It is hard for me to remember the events of late 2006 with any degree of precision or accuracy. However, I highly doubt my memory was any better at the time.
In the span of time from October to December of that year, my relationship with Adam suffered considerably. The resurfacing of my ex-boyfriend and the arguments that swiftly followed, kicked off a miserable chain of events that Adam and I never quite came back from. With a quickness, we were thrown into a revolving door of accusations and low blows.
“When it rains, it pours”… or so they say.
We’ve surely all heard this saying before. A perception that unpleasant situations often go from bad to worse is a popularly held belief. The crux of this is that our mere belief in something like this is often enough to bring corresponding events into our life that will support our position.
I’m sure you may have experienced this before— the domino effect. You get out of bed one day and stub your toe. Next, you iron your shirt for work, but accidentally scorch it. When you go to make breakfast for yourself you burn the toast.
It is not uncommon to focus our attention upon these frustrating occurrences and say, “Oh gosh, what else is going to go wrong today?” Before you know it, your entire day has gone to hell in a hand basket, further enforcing your belief that what can go wrong… will.
There once was a time when I handled my romantic relationships like a caveman. Not even a cavewoman. A caveman.
Despite having grown up in a family full of (questionably) happily married couples, I never had any formal training when it came to learning how to form my own relationships. Did any of you? Hmm. Perhaps I mistook the Dating 101 seminar invitation for junk mail… or bills. *Shudder* I always make sure to throw my bills into the recycling bin straight away. It’s good for the environment, you know.
Anyhow, unlike the whole birds and the bees thing (from which I naively took away the message, “Never, ever, ever touch boys”), my mother never sat me down and explained what I should and should not do if I hoped to maintain a successful partnership with a member of the opposite sex.
I didn’t have any siblings to ask, and although I’d grow to have friends who also dated, I wasn’t about to pick their brains about something so serious. Besides, I was fairly confident that they didn’t know what they were doing either. It seemed like a much better idea to wing it. And so, I did.
Turns out I was a relational caveman. No contemplation. No patience. No decorum. No idea what the heck I was doing. It was simply, “Me like. Me want. Me take. Me bored. Me throw away. Me like new thing now. You go away.” And the cycle would repeat itself.
“The intention and outcome of vulnerability is trust, intimacy and connection. The outcome of oversharing is distrust, disconnection— and usually a little judgment.” – Brene Brown
Isn’t that the truth?
There have not been many people to know me as I truly am— this has caused me considerable grief over the years. Building walls and hiding my feelings was simply how I made it through most of life. I don’t know why.
In some ways, I never felt as though I belonged anywhere…belonged to anyone. A walking, talking, living, breathing paradox. Unpredictable. Inconvenient. It seemed as though people only liked me if I’d fit their mold. Oh, I played along sometimes. Then I’d go home, soak my pillow through, get up and prepare to do it all over again.
It is amazing to see how something can go from looking like the best idea ever to looking like a dire mistake in the short span of 24 hours.
After publishing the first of my old blog posts last night, I spent about three to four hours going through the entries that followed it. When I exported my posts they were spat out in XML, which rendered them poorly formatted for copy and pasting purposes (you know, the easy way of doing things).
Naturally, I couldn’t leave it looking like that, so I had to get to work editing out the nonsensical characters and organizing everything by date. I also needed to remove any blatantly personal information, typos, grammatical errors, unintentional redundancy, certain individual’s names, and excessive expletives (I was quite fond of sailor’s speech back in the day).
Sure, the work ahead will be positively tedious (I’ve only gone through 2.5 posts so far), but I strangely enjoy searching for errors. What I haven’t enjoyed as much is reading the things I had to say about myself. This is why I now wonder if I’ve made a mistake in thinking that I should share these old writings. I am afraid.
Hi, everyone. This is a poorly thought out, spur of the moment post about my crippling, possibly irrational fear of being cheated on. It will be long, it will be candid and it will be mildly
entertaining embarrassing. Enjoy.
When I was a young girl, I genuinely believed I had everything all figured out. I’d be married by 25, with child by 26, and we’d all live happily ever after, amen. Boy, was I stupid as a kid! I will never understand why my mother allowed me to watch so many Disney movies growing up. I am convinced that those were the original Nigerian scams.
That being said, screw you, Cinderella and Snow White. You’re both liars and con artists peddling bulls—t to little kids. Jasmine and Ariel are both like, waayyy better than both of ya’ll, but somehow you two are always considered “the real princesses”. You and that sleeping beauty girl that nooobody ever remembers. You both just suck. Go. Away.
Some people are simply born to do or be something. Singers sing, writers write, bakers bake. For those who have an undeniable talent in a particular area, their life purpose is usually obvious from a young age. To do anything else would seem quite unnatural.
Well, I think this is how it was for me. I’d spent the vast majority of my life saying I wanted to study psychology and contribute something notable to the field. If I didn’t grow up to be a psychiatrist, what else on God’s green Earth could I do? More importantly, who would I be? Be it wrong or be it right, my entire identity was soundly wrapped up in the notion of me becoming a therapist one day. It was the pillar of all my other life goals. I truly believed it was who I was.
I am the worst blogger ever.
The entire point of me having a personal blog is to share snippets of my everyday life. Meanwhile, drama is unfolding behind the scenes and I’ve been sitting on my butt missing it all! I’ve simply got to do better.
My mind is a mess right now. My emotions are even worse off. I actually feel drunk or otherwise intoxicated even though I haven’t had a sip of liquor in years. Even though I feel a slight disturbance brewing in my stomach region and an overwhelming sense of “WTF have I just done” is washing over me, I believe I have done the right thing, at the right time, for the first time ever. I just drunk texted my ex-fiancé. Well, sorta. Okay, not really.
For some reason, just thinking about the topic I am going to talk about today turns me into a full-blown nervous wreck. Perhaps it is because this particular life goal of mine means the entire world to me. Or maybe it is due to the fact that the mere pursuit of it will present definite challenges. Could it be that I am afraid of another potential failure? Am I concerned about what Plan B will be if this all goes to shit in the end?
I don’t know what it is about graduate school that renders me so anxiety stricken, but I am going to have to learn how to talk about this without wanting to retreat into the nearest corner, curl up into the fetal position and incessantly rock like a rocking chair. Why? Because I want to apply for grad school—for the third time.
As I sit here sipping the remainder of my flavored sparkling water and find myself coming to terms with the notion that it will more than likely be my last taste of flavor for the next ten days, I feel impossibly anxious. My heart is racing like I’m expected to deliver a speech to a several thousand head audience.
I keep telling myself, “It’s only a fast”, “It’s only ten days”, “It’s only water”– all of these things are true. All the same, this could be my last day living the life of someone I never thought I’d become. No more hiding. No more disappointment. No more procrastination.
Tomorrow could be the start of the life I stole from myself. I’m terrified.