Without meaning to sound cocky at all, I'm going to drop some knowledge on you. And here it is: there is no perfect relationship. No perfect girl, or boy, or what have you. You will never be able to find someone whose habits entirely endear you, one who you will not be grossed out by at least once in a while. Even the most tolerant person in the world gets annoyed, and they get annoyed at their special someone. But here's something even more interesting: it doesn't mean you have a bad relationship. It means, and get this, that you are normal.
I have no idea who I am. And this sucks because I used to be one of the only people I know who had things figured out. The key to life, so to speak. There are only a few things that I know to be true these days.
- I feel most comfortable in a tshirt and cardigan. It makes me feel thin, which if anyone knows me at all, would say that me thinking anything but is ridiculous, "you're so thin! omfg!" I know it's ridiculous. I know I'm thin, too thin, maybe. But I have terrible body-image and one of my greatest fears is gaining too much weight, or appearing fat. I don't really know where it comes from. It's just something I struggle with. Days where I'm happy with my body leave me feeling confident and able to focus on actual things that matter.
- I'm incredibly self-centered, while at the same time extremely judgmental of those who think too highly of themselves and/or are obsessed with protecting themselves. I am not proud of this. It is an extremely disturbing character trait that I have developed, and I'm working hard to get it to go away.
- I'm a hypocrite! Don't you see? The last half of the last point I made was me trying to protect myself from people calling me an ass for thinking like that. It's disgusting, disturbing. No wonder I have such poor self-esteem.
- (I'm going to try and think of something positive about myself now. Although it's been clearly stated that I need no help in the pay-more-attention-to-yourself column, beating myself up isn't going to get me anywhere.) I like food.
- I like online shopping. I don't know why, but I take this strange kind of solace in making lists of things I'd like, things that maybe would make me happy. Okay, scratch that. I do know why. I'm a materialistic american who thinks that shiny water bottles and crisp, clean notebooks I'll never write in will make me happy. I'm searching for some way to be happy.
- Okay, I'm sorry, but seriously, could I be more pathetic right now? This entire list is turning into a pity party, party of one. And it's seriously annoying. My opinion of myself changes so rapidly, between thinking that I'm okay, that I'll make it, that maybe-just-maybe, I have something special about me, to "oh my god. I'm. so. pa. the. thic. sobsobsbsob!!1" It's annoying. And pathetic. God, it's like a vicious cycle or self-loathing and narcissism.
- Last thing. This is the last thing I know. I really really don't like who I am. But I'm not just going to give up on myself, because I know that I can be a good person. And not just for me, for those that I love. For those that I have ignored and betrayed and cast to the side in these past few months. I owe it to the people I love to stop being so goddamn pathetic, grow a pair, and more importantly: grow up.
Knowledge bombed. KABAM.
Hi there, good people of the blogging universe. :) I'm coming to you at 11:37pm on a Wednesday night. A school night. But I'm not rebelling, I promise, and I'm going to hop back on the sleeping-bandwagon tomorrow night, but earlier tonight I had literally a little over a cup of diet coke at a restaurant and now… so much energy. Can't sleep. But it's the story of my life, and I'm not going to dwell on it. I'll simply use this leftover energy to do something productive. Such as explore a poem by Anne Sexton.
Wanting to Die, a poem by Anne Sexton, was written to explain why poets, people, anyone like herself (and her friend Sylvia Plath) would want to kill themselves. Keep in mind, this isn't my opinion, nor is it any general truth, just her opinion, I suppose. You can read it here if you want, I don't wanna poem overload, but I just wanted to kind of… dwell on the last line. "and the love, whatever it was, an infection." Just that idea, of love being an infection, is just so beautiful, in a heartwrenching way. Love, it can spread and it can hurt and it can take you down. It's infectious.
My friend pointed out this line after we saw Inception today and there was the line about an idea being a parasite, the most resilient of them. Because we're, uh, nerdy, I whipped out the poem book we've been looking at lately (it's her's) and read that poem and that line just… I don't know. I had just come out of the movie about an hour ago, but it just struck a nerve. I wasn't emotional or anything, not really at that part of the conversation, but the idea of these things, that seem innocent enough, taking over your mind and your body and everything… it's fascinating.
To lighten the mood a little bit, I'll talk about myself a little bit. I'm not sure what's been going on with me lately, to be honest, I've been reliving the past a lot, and spending every free moment (which, alas, are few) either watching Parenthood (I am newly obsessed with this show. guys, you have to watch it. please) or reading old conversations/poems/journal entries/notes, anything from 8th grade. I feel like I just need to figure out that person I was then. Why I did the things I did and what I thought and when things fell apart and how I put them back together and… it's crazy. The lines between 8th grade and the present are starting to blur when characters from then and now collide. It's super weird.
Wow… that didn't really lighten the mood, did it? Oh well. I hope this entry didn't sound bleak, that wasn't my intention at all. In fact, I've been good lately. A warm, familiar sort of happiness. Not a crap-is-this-gonna-get-yanked-away kind of happiness but one that feels secure. I don't know. I like it. How are YOU guys?
