I Don't Know?

About 2 weeks ago me and my therapist were once again talking about relationships.

To sum it up in a nutshell: I want relationships, good ones, ones that i haven't had the pleasure of being in as of late. But I fear that in those relationships i will be a disappointment. The risk seems to high because the loss is too great. So instead i surround myself with people and relationships that aren't ideal because there is no invested interest in it. I cannot get hurt in because I keep those relationships at a surface level.

The man is a genius.

I say that i am working on honesty in my writing, but i think i also i am trying to be more honest in real life. I am trying to exert what i want so that i can attain it. It's as simple as that really. Relationships should be founded on some sort of honesty. Not an extreme divulging of my secrets and passion, but i have to be true to myself if i wish to attract the relationships i want.

For the most part, i know what i don't want. Self indulgent, materialistic, rude, friends. I've had enough of them in my life. But i still manage to surround myself with these people. People who come to me to talk about their issues. I always tell my Dr. Phil that outside the walls of his office, i am the therapist and i do a pretty good job of it.

I shake my head, put my hand on my chin, give an empathetic ear, and then follow that up with some sound advice. I could start a practice (unlicensed of course), have a set fee, make a little money on the side, maybe even pay off these loans in a timely manner.

But...

These are not friendships.And people are slowly taking advantage of this quality.

I run away from stable people, because then i feel like i will be the friend with the "issue". I will come in with my big ol' anxiety, and scare them away. It's easier being the therapist because then i don't have to face myself. I don't have to face my own needs and wants, because there are too many people talking about their own shit, for me to get a word in otherwise.

"Maybe i don't feel i deserve relationships" I remember saying. I'm entirely too comfortable in his room. My feet are always tucked under me, i slouch in the big leathery seat so that i am almost resting my head against the pillow, and i drop more f bombs then necessary. I get so comfortable sometimes i admit things that i would like to keep to myself, mainly that i don't feel like i deserve relationships, like i am punishing myself with these bad ones.

I have yet to figure out why i my punishing myself, but it is an interesting path to follow.

Of course he challenges me with a question about feeling like don't deserve relationships. He wanted me to list things about myself that actually make people want to get to know me....you know the positive attributes that everyone has...that sort of shit.

And i couldn't think of one thing.

Not one.

I sat there for a least 3 minutes with a blankness. Like "why would someone want to be my friend" It should have been an easy answer but it wasn't. I cleared my throat, asked for a water break and only came up with:

"Well I'm funny sometimes"

Funny. Like a clown. Funny.

He chimed in after my lame attempt, and started listing for me. It was very nice and embarrassing that i can't even come up with things about myself that are good.

So when i saw him Friday it was the first thing i brought up. That i can't even list good things about myself, how i am ever suppose to get to know people, when the only thing i feel i can bring into a relationship is...laughter.

He says my lame attempt had nothing to do with low self esteem (which was reassuring) but that i spend so much time being a therapist to others that my my own identify is submerged. No wonder I'm anxious, because the spotlight is never on me and when people start paying attention i withdraw, hide away, suppress all the positive qualities because it's too risky.

I have to find a balance, because thinking back on it, i have a lot more to offer than just being..funny, but no one can ever see that if I'm hiding or solely listening.

Time for homework.

Oh and Marie started a blog...on Blogger. I have yet to find it (and i hope she never finds mine) but if i have to go incognito one of these days (privatizing my blog...which i DO NOT want to do) you'll know why.

She's crowded my space even in space. Geez.

Dear Jane Austen

Hey,

How's it going. I finally saw your movie the other day (even though i've had it since my birthday) and i just have one small question...

WHAT THE F*CK WERE YOU THINKING?

I admit i have said some negative things about you in the past, and i still cannot get through one of your books without wanting to kill myself...but come on.

I do not understand how you can give up the love of your life simply because his family may or may not have dependended on the money he recieved from an Uncle who was not too fond of you or your prospects and who would disowned Tom if he was to marry you.

I know, the real Tom LeFroy probably looked nothing like the wonderful James McAvoy, but the moment Jame--I mean Tom said "runaway with me" I would have done it. I would have ran so far away without a second guess.

It's love Jane. Pure, unadulterated love, and we don't come across those everyday. We don't find a love who challenges our talents while nourishing our nature. A love who looks at you with stricking and beautiful blue eyes and says that "he is yours". Your's Jane.

