7 Years

I was just reminded that I have had this blog for seven years.   Seven years of rants.  Seven years of poetry.  Seven years of channeling my depression online.  And I used to be good at it.  I remember when I was in college, sometimes I would get so creative I would post twice a week.  There were times when I’d try not to post every day.  Now I can barely post once a month.

And I’ve been thinking.  On and off for a while, I’ve been thinking.  What if I just closed it down?  Is seven years long enough?  For a long time this blog was my identity.  I put my heart and soul into.  Which is why my lack of creativity depresses me so much, I think.  But maybe it’s time to rip the bandaid off?  Is anyone even paying attention anymore?  Because I for sure have nothing to say anymore.

Last April I moved into a townhouse.  I thought moving here might give me the creative head space I need, but instead I feel like I might have even less creative space.  I’ve forgotten how to act on my ideas, because I still have those.  I have hundreds of photos on a memory card in a camera that I bought because I thought I was going to get back into photography.  Instead, they sit there unedited, when I used to love editing and sharing photos.

I spend a lot of time wondering who I even am anymore.  I start school next month, and I’m excited for it, but what happened to being a writer?  What happened to being a poet?  What happened to having big dreams?  Did I get lost somewhere along the way?  I want to try.  So badly, I want to try.  But giving it all up seems to much easier.

My decisions are pending.  But this could be coming close to a goodbye.

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Truth and Lies

When I was fourteen I got a phone call from my mother after school asking why I was telling rumors about Jessicah.  For most of my freshman year of high school, Jessicah had been my best friend.  I don’t remember exactly why Jessicah had turned on me, but I do remember she and a few other girls who rode my bus had started to make my life very difficult in certain spaces.  Anyway, Jessicah had told a close friend of my mother’s that I was spreading a rumor around that Jessicah had put razor blades in my backpack.  When my mother called me to ask me about it, I had no idea what she was talking about.  I didn’t even yet know about this rumor that I was apparently spreading.  Also, why in the world would it even occur to me to make up a lie like that.  I hadn’t even found any razor blades in my backpack.  That wasn’t even a thought that had come into my head.

The next morning before school, I was digging through my backpack looking for a book or something, and at the bottom I found a plastic container with razor blades in it.  I think they were replacements for exacto knives or something.  How did they get there?  Oh right, obviously Jessicah had put them there, expecting me to find them sooner.  So she started a rumor that was actually true.  But I never told anyone that Jessicah put razor blades in my backpack.  Not until after I found them.  And I got the school involved.  I got the “authorities” involved.

She was putting razor blades in my backpack because I was and “emo” girl.  We all had our “emo” fazes.  And everything else that comes with that doesn’t even matter anymore, because that was more than 10 years ago.  We are grown up now.  Adults don’t make up stupid rumors about each other out of malice or embarrassment.  We put the past behind us a long time ago.

Last year I worked for a local food delivery company called Shoals Takeout to bring in some extra money.  For the most part the job was really fun.  I got to drive my own car and listen to podcasts.  We worked for tips.  But none of or mileage was reimbursed, and since I don’t know the laws, I wasn’t aware that that’s technically illegal.

I left that job in December.  There was too much going on in my life.  Trying to work a second job when your main job is Starbucks during the holidays is almost suicide.  I was constantly stressed out.  I was tired.  I was depressed.  I was scheduled more than I had originally agreed.  And there was very little help when customers refused to tip or were unreachable.  But none of that matters now, because the past is in the past.

Right before I went to Europe with my dad last year, I went to do my cash drop in the Shoals Takeout office before I went to work at Starbucks.  We had to do our cash drops on our own time, but the office was only open certain hours.  I worked two jobs, so I didn’t often have free time to do my cash drop during those open hours.  I was leaving for Europe the next day and I had 45 minutes until I had to be at Starbucks, and I knew the office was open.  I walked in the owner yelled at me, because the time I chose during their open hours, the only time I had to do my cash drop and give them their money, because I was leaving for Europe, just happened to inconvenience her.  Even though I didn’t even say anything or need anything from her.  I should have just quit then and kept the money, but I would have felt too guilty.  Because I’m a nice person.  Fairly.

So, like I said, I finally turned in my 2 weeks notice in December.  Every time I went into the office they weren’t in the office, so I had to send my notice via Groupme, which wouldn’t have been my first choice.  However, since that was the way I was forced to do it, I have proof that I left that job by my own accord, in a peaceful manor.

Last week Bobby and I went to trivia and saw one of our former coworkers.  We discussed a lot of things and generally had a good time.  But we also talked about frustrations with our former workplace, and questioned whether we would be reimbursed for all our mileage, since we had heard that another employee was getting his backlogged mileage reimbursed.  However, he was still with the company, while we were gone by that time.  I’m not fighting for it, but it’s still a conversation we’re bound to have when we’re together.  But I also found out something else.  Apparently, even though I gave my notice when I left, Shoals Takeout has been telling people that they fired me.  I guess they were embarrassed to have lost too many good employees.  It is pretty embarrassing, when you think about it.  You have a great company idea but no people skills, so everyone quits because you’re rude to them.  Maybe I’d make up lies too.  Except I like to think that I’d be a better person.

