Have I Been Ruined?

I can remember as far back as high school being dedicated to my routine. I had morning band practice, afternoon track practice, several committee meetings and church function. All the activities that I had I never missed nor do I remember it being hard to get up for them.

Then college happened. I slept a lot, skipped a lot and stopped caring a lot. Have I been ruined?

For the sixth time I’ve skipped class; the class that I signed up for in an effort to start making my dreams of becoming apart of the medical community via clinical come true. No one made me, and no one is paying for it besides me. I’m the one who will be directly effected if I fail and have to take it again.

I could blame a million things that make me NOT want to go, but I can think of ONE, stronger than a million other things why I should be there.

When did it get so hard? Does stress of job, life, etc. really make it that hard that television vegetation is the only way to find relaxation and escape? Some how I’ve messed up my priorities. Some how I have lost focus and accepted a lazy, sleep selfish way of doing things.

Something has got to change with me because I can’t keep going this way. Some how it’s all got to work out. Some how…

“Your Mama Voted _____”

Well, at least that’s what my t-shirts said when I ran for Senior Class President in high school. The dash was my real name and the shirts came in bright colors. I think I had several shirts roaming around school and in different classes. My name is short, so I lucked out with easy campaigning. There were these large windows in our high school cafeteria that I took upon myself to use toward my campaign. There were 16 windows and I took up as many as I could. In bright, glitter, all-cap font I wrote “______ for Sr. Prs.” I can’t really remember how I abbreviated things, but trust me it was huge. No one could escape my campaign. This was the place we ate lunch, waited for buses and generally hung out. You could not miss it. 

It was election day and I was completely excited. I was running against severl girls that proved it to be a tough race, but I thought I had it in the bag. I knew about everyone in school and I was seen as this responsible kid that could get shit done. I had gone to tons of conferences and gathered millions of ideas that our senior class could do. I can’t remember if we gave speaches or not, but I know I had one prepared. I felt like there was NO WAY I could loose. 

At the end of the day, they made the announcement as to who one the elections. The final name called was for Senior Class President. I paused, holding my breath, waiting to jump when I didn’t hear my name called but the girl who opposed me. “What the hell?” I said. Of course I was supportive and really just wanted our senior class to have a great year seeing how we were the FIRST seniors to graduate from our high school and it was kind of a big deal.

I remember getting the final numbers and realizing the vote was low. Not nearly as many students voted and she (my opponent) had won with under 50 votes (I think). I couldn’t believe that people had not voted. I sat in class with all these kids and talked with them every single day. 

The next day, when I was going through my classes, people kept telling me they didn’t know election day was yesterday. In other words they forgot to vote. I even had a few people who were wearing my “Your Mama Voted ______” shirts forget to vote. I couldn’t believe it. 

…

This morning I was groggy and very unsure what I was going to do with voting, but I knew I had to. I don’t really like either candidate and really think that no matter what the next four years are not going to be as life changing as we hope them to be. I feel like we’ll need these next four years to recover from the last four years before we’ll see a change, which sucks for either candidate walking into the office this January. 

I was in my car, driving to work, when I just knew I had to vote. I had no reason for why and actually think since I don’t know ANYTHING about either candidate (minus a few things and what I see on SNL) that I can hurt the vote. I’m not one of those that thinks their vote doesn’t count. In fact, I believe my vote can change the world, which makes it all the more scarier to think I just picked on. I’m not going to tell you which one, because then I don’t want to criticized for CHOOSING who I wanted. What I will tell you is one hour and one long-ass line later I voted. 

I wasn’t one of those who “forgot” or decided “my vote doesn’t count”. I wish I could say I was passionate about my vote, but I was more passionate about my right to vote.

Boss’ Day Breakfast

This morning we celebrated “Boss’ Day” by gathering together at Cafe Brazil. In case you were wondering, I had their bottomless cup of Holiday Blend coffee and Pumpkin/Cinnamon Pancakes. So good. 

I always look forward to these office outings. It makes me feel like we all get along and love working together. Plus, the conversations are always laced with random questions about each others childhood and random events. I like those kind of conversations because you really get to know someone when they share stories. I always share too much, but I want them to know me so who cares?