So you have your family to think about, and he has his....but I've would have run. For a day. For a week. Maybe a month . Or a lifetime. Just so i could live in complete splendor with someone i love and who loves back just as much.

We are much more alike than i would like to admit. We are bound to our families with a loyalty that sacrifices our own happiness sometimes, we are struggling to define our work with honest characters and sentiments, and we are constantly defying our roles and trying to be who we are in a world to harsh for our own good.

And that's why your situation so shittastic and yet so relatable.

I guess that is why i wanted you and Tom to end up together. Because if you can find love being who you are and not who someone wants you to be, than i can too. Even if that means that i wouldn't have grown up hating your books to no end. Even if the world wouldn't have characters like Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth to fall in love with. Even if we didn't have cool adaptations of your movies that i love much more than reading your books. At least you would have Tom.

Maybe happy endings can't occur, but i just wanted you to know that i was rooting for you.

I'll even re-read pride and prejudice, because i feel your pain.

Sincerely,

~Becks

Honeymoon is Over!!!

When me and my suitemate had that awesome talk at the beginning of the semester i was excited at the prospect of having a good neighbor.



But soon after out first conversation i began to suspect that she was a little more loony than i assumed.



First there was the "popping up every where thing" which annoyed me to know end. It was that friendly, hey we just manage to be in the same place at the same time thing. It was more like a "hey i see that you usually get to the dinning hall early, so I'll just get there super early so we can magically wait in line together"



Sometimes she is really loud in her room, as she if she wants me to hear that she is in then. Like if i hear her i will have the urge to knock on her door and ask her to hang out.



If i do see her walking down the street, her hi's are uber weird. She'll jump in my way and wave frantically with this huge Cheshire grin on her face.

I guess she can to a realization that i was not looking to be friends. Because she has become just more annoying in everything she does. She still comes early to the dining hall and talks so loudly in her conversations with other people, as i drift in Ipod land. She still continues to walk past my table several times, and out of all the tables and seats in this dining she picks the one directly in front of my table.

Weirdo.

I know, maybe i am the weird one. Maybe she's just trying to be a friend, but there is something about her that is off putting. Like if i let her into my life, i will have more shit to deal with. And not that good normal shit. But that crazy psycho friend shit.



I've been having a bad week, and trust me I've contemplating staying under the covers and letting the wave of unease pass me by.



Work has been less than fun. Kathleen is still a bitch. Amanda has been ignoring me. And Debbie Downer heard me say something about her to another co-worker. It wasn't anything incredibly damaging (like "hey i call my boss Debbie Downer behind her back"), but it was an uncomfortable situation nonetheless. Especially because she holds our friendship in such high regards.



On the home front my mom is minutes away from murdering my brother. He is finally about to move out, but still he's annoying as sin itself. She resorts to talking about him to me in her closet, so she can rant and rave about him. My cats are shitting all over the house, in regards to my absence (I'm beginning to suspect) and Marie is conveying (over the phone) that she is depressed and angry about certain aspects of her life which i get to hear over and over again.



Socially, i feel like the privacy that i love is being invaded. I have opened the dam at work by being social with my co-workers. Now everyone wants to know everything about me, or criticize me. The private aspects of myself are being investigated and probed, and i feel all exposed or the brink of being consumed. This blog is the only privacy i have now and i cannot even begin to express how i treasure this place/domain/sanctuary/ and haven.



When I'm stressed i can't sleep. And when i can't sleep I'm grouchy. I could write a creative non-fiction piece alone about my relationships with beds and sleep. It's where i do all my thinking, resting, an re-energizing. It's where I've shared secrets, and snuggled with stuffed animals.



But instead of doing that in bed this week I've been staring at the ceiling because insomnia has set in.



So last night to relieve some of my stress from this week and perhaps tire myself out so i could get some sleep, i played some music in my room. Dancing always works along lip syncing. It was only 10:25 , and Nikka Costa was singing in the background. I don't think it was terribly loud, not as loud as loud as the boys across the halls emo music is, but i heard a knock at the bathroom door and thought "oh lord what the hell does she want now".



Crazy suitemate informs me that a weird noise is coming from my room and that she has some test tomorrow. If she would have stopped here, simply asked me to turn it down, and than said thanks, i wouldn't have had a problem with it.



