personal essay

I Edit My Vulnerability

Notes To Self

I know what it is when I can no longer breathe in a sudden moment and the thoughts come quickly. Faster and faster. Thoughts about what I haven’t done, what I need to do, what I want to do, the cants the cans, the should haves, the could haves, the why-did-yous. They come quickly until I am fetal in my mind and then, suddenly,  also, in my bed. And then I weep like I know intimately what death is like and it’s coming for a visit I didn’t plan for.

I know that the sinking emptiness that has me marathoning a show I’m only vaguely invested in is something else, because when I say I’m “watching TV,” all I can see is the reflections of the screen in the poster hanging beside my bed because no, I’m not “watching TV,” but staring listlessly at the wall. Whatever “it” is has me eating food I don’t want or need only because I’ve cooked it and I’ve cooked food I don’t want or need only because I have nothing else to do. Or rather, I have too much to do and feel as though there’s not enough time in the universe to do it regardless of what Beyoncé’s 24-hours look like.

But I’m fine! Because how do you explain this to people who you know aren’t going to say anything you don’t already know or haven’t already heard or haven’t already told yourself or worse yet, told someone else because advice is freely given but damned if I can take it.

(You relate.)

I know the things to do, the links to click, buy a book and read on it. Speak up because keeping it in is never a good thing.  You don’t have to tell me twice, because I’m hip and I know what I would never do. No Hannah Bakers here — never that — but still, the wall is there and I’m looking staring listlessly at it as the scenarios run through my head until it has been a week of coming and going and the only thing I’ve accomplished is cleaning my room and I’m calling it self-care.

I am angry that I feel like this, and I’m angrier that I feel like I can’t say anything about it knowing very well I can and I’m angry my vices aren’t even interesting like sex, drugs or rock’n’roll because then someone would see the spiral for more than a symptom of “introversion.”

I’m angry that I’m writing this to put on a blog I don’t update because when I feel like what’s the point, what is the point? I’m aware of everything all the time and I wish I wasn’t. I wish i wasn’t my own devil’s advocate with every thought, opportunity, opinion I have. I wish I could say all my beliefs come from a sturdy place, but I can’t. I wish I could say I had goals that I’m working towards, but I don’t know that I am. I’m mad that the go–tos are to “push through!” because that’s somehow an easy thing to do when I live life like my hands, my voice, my spirit is is shaking and I can’t get them to stop.

Always neutral, when I don’t want to be when I’m fighting myself to be up or down. Why do I care when it would be easy otherwise

— empathy is crippling because other people’s shoes don’t often fit.

I’m resentful, bitter and always a little bit angry at everything always because of course I know what’s going on, but even as I write this and edit (when I said I wouldn’t) I’m overthinking whether or not these overt thoughts are what I think they are.

WhatdoIknowandwhatisangerevenandIshouldbeabletomeditatebutIcan’tsomehowandmaybeI’mjustoverreactingandwritinghelpsandIwillbeokayeventuallybutsometimesyoujust

gotta not and let that rock too.

 

 

New Year, New…

Notes To Self

Definitely not me, I can tell you that much. Not because 2015 won’t be a year of change, but because that phrase is so stupid. Tell me it isn’t. You shouldn’t have to wait for a brand new revolution around the Sun in order to decide to make a difference in your life. This is why I don’t make resolutions any more. It’s hard to lie to yourself about goals and aspirations that you truly want to accomplish.Just because I’ve said I’m going to do something doesn’t mean I believe I’ll do it. It’s why, nowadays, I try to make plans but not promises. I want to go to the gym more and I probably will, but sometimes I won’t. I’ll live like a free bird.

A new semester has begun for me and it will be a busy one between work, classes, and the extra leadership roles I’ve taken in organizations. Not to mention the Great Internship Hunt.  College. I don’t even want to discuss it so I won’t.

I’m always happy for a new year because every January seems like a renewal. It feels like a restart button has been pushed when that giant ball drops…usually. This year, however, the dirty muck of society’s problems have been tracked across the clean floor. It’s not as if we, as an entire human people, were clean. Wars have never ended because the time changed. Murders have occurred even as the clock strikes 12. The homeless were not enjoying warm fires and cool drinks with friends. The awareness I’ve developed over the past few years has forced me to see how much needs to be changed. A new year is nice on a personal level, but you’re wrong if you live solely to serve yourself. The world is much larger than “me” and I hope, 365 days from now, that there is some refreshment to feel.

I’m Your Girl, You’re My Man…

Wonder Woman

That phrase has gotta go.

Here I am, watching a mtvU video from from their Against Our Will campaign and “Rhea” tells us how about her boyfriend who would turn out to be her pimp.

“He made it seem like I was his girl, he was my man…” she says.

That made me pause and think.

I’ve heard that so often, but it never resonated with me before. Or maybe I just wasn’t as aware as I am today.

I see that phrase as a manifestation of our male dominated society. That phrase is the epitome of gender inequality. That phrase is a lot of things, but we, as an intellectual society, need to stop making it seem like something positive.

If I am with someone, as a grown (yikes) woman, I never want to feel like I am in some way inferior to my partner. My niece is a “girl.” She’s four and always has the cutest braids. When she’s my age, I don’t want her considering a potential partner as a man if he doesn’t give her that same respect regarding maturity.

It’s always used in some lovey-dovey, romantic scenario. But it isn’t very sweet to further some kind of inequality in your relationship.

Men dominate so much of society already. I think it’s this unconscious unbalancing that happens between genders that perpetuates this. I’ve heard this line in songs, movies, TV, real life, etc, but I’ve never thought much about the impact it could be having. Perhaps the effect is small, but we should think about what we’re putting out there when we say these kinds of things. If someone’s my man, I’d like to be his woman in return.