One story I shared this morning was how I dated this guy (back in high school) that played “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” by Kenny Chesney on his answering machine (he was so country).

I first shared how cool it was he had his own phone line with answering machine and then how he was a football player that worked at MJ Designs. In case you don’t know what MJ Designs is, it’s a craft store specializing in everything made by you for you to accent your home. The fake plants, fruit, cheesy gifts and candles were always in great supply there. This was an okay job for him to have seeing how I really wanted him to make me a mum for Homecoming and he had all the supplies.

Again, for those of you who are thinking “what the hell is a mum” you have to understand Texas football. Whether your high school’s team was good or bad the football games were always a huge deal. During Homecoming, girls would receive these massive, always too heavy to pin to your bra ribbon things with your name on it, your date’s name on it and things you did in school. They were made in your school’s colors and it was always noted among girls who’s boyfriend loved them more by the size of the mums. I knew a girl who’s actually played music.

Sometimes, if you didn’t have a date for the Homecoming dance, your parents would buy you one to wear on game day. So, it was really important that this guy be my boyfriend until October so he could make me a massive mum. Unfortunately, we didn’t make it beyond May of that year. 

I look back and think about all these things I thought were important about dating and can’t believe the Homecoming mum would make a heads or tails for a relationship. That’s the beauty of high school, you could do that and it didn’t really matter. Or maybe it did and I just didn’t let it matter to me?

Swim Like Hell, But Don’t Loose Your Noodle

First things first, Apartment Therapy should blog less. My Reader is constantly full with their “do this to your home” and “look at this guys house in the shape of a boat, wait it is a boat”.  

Secondly, had dinner with my dad last night. I don’t want to go into it, but I can tell you there was no yelling and resulted in me realizing my parents are just going to have to keep their distance from me until I have kids.

Thirdly, let me tell you a little childhood story that lets the title to this post make sense.

I would say I was in high school if not just beginning high school. My brother and I were taking our usual trip to the grandparents places for the summer. Short story is we moved away from all extended family (minus an uncle who later followed us) and only visited all family during the summer for a full month when I was a child.  This was the last year I would make said trip and we (my brother and I) were spending two weeks at my mom’s parent’s house on the river. I grew up on this river and in all cases would rather go here than anywhere in the whole United States. I lost countless items in this river including one beloved pair of Jelly shoes. Actually, I only lost the left shoe, but when you loose one you loose them both.

On this river we would boat around with my grandparents and cousins to go cliff jumping and play at the “beach” that was created way back when my mom was a little girl. The “beach” was awesome minus the fact you had to watch out for empty beer bottles. Oh, I guess I should also meantion this was a hick town and everyone drank on the lake. I’m sure even the river/water police did and then would sink the bottles to destroy the evidence.

Alright, back to the point of the story.

My brother and I had reached the point where all the daring stuff to do on the lake had become dull. We mastered the cliff jumping, swam 12 ft deep to touch the bottom of the river by the dock and even contemplated jumping off the bridge but then realized we weren’t that risky. We were swimming around holding these bright green and pink noodles when the thought hit us: Let’s swim across the river to the docks on the other side.

I would say the width of where we docked to the opposite side of the lake would be a little under 200 yards. Now, I’m horrible with meassuring distance but I know what the size of a football field is like and it was well over that.  

Once the idea was in our heads you could not talk us out of it. My younger cousin decided he would go and tell on us, but we didn’t care. What was the worst our grandpa could do? Yell at us?

So, my brother with a green noodle and I with a pink one set off to swim. We knew we could swim it, but the tricky part was making sure boats and jet skis saw us, thus the point of the noodle. We swam so fast and kept the bright noodles in the air for all to see. When we finally reached the other side of the dock it became very apparent to both of us the problem with our plan. You see, around docks that are not consistently occupied things like snakes (water moccasins to be exact) hang out. Once we got there, we realized this dock was un-used and that there was a good chance snakes were hanging around. Freaked out and with little time rest we swam back as fast as we could, noodles still waving as high as we could get them. When we finally reached our dock we were out of breath and in deep trouble. Deep trouble in that all our grandparents felt like doing was yelling as loud as they could at the top of the hill because no grandchild swimming across the lake was as important to them taking 50 steps down to yell in person. My brother and I just looked at each other and smiled.