But no. She went on in this condescending voice.She's much taller than me, so she sort of hunched over, clasped her hand together as if she was talking to a kindergartner and said:



Crazy Suitemate: So if we can be just a little more quiet over here (pinching her thumb and pointer finger together) for the remainder of the night so i can study, that would be greatly appreciated.



Me: ?????



Who does that. Who say's that. Who stands like that. It was like the most uncool way to ask me to turn down my music. Or excuse me, it was the most uncool way to ask me to turn down the weird noise coming from my room, as if i was housing a cat in heat over here which disrupted her studying. She stood with her hands clasped together as if i were a kid, and her tone was totally authoritative.

Was my music loud. Hell to the No. Not as loud as her talking on the phone. Not as loud as it was any other night, at any other time. Exam or no Exam.


Perhaps i was in a shittastic mood, or maybe i am just so over pretending like she doesn't creep me out, but i was seconds away from slamming the door in her face.

Even my dancing was being invaded. It's the invasion of Beckett week or something. I like that people have an interest in me, but apart of me is this private person. I love keeping some things to myself. I love that room is like my sanctuary, i love hidden places and secrets and being elusive sometimes. I love love love silence sometimes. Dancing sometimes. Or even just contemplative moments in bed where the sun is coming through the blinds.

I hate being pulled away from that, especially when it is in conformity to someone else. I feel like can't be who i am without someone questioning it, or consuming it.

So this weekend, I'm staying under the covers. It's much warmer and safer there.

6 more weeks.

Six more weeks of classes. And then i will sort of be done with school. It doesn't seem real.

I'm going to be a college graduate with loans and a degree to prove it. I'm going to be living in a small apartment, paying bills, and surviving off of pizza and beer (though i don't drink beer but it's sounds way better than pizza and juice.)

I'm kind of excited after some revelation from spring break (which will of course be documented in due time)

New haven is my definite destination now. Especially since I received my 2nd rejection letter today. I actually liked having the letter saying i wasn't accepted, it makes it easier to accept the rejection and move on. It wasn't so painful this time. I'm actually looking forward to new haven, though I've never been there.

Six more weeks of school, and then life is suddenly suppose to begin. I'm beginning to realize that everyone is freaked out about the future. No one has this grand idea of who they want to be or where they see themselves in five years. If they say they do, they're liars. I'm sure of it now.

Everyone is just hoping that their dreams and aspirations don't sink below the surface. That we don't become to complacent in our lives that we abandoned the person we've always wanted to be.

Six more weeks and then there is no restriction on my life. I can attempt to do and be anything. It's scary and freeing.

Six more weeks...seems so far away and yet on my heels.

Back to regular posting after 2 papers and a project. Damn you professors and your assignments that could have been completed over spring break.

Kerouac and I

When i find an author that i really like, i get every book written by them and indulge myself until i can't turn another page.



When i get older, i don't think I'll regret never having an MTV-isque spring break. No sand for me. No rendezvous with guys name Brad, Chad, or Matty. No drunken escapades, dancing on tables, or club hopping in Cancun.



I'm glad I'm not one of "those" people. Not that's there anything wrong with it, but i would rather spend my spring break lounging, reading, and snapping photos. If i had a car I'd be in it driving around until i was kind of lost. That's my idea of a good time.



I was at the book store the other day looking for My Sweet Audrina by V.C Andrews. I don't recommend 13 year olds reading any of her stuff. I first discovered V.C in the adult section of the library. I figured that since the cover had a kid on it and the title was FLOWERS in the ATTIC, that it could only be a fantasy filled fest of love. Instead i found out it was an incestuous family filled fest of love. After that i think i racked up all her books just to see how much more she could shock me. After i got through all her books (before the ghost writer started writing for her) i was a) freaked the hell out about ever having a step father and b) in love with My Sweet Audrina (the only book not about incest though it had something to do with rape)



I hadn't read it since high school and had this sudden urge just to spend the whole week with My Sweet Audrina and all it's characters. I have that sort of connection to books. Under the covers, Ipod playlist playing, cats at the edge of the bed, and some books next to me. I wish that was a job, because I'm really good at doing that.


So when i got to the bookstore MSA was waiting for me, much to my delight, and i was pretty much ready to go until i wondered over to the K section.


