such a simple name for everyone and that they didn’t care in the slightest if it was spelled right or not.  To them, it was just a little letter, but to me it was part of my identity.  Just like a name is a part of everyone’s identity.

If I were to change my first name it would be to Shaela.  Pronounced shay-la.  It’s not exactly easier to spell correctly, but it is unique.  I would have been the only Shaela around.  It’s an old Gaelic name.  A translation of the name Sheila, which is my grandmother’s name.  It also happens to be the name I was supposed to have, before my grandfather scoffed that he didn’t like it for very misguided and bigoted reasons.  The name was scrapped and I was given the third most popular name of 1993.  But they dropped the “h” to make it “different.”

Today, Sara isn’t nearly as popular (number 32 on the list) but I still work with at least 1 Sara at every job that I have and in every class that I attended in college.  I still have my name consistently spelled wrong, even by people who ask me how to spell it.  And I still am primarily referred to by my last name, because keeping the Saras straight is just too damn confusing apparently.

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Happiness

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True happiness seems to be one of the most unattainable things in this world.  We set goals for ourselves, but once reached, they are never quite good enough.  At least that’s now it is for me.  As much as complacency limits our room for growth, I wish that just for once, I could be happy with myself.  Happy with my progress, with my weight, with my accomplishments.  About the only thing I’m happy with is my relationship and I still find ways to screw it up.

I am my own worst critic.  Nothing is ever good enough.  I have been this way as long as I can remember.  Crying myself to sleep because I never really fit in.  I have struggled with an eating disorder for more than a quarter of my life.  I take it personally when my insignificant blog posts get no likes or comments or follows.  I struggle when it comes to putting myself out on a limb with people because I am so used to being abandoned or hurt in some way.

If I could change one thing about myself, it would be to take away my fears and my insecurities.  It would be to allow myself to be the free spirit I try to pretend to be.  I would so much rather be carefree and to just feel truly beautiful for once in my life.  I want to be able to honestly say that I do not care what people think of me.  But as much as I try, it doesn’t seem like that is something that is ever going to change.  I will always be my own worst critic.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

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A Few Sacred Moments

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I live in a pretty small two bedroom apartment. It’s just my boyfriend and I so we don’t need much space, but small all the same.  The second bedroom is the closest thing to an office we have.  Love seat, desk top computer, and a wonderfully large, hand-made bookshelf.  Musical instruments line the walls to make it a room full of our passions.  This is not where I write though.

I write in the living room curled up on the couch with my laptop before me.  In my house, my writing is something that I try not to make too much of a big deal.  Putting myself out there to the public is something that is terrifying to me.  If I act like it’s a passing phase with no real importance and no need for an office space, then it prevents me from getting hurt.  At least in theory.

My writing space isn’t even really mine.  Nothing in this house is.  Everything is ours.  I have to rush in my writing during times that I know I have the place to myself.  I have to feel free.  I have to feel as if no one is watching and that I am alone.  I get too nervous otherwise.  The space may not be mine, but the moments are.  Every moment is my own.

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