50 Things You Mom Should Know

Okay, no…this post is not about “50 Things Your Mom Should Know” or maybe it is. I don’t know; I don’t know your mom so maybe this list will be something she needs to know. Your call.

In all truthfulness, this is a list of “50 Things I Like About Myself”. In a effort to improve my own reflective image I am going to do a little self praise. Before I start I would like to take this opportunity to thank God for all the follow gifts/great things. I wouldn’t be who I am without His hand. 

Here we go (in no particular order):

1. I appreciate all things, people, situations, settings and ponts of view. I think there is beauty in everything and that, though I may not agree with every thing or everyone, I appreciate them and what they have to offer.
2. I see the big picture. I’m constantly trying to figure out how it is going to play out in the big picture of life.
3. I set people high. When I first meet you I set you at the highest you can be. I believe you can do no wrong, are incapable of deceit and are perfect. It’s up to you whether or not you move up or down.
4. I’m brand/team loyal. I will hold on to a team/brand forever just because I can’t quit the team and will always push through the bad times.
5. I love humor. I would rather laugh than cry/think any day.
6. I’m a hard worker not because you deserve it but because my spirit won’t let me not be.
7. I’m strong in person, emotion, mind and spirit. Though often weak by life, I have a personal strength that even amazes myself sometimes. 
8. I love things from certain decades (late 1800’s-1970). I love the styles, the hair, the music, the movies…I love it all.
9. I love to be challenged beyond my own mind. I want things to be hard and really difficult so I can surpass them. 
10. I’m competitive. I’ve played sports, been in band, was in all sorts of social clubs and had various jobs. I love that I look for a competition.
11. I love that I have dark features. I’m not a partly blonde, partly brunette, but I’m dark brown. There’s no hair dye here, 100% naturally dark. Love it!
12. I have the gift of words. Sometimes this can be good or bad, but I love that my words are strong and can cut to the quick in arguments. 
13. I’m 100% honest. Even when I don’t want to be, I can’t lie.
14. I desire to do good for others rather than for myself. I want to help others and don’t care what I look like doing it. 
15. I love my excitement when I walk into a hospital. I physically, mentally and emotionally get excited.
16. I get so happy when it rains. It makes me come alive.
17. I don’t have to wear make-up all the time. I don’t always have to look nice. 
18. I know how to understand people quickly and call their card (personality type).
19. I waited until I was 21 to drink like an idiot.
20. I no longer want to smoke cigarettes!
21. I love classical music and how it makes me feel creative and relaxed all at the same time.
22. As much as I didn’t like it as I was going through it, I like that I’ve had an eating disorder. I know now what people go through in addiction and have sympathy that I never thought I would have for people I don’t know and do know.
23. I have confidence beyond my own understanding. 
24. I love music with a passion. I can’t make it, sing it or do anything but live through it.
25. I’m bold. 
26. I’m driven.
27. I love to cook. I love that I can actually cook, too!
28. I’m not afraid of confrontation.
29. I stand out.
30. I was Homecoming Queen my freshman year of high school. I actually tied with a girl that was very, very popular. I couldn’t believe it happened. I was a band dork with a quirky personality that was Homecoming Queen as a freshman. Weird.
31. I’ve been in love twice (David, Amy), been in lust/love twice (Taylor, Anna). 
32. I have a passion for London. I love everything UK!
33. Candy is my weakness and coffee is my air.
34. I’ve been a dreamer my whole life. I dream when I sleep. I day dream all the time. I use to play make-believe (sometimes still do) when I was a kid all the time. I loved living in the made up realms of my mind.
35. I would rather spend money on dinner with friends than drinks at a bar, movie tickets, theme park adventure or travel. 
36. When I actually workout, I can workout forever! I love being healthy (when I do it).
37. I am apart of Susan G. Komen because breast cancer took my Grandma.
38. I can not live without God.
39. I can handle Tequila.
40. Friendship is not something I’m looking to just check off a list. I’m always looking for depth in people and am not satisfied until I find it.
41. I’m a risk taker. Sure, certain risks I’m not able to do, but on the majority I like to jump.
42. I love to feel everything in my soul.
43. I’m better among a group of strangers than I am with people I know.
44. I move furniture around because I get tired of seeing things always the same.
45. I’m very, very self-aware.
46. I’m figuring out that life is a complicated, joyful mess that doesn’t always make you happy at 24.
47. I’m naturally social. Always have been, always will be.
48. Fall in love with the disadvantaged.
49. I graduated in four years without using a single credit. Not one credit was wasted.
50. Being nervous propels me forward versus making me want to hide.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Concert Uniform

Right now, I’m at work waiting for a event we’re hosting. We’re just sitting around waiting for the clock to move before we head over to our venue and start setting up. As I sit here, a co-worker refreshes her make-up, the other changes and one completes some work, I feel like I’m back in band. 