Me and Kerouac have had a complex relationship. When you read books when you are younger they don't always have such a profound affect on you. Hence Charles Dickens, who I've only just begun to respect. For the most part i only knew of Kerouac through my father, who i swear adopted Kerouac's swagger (and love of liquor). I knew of On the Road, and Dharma Bums. I knew of The Beat Generation and Allen Ginsberg, but i brushed them aside for well...Romance novels and My Sweet Audrina.


But i guess I'm in a different place now far from "that" land of fantasy.


I've been thinking about writing a lot lately. Ever since my rejection from writing school and soon to be new adventures in New Haven. I think a lot of times my writing reflects my state of mind. It's completely this extension of myself, which is why i struggled so hard with writing fiction. I can't begin to explain that anxiety that arose from having to create and write. I don't know yet if fiction is particularly my genre because it didn't come naturally to me like poetry or journal writing did.

Every seems to say the same thing "Your poetic Beckett" "Prosy" or my dreaded and least favorite "flowery" and i struggle with finding the balance between technical and dreamy.Which is sort why i am struggling with fiction.


I kick myself in the ass daily because i believe now that Creative Nonfiction is probably what i am best at doing. If anything else telling stories about my own life is not only a little easier but more honest to who i am .


When i say that i want to emerge myself more in reality, it's not at all about abandoning the idyllic aspects of my nature it's about being more honest in everything i do. For honesty is about acceptance of every aspect of yourself. Your past, your present, and anything that emerges from it.



Sometimes i don't feel like an honest person, because i hold back in fear of how people will view me. I am self conscious. And what i present to the world almost seems like particles instead of this whole unified person. Instead i feel cracked, and the cracks seem to be a hindrance more than a guard.



If i was more honest, i wonder, who i could really be. I wonder what stories could really emerge.The only place where i completely open is on this blog. Where i can let everything out, without too much regard on if it makes me look silly, crazy or everything in between.



For a couple of days it's just been me and Kerouac with some Stevie Nicks in the background. I like his style, his openness, and even his swagger. There is something brutality honest about him (in BIG SUR). He says what he feels but also what he means. There is nothing guarded in his words despite the vulnerability of him. He's the most honest man I've ever encountered (besides my dad) and I now know what my teachers mean when they say i write flowery. I guard my thoughts with complex and almost indecipherable language. It's pretty hard to read because i am protecting my words and thoughts.

What i am learning is that if i wish to write and be successful at it there has to be an honesty in the things that i write outside of this blog. I just need to let the words come up, and give way of the self conscious me. My words or life cannot be so guarded because it takes away from what i wish to convey and who i wish to be. Honesty is where the truth of who you are resides, and even if it's a gritty and vulnerable there is something compelling and relatable to it.

I'd like to be more honest in both my writing and my life. I know it's a vulnerable sort of action but it's a lot more true to who i am. I guess I'm just tired of hiding all the time.

Reality doesn't Bite.

Sorry for the lack of posts this week. I was set back by the whole wine festival thing and had to magically write an 8 page paper and study for philosophy exam all in one week. Then i have this weird flu like thing which does not make me a happy blogger. Being sick sucks. Really sucks. But it didn't stop me from hanging out with Marie last night.





We have been friends for forever and even though she gets on my nerves sometimes, i don't turn my back on friends. We can go without weeks for talking (mainly because i ignore her calls) but when i do pick up the phone, it's sort of like old times. It's weird to imagine that i have a history with this person. But every time i am with her, it is made apparent that history ties us together. We end up talking about high school and middle school, and i see the great change in both of us.





Despite feeling like crap yesterday, i said i would hang out with her when she called me. I was in the middle of this awesome lifetime movie about a psycho foster mother from hell. Me and mom were dressed in pajama's, eating leftover pizza, and yelling "that bitch is crazy" at the television, when Marie called. For a split second i was like "don't pick up the phone", but i was reminded of skipping prom with Marie to grab food 45 minutes out of town, arguing with people with her by my side, and generally being misfits together at our high school. And i guess history with another person won over my lifetime marathon and i said "sure" when she asked if i wanted to do something.





