It’s Simply About The Little Things

We’ve all heard it before: “Appreciate the little things you have in life. Not everyone is so lucky.” Or some variant. Either way the point is the same.

I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that; whether it was my family or friends trying to talk me down from rash decisions or if it was me being the creepy creeper I am and eavesdropping on so many different conversations. It’s bound to be somewhere in the thousands.

I used to have a really hard time understanding that. I had to go through quite a bit to even get close to what I think is right. This is a very recent revelation. Unlike most of my other blogs, I didn’t take time to sit and think everything out and sort my thoughts for a few days. So be patient with me guys, this may not make any sense at all.

This morning, I’m sitting in the recliner with some terrible music on. Terrible, but I love it anyway. The sun is shining in through the window on my right effectively warming my soul. I’m relaxed with my morning iced coffee, I’ve got my cigarette. The squishiest loaf of a cat is (was) on the armrest to my left purring away (he turned into a dick and was banished). The love of my life is on the bed next to me taking part in his morning ritual, which consists of watching trashy YouTube compilations and ignoring his friends. God, I love him so much. It was in this moment that I realized that for the first time in my entire life I’ve discovered true happiness. I thought I’d experienced it before, but clearly I was wrong. This is the best feeling in the entire world. I couldn’t be more grateful.

This also brought me to another realization. This moment is fleeting, and I have to love it for all it’s worth and hope to every power that I never forget it. Having a history of depression, I know that this afternoon I could slip into a suicidal fit regardless of how perfect everything is. I understand that not everyone suffers from depression, but sadness can trigger in anyone. I’ve come to believe that this is just how life is. You just have to do your best to balance it and continue to strive for greatness.

If you’re depressed or sad right now and reading this, rest assured. It does get better in a sense. Patience is the key. Find the smallest thing you have that makes you happy and cherish in the small feeling. Yes, things are going to be hard, but it’s also going to be rewarding. Even if it’s in the smallest way. Happiness isn’t a cookie-cutter definition.

I used to believe that in order for me to be successful and happy I needed to pursue the traditional route. You know, the minivan, the husband, couple of kids, the white picket fence… It’s taken time, but I’ve realized that that isn’t what I want out of life. That’s not the setting I fit into. Maybe at one point, but I’ve learned too much about the world, and I know that in this day and age that isn’t possible. Instead, I’ve decided that in order for me to be happy, this is one thing I can’t plan. I need to take things day by day. In an ideal world, I’d love to spend the rest of my life with the man next to me, travel and see the world, maybe adopt and mentor a young adult a decade or two from now. I couldn’t imagine a better life. I love him more than I can find the words to describe the feeling I get when he smiles at me. Eventually I’ll find a way to put it into words, but I’m not rushing a thing. As long as I have him, the titles don’t matter.

So, my lovelies, I leave you with this: Right now, think about where you want to be in five years. Realize that two years from now, where you want to be in five years could be completely different. Shit happens. Forget about all that crap about how “you have control over your own life.” That’s bullshit. You don’t have control over a damn thing, all life really is is adapting and responding to a series of challenges thrown your way. You can’t control your life, but you can control how you RESPOND to life. Boom. There. I just saved you $400+ on a self help seminar.


Why I Won’t Say It: A L*&% Story

Even though it’s obvious.

This is something I’ve thought about quite a bit lately. More details to come.

Allow me to start at the beginning:

New Years Eve Party, celebrating the long-awaited end of 2016. It was just after midnight and the party was still going full force, at least twenty people that I’d never met before. There’s beer pong in the garage, shots every couple of minutes in the kitchen, the smokers out in the backyard, and some guy playing a DragonBall Z game on the Playstation 4. Then there’s me; sitting on the couch alone just watching everything going on around me, wondering why seven people just came out of the bathroom talking about why something was “sticky.”

This was my normal position at these parties. My social anxiety doesn’t permit me to be able to be one of the “pretty girls” that flirts with everyone. I’m perfectly content like that, it’s so much easier to collect information if no one around is really paying attention to you.

As I’m sitting there, two guys come to sit down on the other couch in the living room. One of these guys I’ve known for years, we even dated really briefly. The other… Now this is where things get interesting. Occasionally my old friend would pull me into the conversation, sometimes I would just interject myself because I can’t stand when people are wrong. After a short amount of time my old friend becomes distracted by other people and conversations, and I’m left to talk with this new guy. Normally, my palms would be sweating and I’d be giving one line answers to anything said to or asked of me. Not this time.