I’ve played the flute from 4th grade until I graduated from high school. I was apart of band all through out middle school and high school. I loved it often and hated it mostly. I hated having to practice sometimes and I hated having to get up early for marching band. More often than not I loved concert/performing time. I loved that feeling of your stomach in knots and your mind wraping over every note as to not mess up. Marching band I was never worried about. I didn’t care if I played or not, I just wanted to march. 

If you’ve never been in band or did even the marching side of it, you won’t really get the joy of it. Sure, Hollywood has painted kids in marching band to be nerds and socially awkward, but that’s far from it. In fact, more kids that were in the band were being elected Prom Queen/King, Homecoming Queen/King, StuCo President and top athletes. I hate to turn on the lights to my own markee, but I was Homecoming Queen and an athlete. Hell, I was even in Student Council. Ha! Take that Hollywood and your Lohan by products!

Anyways, I loved the bright lights, loud cheering and strong echo each note would make on the steel stands. Loved the pressure of “what if you fall” or “what if you miss a note”. What I loved more was the rush of being in front of people.

Ah! Got to go!

Come Along Way

It just it hit me how far I’ve come since this time two years ago.

Two years ago I emerged from the most deeply wounding relationship of my life. It was my first girlfriend, Anna, who I dated secretly because of personal fear and in going to a Christian college. I’ve mentioned this relationship before, but what I think I have never hit was how it took the breath right out me. How for at least a year after our dissolve I fought songs, thoughts and issues. Hell, I still fight old habits brought out by her and the festering relationship we lived in.

What made me start thinking about it was watching “The Holiday”. A favorite of mine that I just happened to see in theatres right after I said my final “goodbye” to her. If you haven’t seen the movie, the whole point is two women (faced with similar love stories) escape to different locations in an effort to shed those hard shells. In doing so they find love and everything renewing. I remember watching this movie at least 3 times in the theatre because it struck home with me so much. There’s one part (just paused the movie from) where Kate Winslet’s character says some truly amazing words.

Iris “I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn’t know you had inside you. And it doesn’t matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends… you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he’ll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll go somewhere new. And you’ll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.”

I clung to these words in hope for change and the aching to start going away. I can honestly say I had never experienced that kind of aching until then.

I would love to rant and rave about the horrible times that constructed the worthless walls of that relationship. How her over ugly, corpulous ex continuously played a part in breaking apart my being. About the time I sat in the rain, bent on my knees in a muddy puddle with tears streaming like the rain upon my head because I just realized her first affair. Would love to go over the many times her ex would try to blackmail me in my school, sorority and family because I wouldn’t stop being with Anna. I would love to share the many times there after where I foolishly took her back because I had developed this fear to be alone and couldn’t stand to loose, to be chosen over for someone inwardly as ugly as out.

Vain? Sure.
Desperately lost? Completely.

I’ve been depressed before and I can safely say I didn’t hit depression as I had with the boyfriend before that (so, could have sworn I was going to marry him), but honestly I can not think of a time where pain existed so strongly, so feverishly against my soul. I lived in fear that I would never be rid of her. Fear that I would never get her memory out of my head. I was constantly worried that she would show up at my work, call me numerous times and demand I speak with her. Her ability to communicate was worthless and she was completely incapable in realizing once it’s over, it’s over. I guess partly because I took her back twice out of the THREE times she cheated (physically, emotionally, verbally, relationally) on me. I held on every promising word of this paragraph in the movie with hope that I would soon be past it.