Apparently her senior year in college is not going well. After her breakup with the Ex which ended badly (he flirted with other girls, talk about her behind other people's back, and probably used her in more ways than one. He moved to NYC this semester, and is going to art), her 70 lb weight gain, and friend problems...her stress level is pretty high. And now all of a sudden, after years of talking about vet school, she has "decided" she doesn't want to go (though secretly i think she didn't get accepted). I mean unlike me, she is actually good with science and math, has recommendations out of her ass, and talked so much about vet school that not getting in wasn't an option. And now of all of a sudden she "doesn't" want to go and instead is going for a job interview where she will be dealing with farm animals. It seems a little weird, but i didn't push it.





She called her friend Whitney and asked if she wanted to hang out with us too. It's kind of weird meeting your friends new friends, but Whitney tagged along with us, and she wasn't that bad. She's really smart and Chic, soft spoken and has a nice dog named Oscar. We all went to a Mexican restaurant near their campus, where my already full stomach (pizza) was feuding with my chicken burrito. It was like WWIII between Mexico and Italy was occurring in my belly, and before both countries decided to nuke each other, we got the check and headed back to Whitney's place.





The next three hours was this pleasant talk fest. Marie talked endlessly about The Ex, her weight, and her shitty friend. Me and Whitney chimed in from time to time while she then insisted she was over all three of those things.





I recommended that she should start dating a lumber jack. Whitney agreed as long as he doesn't rock the plaid shirts everyday.





Some where in between Marie's tribulations we started talking about how much has changed since we where in high school. I mean we are actually the same people, i have figured that out. She is still loud and outspoken and i am still...well me. In the short time i have been home, i have ran into old ( and i mean old ) faces from High school and Middle school, who all seem to say that I haven't changed at all even though I have changed so much. It's paradoxical, "you are who you are except you are so different then who i remember" and i think it doesn't have anything to do with my personality but it's just that my wants when I was an 14 year old middle schooler in love with someone from the Backstreet boys, or the 16 year who hated my math professor like no one else's business, are so different now from then, that I don't even recognize that girl anymore.





I mean maybe that's the whole secret of growing up. For the most part, you remain essentially the same person your whole life (i mean of course change is inevitably, but the core of who you are remains the same) just your wants evolve with your experience and age. It was like this huge light bulb went off in my head, as the nice dog Oscar licked my hand and then returned to licking the couch. I am not this different person from several years ago, just what i aspire to be and become are very different.





Marie said that her major change from high school is that she is no longer is setting her standards low. That she dated the Ex because she compromised important values in her life for him.





Mine isn't so boy based (surprising i know). I think the biggest change for me is that I am slowly accepting myself, and realizing that my wants/needs are so different from that girl i use to know. I think before i was living up to this expectation of a life that i felt like i was suppose to lead. It was terribly unrealistic and so out of reach and conflict arose because i didn't have any idea what i really wanted.





I'm a dreamer don't get me wrong, but i have to function in the real world too. And I've let some of those fake aspirations go in search for more realistic ones. Or at least that is what i am trying to do. Perhaps this is where i am struggling now, taking everything down from the pedestal i have placed it on. I am learning that relationships, people, and everything in between are complex and hard things because they aren't some ideal fairy tale thing. That i being a doctor was out of want i wanted for myself, and i have always been a writer, even though I've denied i for some years. The person i am today, the things that i want for myself right now, are always the things i have wanted. This is the person i have always wanted to be, underneath the insecurity and vulnerability.






And realizing that makes my wants and needs, something worth fighting for because they are tangible





And there is something freeing in that. Knowing that i am completely the same person yet so different. That the wants that am fighting for right now, are all my own. That they are tangible as long as i don't stop here. Don't give up and return to Anxiety, or hide behind a mask of unrealistic aspirations.





Reality doesn't bite so much, it's just this place where you get cut and scrapped up in because something is on the line. Your happiness. Your sanity. Your security. But it's worth in the long run, at least that's what 22 year old me is saying.

Time for some Kerouac

I HAVE...

The Flu.

Damn.

A day before my mom is suppose to pick me up, and i'm coughing like no one else's business.

I need a warm bed, orange juice, and a remote controller for all the channel surfing possible. Instead (and i know this is horrible because of how many people i may infect) i have to go to work and class.

Yesterday i was coughing so loud in my Shakespeare class, he let us out early saying "you guys sound pretty rough". Swear. To. Bob.