I was enticed by this new person in my life. Words came effortlessly and eye contact wasn’t really an issue for the first time in a really long time. That’s one of the first things I noticed about him. He had the most incredible green eyes, I could stare into them all day while my knees go weak. I could tell he’d been hurt, the pain was apparent and it drew me to him. Here was someone who knew what I’d been through in some way, someone I could talk to with ease. He was intelligent; one of the absolute smartest people I’ve ever met. That meant the topics for conversation could go literally anywhere. Most people of our intelligence think a mile a minute and adding in the spirits and other “party favors,” we found ourselves talking about everything and nothing all at the same time.

Hours I spent talking to him. Learning, trying to remember as many details as I possibly could through my alcoholic drug-influenced hazy brain. For the record, I didn’t retain much. Just his name and the way that I felt while talking to him. I was overwhelmed with how it was so easy for him to make me smile. This is something I never thought I’d feel again. Something I stopped believing in a long time ago.

I knew better than to get my hopes up. Nice things never happen to me because I’m such a negative person. I knew there was a huge probability that I would never see him again, but I at least got him to add me on Facebook. I never expected to talk to him, I never expected…

January 26th.

After talking for a couple of days we decided to hang out. He picked me up and we went to lunch and then we went bowling. I hadn’t smiled or laughed so much in at least two years. After everything was said and done, I had to ask him if that was us hanging out, or if that was a date. It was most definitely a date, and safe to say the best date I’d ever been on. Over the next week we went on another date and talked almost every single day (except when one of us forgets to reply and I have too much anxiety to double text). The following week, I broke all of my normal rules and things got a little hot and heavy.

Holy shit. Sex with anyone else would be a waste of time. But enough of that because I’m already starting to embarrass myself.

So now here I am – a little over a month after our first date – beating myself up because I’m doing everything I told myself I wasn’t going to do. I’m falling for this guy.

A month.

I’m a crazy person.

In defense, it feels like I’ve known him forever. He’s… Me. He’s everything that I wanted BEFORE I got broken. He’s the most wonderful person to have ever graced this planet with his cynicism. He’s just so… Perfect. What makes him even better is that he doesn’t believe it. He’s humble. It’s disguised under layers of depression and anxiety and I adore it. Now before you tear me down for “romanticizing” mental illnesses, hold on. If you’ve read some of my previous posts or any of the posts on my old blog, you’d know that I am no stranger to depression or anxiety or a handful of other afflictions that are unimportant at this point in time.

We have our differences, and yet we’re the exact same person. It’s simultaneously wonderful and terrible.

I’m not going to tell him how I feel. Not because I don’t want him to know, but because I’m not in a hurry to blurt feelings that may not be reciprocated. I believe I’ll be spending quite a bit of time with him in the future though, and I’ll have all the time in the world to tell him every single day after. In the meantime, I’ll continue to tell him in subtle ways. It’ll be in the way I smile at him, when I ask him to make sure he lets me know when he makes it home safely, in the feeling I hope we share at least a bit when we kiss… It’ll be in every movement I make and every moment I spend with him. And when the time is right, I’ll tell him what I so desperately want him to know. And then maybe we’ll be one day closer to happily ever after.

Watching; A Short Story

A heartache wrenched girl waited for the opportune moment to express her feelings. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops, break all the sound barriers; but she was holding on to a useless vision. She had fought and fought to break herself from the ties of her previous captor; it took everything she had. She had spent years simply trying to fix the damage that was done; wondering when the light in her life was going to come back on. Lately, she’s only realized that tragedy is a reality waiting for a contradiction. I wanted nothing more than to tell her…

Stop… Don’t breathe…

It hurts less if you don’t breathe.

She continued to wait for her opportune moment; many came and went. I observed this whole time, watched her be torn and tossed like a ragdoll every time she tried to open herself up to someone new. I heard her cries in the middle of the night every time her date never showed up. I heard her talk to her friends about how she knows she deserves better every time she let one of her dates push her too far. It was all an act. She hid her tears from everyone, but she could never hide them from me.