As I’m watching this movie, I felt the immediate need to write my progress. I think about the disgusting behavior I had in dating her, in thinking she was what I needed and how I couldn’t be further from her. Songs we had together stopped bothering me long ago (I mean it has been two years) and memories are all starting to blur together. I think the one part I choose to keep (and perhaps it’s for reasons I don’t know yet) is when I first met her. How I had no idea why I wanted to kiss her, why I wanted to be in her world.

I can remember how I wanted to do everything with her. It was like she swallowed me up into her will. I wanted to see her smile, to feel her around me, to make her look my way. It’s amazing how I didn’t see it coming. I honestly can not remember thinking about how weird it was I all of the sudden wanted to kiss a girl or blur the lines. I remember sitting there, after we crossed the lines and voyaged never to be the same again, in a cloud of shame, desire, fear, disbelief and emotional funnel suck.

I know what that last descriptor (if you will) read like, but if you’ve ever been in an emotional relationship you know what I mean by saying “emotional funnel suck”. When you’re in the middle the wind is really only going 5 mph, but in looking out over your life or in your current circumstances it’s going at least 85 mph in a circle around you with no control.

Don’t get me wrong, she still pops in my head occasionally but not in the same way as she did years ago. Actually, last year I saw her in a wedding and realized somethings (meaning her) never change. I can honestly say I loved her in the beginning. I was wrapped in the allure of her mystery and rebel/foolish carelessness. I found myself in a place I liked. I found myself letting my guard drop so fast, so hard for her to fuck up everything.

One of the things I’m seeking in therapy is letting go of past baggage. I think one thing about she and I that fucked me up more than ever was how angry I became. I taught myself behaviors that were not healthy. I smoked cigarettes all the time, I spied on people’s blogs, looked at her phone bills to check her lies words. I would call her over and over again until she answered the phone just to make sure she was alone. I became the most pathetic person I could ever be. I hated myself, but couldn’t stop. I didn’t trust her and used my anger to fuel my bad behavior.

I can safely say I don’t smoke anymore and am doing so good to erase all bad relationship behavior created with her. I watch this movie and can’t help but think I’ve come along way. I’ve waited out time and have only a few wounds to heal. That’s rather good considering what the emotional blunder the relationship truly was.

“Father”, “Dad”, “Pops” and “The Old Man”

Those area variety of names given to dad’s around the world. Some favorable and some not so loving. I’ve mulled over and over my issues with my Dad and I don’t really know where to start.

First, I shall say I love, honor, am very thankful for and am blessed by my Dad. He stuck it through my the hard times with my Mom, sat me down then I was running astray and constantly provided for me making me slightly spoiled. He made sure I went to college because he knew I needed it and constantly reminded me of how proud he was/is of me. He provided me my first car, college experience and food always on the table. He portrayed my pictures on his office desk proudly and was always offering direction. I know I’ve been blessed beyond my means and should not complain, but there’s something within me that breaks every time I think of my Dad.

I’m that girl that cries at cheesy set ups in movies and TV when the dad hugs his kids, etc. I lay in bed and have personal conversations with my Dad, easily mocking what I’ll know he’ll say to me as if he’s in the room. I’m just so angry and hurt. I’ve had a dad who stuck around, stayed faithful to my mom and provided to me and my siblings my whole life. Why on earth do I feel this way? Why as I type do I want to cry and shout all at the same time? Why do I feel the immediate need to write this out before I can finish my work?

As I’m writing I hear my Dad’s voice telling me “I’m not a good writer and I shouldn’t focus on that.” I think what sucks the most about that is I graduated with a writing degree. I actually wrote for my school paper and have come a long way in my confidence as a writer. I’m not going to lie, I hate writing for purpose. I hate being told, “write this now” because I typically get writers block and stay that way until I’m in the eleventh hour. In my last job, I was promoted to Project Manager and Jr. Copy Writer. I had a shit of a manager and he constantly told me I wasn’t a good writer. He actually refused my raise until I went to school for further education in writing. Funny thing was after I left work, our new boss read my work and actually liked it. And HE was a Sr. Copy Writer, too. Unfortunately, I left that job before he got the opportunity to restore faith in myself. So, now every time I’m tasked to write something I think first, “I’m not a good writer.” That kills me.