Feeling like shit is shitty, especially before spring break.

Time for Work. Class. Therapy. Thouh all i want to do is sleep.

Best. Day. Ever.

So i had a pretty amazing birthday filled with wine tasting and cake.

I may have gotten drunk off both by the end of the day, but i was pleasantly happy as i passed out into dream land in a nice hotel, with presents from my mom by my side, emails that made my night, and the smell of wine somewhere in the room.

I had enough wine for a lifetime and i don't plan on picking up any alcohol soon. My mom and i drove about four hours to this event. We booked a hotel in advance, because she was told that there was going to be a festival and that ticket's were still available (though limited). Plus you can't really drive back home liquored up, and having the whole day in a nice town is better than staying for a while and then heading home.

We haven't been able to spend a birthday together in a long while. We usually just wait until i return home for spring break and celebrate, which is always a little weird since spring break is a week after our birthday.

Despite having a paper due(Wednesday) and Philosophy midterm (TOMORROW!!!), i opted to hang out with my mom on our birthday weekend, and to cram for test and paper this week.

I don't particularly have a taste for the stuff, but it cost money to get in...and why waste all that money, if you aren't going to drink anything. Basically in this large park, there were these big tents with vendors from all over the place, letting you taste some of their finest wine.

You got a wine glass as soon as you paid your money, and then all you had to do was ask for a drink and away you go.

They only had tickets available from the 10-2 sessions and by 1:30 me, my mom, and about 100 other people were stumbling out of the tents looking for a place to rest our heads. It was a classy drunken event to say the least. Old ladies hanging on to their old husbands who had too many red wine, young couples dressed in polo shirts or cute skirts stumbling down the street with goodie bags, and me and my mom walking aimlessly until we reached the hotel.

I couldn't have asked for more. We rested for an hour, before going on some corny tour that I honestly i do not remember going on. But my camera says otherwise, proof that one of us was taking pictures.

We had Italian for dinner, with another glass of wine (since we felt so educated in our alcoholic state) which literally made my feet wobbly. For some reason the last drink got to us, and we called it night. I think there was some stumbling down the street, but we made it back to the hotel in time before completely embarrassing ourselves.

Some people think it's weird that me and mom are such good friends. There is a lot of co -dependency in our relationship, but she is like my best friend in that corny cheesy Gilmore Girls kind of way. Except my mom didn't have me when she was 16, and we don't have relevant pop culture conversations. And i'm not dating or was dating Milo Ventimilgia. Though i wish i was (thanks Cheerleader from heroes)

So coming back to work today, i told Debbie Downer of my fun filled escapades with my mom. And then everyone else started listening. Amanda with her rudeness and Kathleen with her dry and annoying voice chimed in about every thing Poking fun and prodding at my tales of wine tasting. I don't know why I tell Debbie Downer things about myself, or anyone else for that matter of fact. Because as soon as they get some info into my very private life, they seem to talk it about forever. But in a prodding, poking fun sort of way that actually isn't that funny. It's sort of annoying though, because i feel like they are three hyena's or something. Looking and searching for dirt so they can have something to talk about in the office.

I know it's just a sign that they are interested in me, but i must admit it was so much easier at work when i didn't talk to anyone. No one asked questions because i didn't open up to them. I didn't say anything back, because i didn't care.

It's a little bit different now. I feel like i'm on display, front and center. I was telling them about my day, and they just kept going on and on about. Kathleen and Amanda criticizing it in some way, or Debbie Downer acting like i had done something terribly embarrassing on the trip. Like she was secretly there with binoculars or something. When i showed them the new bag i got, they wouldn't stop talking about how i didn't have anything in it. Like real girls carry more than just keys and a wallet and i'm a big weirdo.

I know it's just simple joking around, but sometimes i feel like i am being fed to some mood sucking animals, and i'd rather spend time by myself than listen to them all day.

Regardless of today and the three hyena's, my birthday was really really awesome. I thank all of who wished me a happy birthday and who sent emails my way (still deciding on what book i should get K!) It meant a lot more than that i received bday wishes from my friends here than any one who wished me a happy birthday outside of this blog.

Time to catch up on some studying. This cram session tonight is going to be horrible i can tell. Philosophy is way harder than i thought. Damn you Kant.