I watched the confusion that was implanted in her mind, the way she would let them look at her and manipulate the truth. It killed me to watch as she would wrap herself around the fingers that had caressed so many girls’ faces before hers. I’d seen their type before; their eyes sparkled, like a candy laced with the deadliest of poisons. I couldn’t stand to watch her throw herself into their arms only to end up devastated seemingly moments later; no longer could I sit by and watch as she wasted away into the abyss. Her love was a disease, and it was eating her away.

The years went on, I kept watching. I wished that a cure would come; that their games would end. I hoped against all odds that someone would finally look beyond her past and see the full glory of her soul. Someone needed to see her for who she was; such a sweet, soft human being. Only I saw her behind closed doors. No one knew what she put herself through to deem herself good enough for them. She wouldn’t show the ways she bent and twisted herself into everything that she wasn’t just to make them happy for a night.

Their “love” was a game, strategically moving across the playing board that is her body. They always seemed to play exactly the right card at the right moment to catch her off guard. They took advantage of her weakness, which was simply that she loved too much. I wanted so badly to pull her from this sick version of Candy Land, “everything is her fault” was how the spinner always landed. She just needed to know….

Stop… Don’t breathe…

It hurts less if you don’t breathe…

Oh, how desperate I was for her to notice that I was there. I wanted nothing more than to save her, to give her the love that she deserved. But she didn’t even know I existed. She would face me every single morning. Her eyes sparkled like candy, much like the poisoned sweetness in her prospective partners’ eyes. But there was always more, more depth. Every morning I stared into her eyes, begging her to realize how much she was worth to me. Pleading for her to hear me.

Each year the sadness in her eyes grew more and more. If I could have just got her to hear me, see me, anything… I could have saved her. I did everything I could; I would draw her pictures on the glass while she was in the shower, I would turn the radio on before she came home from work so she wouldn’t be hit by the silence she normally lived in. I needed her to know I loved her. She needed to know…

Stop… Don’t breathe…

It hurts less if you don’t breathe…

I wish I had tried harder – found a way to get to her before she went to such drastic measures. She bent herself in so many ways for those she craved that she finally broke. She had waited so patiently for him to call; he’d promised that he would. I watched her sit in silence in the chair in the living room – staring right at me – as the hours crept by. Her expression never changed, but her eyes grew darker and darker. She still didn’t see me…

After what seemed an eternity, she stood and disappeared from my view. A small panic filled me, and I hoped that she had enough sense to make good decisions. I couldn’t exist without her; she needed to realize that I was there, that I was everything she was looking for and more. We would have been perfect together. She settled back into the chair where I could see her. She had started crying in the moments that I couldn’t see her. She had a small bottle in her hand, I couldn’t tell what it was. I watched her shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath she took as she opened the bottle.

Her tears came faster, her hands trembled. I screamed out to her as I watched her take pills one by one, choking out apologies that would never be heard. She deserved so much better than this. I slammed my fists against the glass partition that separated us as hard as I could. I begged her to stop, pleaded for her to just look up and see me. No longer able to retain my own tears, I watched her slip into sleep. I knew she wouldn’t wake up again. Her form slumped into the chair, the bottle with the few remaining pills fell and rolled across the floor. I was shaking; I would give anything just to see her eyes flutter open as they did every morning.

Not this time. Her body stayed crumpled in the corner, her spirit rose slowly from it. She looked back at the life she had thrown away and I watched as what appeared to be a smile cross her face. This was the happiness she had always wanted.

I pressed my hand against the glass, my throat still felt tight. She turned and looked at me, and for the first time I think she saw me. She looked frightened, but I didn’t know how to help her; I called out to her. This was my opportunity to show her amazing she was. Maybe I could finally be with her. I couldn’t help but smile as she slowly approached the glass. I could tell that a part of her knew that I was always there when she returned my smile. She reached out to put her hand on mine, the glass still divided us. I couldn’t pull her to my side. But I loved her, and I think she loved me too because she stayed here with me.

Although it’s agonizing never being able to hold her and comfort her on the nights when her cries shake the building with wind, I’m glad to have her. Every night, I watch her body collapse into that chair as she relives the moments of her death indefinitely. The torment of her soul keeps her trapped in this infinite loop, and I won’t move on without her. It’s agonizing to watch night after night, but the moment she smiles at me makes it all worth it. At least now she knows I’ll always be here for her, just on the other side of the mirror.