Fact is anything remarking on my intellect if serious to me. I grew up in an elementary, middle and high school were the majority of my class were fighting for the top 50% GPA in our area. Not just high school but area. I can remember being in elementary school with glasses, being left handed and dyslexia having to go to “special” classes while everyone else was enrolled in some sort of LEAP program. While they were working on projects that challenged their intellect I was forced to turn my paper side ways (because they thought that helped left-handed kids), learn what an accent mark was and that Tom Cruise was dyslexic, too. Yeah, that didn’t make me feel better. I wanted to be smart and not seen as a “special” class kid. I hated/hate being told I’m not good enough. So, ever since that moment in the third grade I swore I would never be seen as stupid. I forced myself into all the hard, AP style classes where I became an average student, but never once looked dumb to my peers. I was never able to join the Honors kids, but I was okay with them thinking I just didn’t want to be in it.  So, you can imagine why I get angry at my Dad for telling me I can’t write. It cripples me that the person I want to pleased with me the most says I can’t do something.

I’m a daddy-pleaser. I’m not a daddy’s little girl, but the little girl who wanted her dad to always be proud of her. Always saying, “Daddy, look at me!” while I did circles on my bike. “Daddy, look at my room” as I became the most organized six-year old ever. I did get those praises, but only those praises.

I think my Dad must come from tough men with narrow mindsets. When I was in college I went into school as a Psychology major. Yeah, I struggled, but I loved knowing I could do it. I was about to hit my second semester when my Dad said, “why are you in Psychology? That’s not where your gifts are, what are you doing there?” It WAS hard and I was just wanting to be happy, so I switched.

I think what worries me is that ME, just me will never be good enough. Never good enough to his standard of successful. I mean, he loves me and I know he’s proud of me, but I don’t know if he really took the time to get to know the real me if he would be proud of me.

My Dad and I are so much a like we use to (and still do) butt heads. When I was little I was constantly being threatened with spankings and being grounded. When I was older and living off their generosity it was worse. Fact is, as much as my Dad treats me like an adult I don’t think he knows I’m fully capable of being one. Always making assumptions of what I know and how I’m going to live my life. Telling me that “I’m in for a world of hurt if I don’t start living in the real world.” Complete dream crusher. I think his big break in my spirit was in college. I think he didn’t want me to come back home and live off them for a while, so he just pushed me toward whatever degree would get me a job and out. He always throws in the line, “well, don’t expect to come home if it doesn’t work out.” So supportive.

I don’t know. I don’t want to say he was a bad father or a worthless dad, but he sure wasn’t supportive. You would be talking to him, telling him something and he would walk away mid-sentence. I find the older I get the more I become like him. Very scary. Some things I don’t mind, but these types of things I don’t want. My brother is becoming like him, too. He, however, has had the worst of my Dad. I’ve always felt bad for my brother because here he was the only son of a very successful, strong man smoking pot and skating all day. He had it really hard in high school. At least it’s getting better for him now that he’s about to be on his own.

Truth is parents aren’t always great. They do a lot things to pick us up and pull us down. They’re as human as I am. I can’t fault them for that. I can’t pull the begrudged role of the girl who didn’t have the perfect father, when she should just be happy she had a good dad.

I’m sure there’s more in me to write about, perhaps some other time.

Fat, Old Me

Here I sit, on the Monday after holiday weekend completely exhausted from the day’s long, painful work. I had to cancel my Career Counseling meeting because of a proposal that had just come up, due tomorrow. So in my best effort to better love myself because my job does not, I sit here eating Doritos, sandwich and watching “Bridget Jones” (one of my favorite pick-me-up movies). Not bad you say? Well, not bad if I hadn’t been doing just that (minus the classic repeat of “Bridget Jones”) all weekend. Remember how I cut my cable to save money AND get my ass out of the house? Ah, yes…hasn’t quite happened yet. I feel it coming soon seeing how Blockbuster can’t deliver fast enough and my DVD collection is well rehearsed.

I think what keeps me nerved about my current lack for ANYTHING is this seems all too familiar. In college I experienced two horrible years of straight depression and binge eating. It’s much easier to tell people you couldn’t control yourself while you ate FIVE Snickers (King size) candy bars in one hour when you’re smaller than you were. I’m considerably smaller, but the fear of falling back into old, bad habits scares me. I went from a small size 8 to a large, stretching size 12 in ONE YEAR! How I lost it was a simple solution of dating a fuckwit-girlfriend, smoking cigarettes and working a retail job. I went from a growing size 12 to a small size 4! Truly the weight came off by January of my Senior year because I was so stressed all the time that I barely ate. I would eat nothing but sugar and fat products, go work at the local department store and walk it off. It was the most horrible way to have treated my body. In fact, I’m still having to recover the damages two years later. I eat horribly and have to constantly fight my over-snacking taste buds.

Now, I don’t tell you all those details to encourage you to try my painful, totally self damaging, won’t last “diet”, but that I may explain my pain with weight, exercise and the general downer day.

It’s such a shame that I have to reteach myself so many things since my damaging college years. I was alone, abandoned, unwanted and unfulfilled in college. It wasn’t until my Senior year that I started doing more going out, treating myself and indulging in everything broken to better lift my already broken spirits.

I had the best roommate ever, joined a great sorority and managed to graduate in four years not loosing one credit. I had a stable job, nice for the area apartment, food on the table, clothes on my back and a car to get me around. What was I to be so sad about? I don’t know. Many things I guess: broken relationship with what I thought was the love of my life; too much pride with no where to let it out; the hate of a school I refused to quit; the comfort of only food and TV because no friends met me in the eyes long enough to know me; the town that made me feel so lost and completely on my own. I wasn’t ready for school like I thought I was. I actually went to a Christian, private, small, no one knows my name, school because I WANTED TO. I didn’t even try other schools.

By the time I surrendered myself to the school I was broken into several pieces with no help to put them back together. My mom was distracted with my sister and brother. My old friends were living the college life hundreds of miles from me. My best friend wouldn’t have me back and would only talk about his new girl friend. I felt totally left in the dark with no way to fix it except to just deal.

Sounds like a worthless story, I know, but what makes me tell you all that is I’m still hurting from that. Not that my college years still have a hold on me, but rather I developed some really hurtful habits in school that I want to shake. Like this eating and watching TV thing? Yeah bitch, you got to go. You’re making me gain weight and making me watch my muscles dissolve into nothing. That’s so sad to me. I’ve always been an athlete. I ran track competitively from seventh grade into the first semester of college. I dropped the team in November of my freshmen year because my body just couldn’t do it. I can remember running so hard that I thought my knees were going to give out. One time they did and I almost landed flat on my face.

I’ve read that from age 18-26 you start developing the habits you have for the rest of your life. Sure, they’re not permanent, but they become that much hard to either notice or get rid of. I don’t want my habits to develop me into a heavy TV watching, blindfolded Jelly Belly aficionado spending big money (not because I have it) kind of person.

I need to go back to the gym and start walking more. I love how I’m typing this and, yet, still not moving from my chair towards the door. Instead, I pick up one more chip before I close the bag. My Weight Watchers coach would be so proud of me. Oh yeah, did I tell you I did that in college, too? Yeah, if you’re going to follow one thing I say from this rambling blog, let it be don’t do the first “diet” I mentioned. Rather, jump on Weight Watchers if you have to. It helped, but unless you’re sticking to it, you’ll gain it right back.

I guess, in short, I’m just tired of wanting others to fill my time and get me motivated. I need to start running from the bad habits of my past towards the good habits of my skinny future. Is it’s motivating to me knowing that today was just a shity day, I always have tonight to do yoga and my dog loves me no matter how many times I tell her to get off the couch. Ahh, now that’s a warm moment.*

*Please note hopeful sarcasm here.

What I Would Tell My Children

I hope I remember that when my kids (when I have them) are twenty-something and on their own that they are ON THEIR OWN. I hope I remember that they are figuring things out for the first time rather than bombard them with what they should do or when they should do it.

I’ve felt a lot of pressure lately from my parents, grandparents, old friends and generally the whole marrying at twenty-something public to settle down. Settle down for what? The life that you have to share with someone else? I think if I still break things down into “sharing” or “mine verse yours” means that I’m no where near ready to marry. I want to own my first home BY MYSELF. I want to do all the things I desire first before I have to put someone else’s input into things. I don’t want someones help as to what color I should paint the living room or what I should spend my tax-return on. I think it would be great to have someone in your life that will be there for the rest of it, but I’m just not sure about now.

I have way too many things to work through on my own without throwing someone else into the mix. I also have many stigma’s about “marriage”. Not that I don’t believe in it or haven’t had good parents to show me how it works, but that I don’t trust forever. The more I see truth in people I realize how human we are to affairs, distance in a relationship and the want for something better. Maybe that’s the magic to marrying someone, but right now I’m too jaded to believe in it for myself. I hope one day that these thoughts turn to trust and loyalty within a marriage, but for now I’m too torn on the subject.

I hope I remember to tell my children that no matter what they choose to help them figure it out I’ll always support them, love them, encourage them and be proud of them. I also hope that my children don’t become dangerous to others otherwise the “support, encourage and proud” will be more like “praying harder, calling the cops and sending them to places to help people”.

Dear Son/Daughter,

You’re well into the beginning of your life to understand that it’s fun, exciting and painfully awkward (kind of like middle school). College was either very fun, hard or a pain in the ass. Now you have the opportunity to do what you want. If you want to watch TV for five solid days, you can. If you wish to spend all your money on pizza, beer, candy and cable…well you can. It’s all up to you because now is the time in life that you get that right. You’re working for your money and you can do with it what you want (just nothing dangerous or could hurt someone else, please).

As your mother I will always love you. You will always be the “best speller” of the group. You will always tell the funniest jokes and dance the best. To me, you will always say smart things and have the best ability to make people’s day. You’re the gem of my soul and the passion of my heart.

As you look in the mirror I hope you start to see a face that does more for others and less for yourself. I hope you start doing something with that hair (make it more stylish please) and try a little mascara every now and then. Yes, I sound like my mother, but those are things I’ll always remember about her and that make me smile.

In your job you’ll have crappy days, bad bosses, horrible co-workers and short weekends. You miss your spring breaks, long holidays and sleeping in late mornings. You may not find your passion in your first couple of jobs, but just keep looking. Never loose hope that God has a plan for you.

About Him…it’s up to what you believe now. We took you to church, taught you how to pray and watched you accept him into your heart. I’m not going to tell you what’s right or wrong for your life (don’t do drugs), but what I will say is always remember Him. I learned if I stopped reading my bible my heart would harden and I would stop remembering who He was in my life. It wasn’t until I hit the bottom of the barrel sometimes that I would really remember His face. Church is hard when you’re on your own. Saturday nights are more fun and Sunday mornings are just hard to get up for. Tithing is hard because you’re short on budget and would rather buy something for yourself. My test for you is to trying giving anyways. If you don’t have a home church, send it to me and we’ll put it with our offering. I ask you to test me on this. If God doesn’t help you meet your needs every week for then next four months, then stop. Keep it for yourself. Just remember that no matter how low you feel or how lost you may find yourself (it will happen at least once) HE’S ALWAYS THERE.

Don’t worry about getting married so quickly. There will be weddings and there will be dreams about weddings, but hold off. Find who you are first. I think the more you find yourself, the more you date, the more you experience life you’ll see that WHO you want to marry will change. GOAL: Find yourself, get sick of yourself and THEN find the ONE. Doing what you want to do right now is NOT selfish. Doing what you want to do in a marriage IS. Get it out of your system. Plus, our finances for your wedding will be bigger if you wait.

I know in finding who you are, you’re going to stumble across a lot of paths. I know I did. There are many opportunities to figuring it out. My only plea is don’t be stupid about it. Don’t take drugs (it just makes me worry). Don’t hurt people physically, mentally or spiritually. In finding who you are you’ll probably fall down many times. Keep good friends by your side to help pull you up (God, me, whatever that kid’s name is with the nose ring, etc.). Don’t think for a second because you fall down we won’t love you. You may completely different than the way we raised you and that’s okay. I know I fuss, but realize God created you as you are and I will never argue with that! You’re one of my most favorite things and NOTHING you do, are, become or try will make me stop loving you.

Just remember, I see things in you that you may not see yet. I see the potential you have and the ability within you. If I nag, it’s only because I want you to shine. If you choose not to, I’ll still love you.

No matter what you choose within the next four months, years, decades I will always except you, love you and pray for you. You’re my baby after all.