I thought we had left childish rumors behind in high school.  I thought southern people were supposed to be raised with better morals.  I thought parents were supposed to be more mature.  I thought a lot of things.  But I’m not always right.  I can be mean too.  I’ve never been fired from a job.  But I can fire some shots.  I can rant on twitter.  I can be a child too.

I Don’t Want to Live in This World

I hate this world that I’ve created.

I hate that I moved across the country with big dreams, none of them being fulfilled.  They’ve been destroyed so much that I’ve let them go altogether.  I don’t even write anymore.  I probably don’t even exist anymore.

I hate that I moved to the south and have encountered far more entitled people than I ever did living in a resort town.  I hate that I feel that I can do nothing right.  I hate that I don’t have anyone to depend on, so I’ve learned to depend on myself.  I hate that my heart aches for a church like the one I left behind.  I  hate that I can’t find that here.  I hate that ever promotion brings more misery, instead of confidence.  I hate that I complain so often.  I hate that I’m depressed.

I miss my home.  I miss my family.  I miss my friends.  I miss my mom.  If I had known that moving here would mean losing her, I never would have come.  I miss that she made me empowered.  I wish that I had appreciated it while she was around.

I don’t want to be alive in this world anymore.  I know it’s supposed to get better.  I know it always has gotten better.  But I don’t like the in between.  I don’t like that I’m in the in between again.  I don’t like that I’ve gotten so lost, that I’ve disappeared completely.

I Thought We Were Done

I’ve disappeared a little.  At least I feel that I have.  Sinking into the floor.  Sinking into my work.  Sinking into a life that I’m barely living.  So I think I’m ready to be done with this.

Next month I have an interview to get into grad school.  I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts lately and I realized that I really love stories.  Maybe that’s why I thought I would be a writer.  I’m not a writer.  Not anymore.  But I’m going to get my masters in counseling.  I can hear stories.  I can walk through stories with someone else, because I’ve learned that it’s really hard to walk through a hard story by yourself.

I’m looking for a house to move into next month.  My lease is up and I’m so ready to be done with the roommate life.  My things keep breaking or going missing.  Kind of like my heart.

My car is in the shop again.  For the same problem as before.  Because the mechanics missed something.  I’m learning that it’s better to go for quality over price, and even though I’m poor, I’m going back to taking my car to the dealer, just like I used to.

I don’t want life to be hard anymore.  I don’t want simple things to seem impossible.  I’m completely over this pointless depression.  I thought we were done with this a long time ago.

Perfect

It is really hard to be perfect
Even if I was made that way
I really wasn’t made that way
Born too soon into a broken reality
Everyone’s eyesight is skewed
And mine is too

Perfection isn’t what I strive for
Because I know I’m more than mediocre
I am more than meets the eyes
Every single time

I feel lost in a mess
Where I’m trying too hard to impress
Everyone around me who can judge
And then they do judge
And judgments will always find the imperfections

I don’t want to be flawed or broken
But that’s the world I was born into
We are all flawed and broken
Constantly striving to be more than
Always feeling less than
Perfect

Unwelcome

Have you ever entered a room and felt completely unwelcome there?  Like you didn’t belong at all?  Because I have a thousand times.  I feel that way at parties.  But I feel that way the most in the company of Christians.  I hadn’t felt that way in a long time, and I had almost forgotten the feeling, so I guess it was time to remind myself.  Why do I even try, sometimes?

It makes me feel like I’m not good enough.  Because I’m not part of the elite.  I have differing opinions.  And it makes me want to run away completely.

After my mom died, I stopped getting invited to things.  It felt like no one wanted me around.  I never knew if my original group of friends was doing anything.  But if I invite some of them to do anything, the ones who weren’t invited get upset.  And the odds of anyone showing up are slim, at best.  They ask me to have more great ideas, but only so they can take them as their own.  But I’m not playing the blame game here.
Because, if I get invited, there’s a 75% chance I won’t go.  Partly because I might be working.  Or maybe I’ll already have plans.  Or maybe I’m just not interested.  But whenever I am interested, I feel like I don’t belong anyway.  It just makes it all very draining.

I used to do a lot.  I used to plan things and attend things and have a lot of fun.  But then I moved the south.  And I’ve started making my life smaller and smaller, till almost no one fits in it anymore.  So maybe it’s my fault that I’m not good enough.

My 90s party was better anyway.

All the Little Things that Break My Heart

A thing that I’ve been really bothered by lately is how cruel people can be to one another.  And I’m not even thinking on a large scale.  I’m thinking, small scale, people you work with, people you’re related to, people you serve or buy coffee from.

It’s like, we all try to see what we can get away with.  We tease, until our teasing turns to cruelty.  We go too far, and refuse to say we’re sorry.  We refuse to admit when we’re wrong.  And the cycle keeps spinning.

And I’m probably guilty of this.  I’ll do my best to accept some of the blame.  But really, what’s the point in making someone’s day miserable?  What’s the point in calling someone dumb, or making them feel dumb, or spreading their little mishaps around?  What’s the point in making someone feel useless?  We are all useful.  Everyone has a purpose, so why do we like to try to take that purpose away?

I’m really bummed out that so many people have excuses for their actions.  They say we’re too sensitive.  Or they ask us to have an open mind, without first having one themselves.  They’ll say it’s their religious duty.  They’ll say their protecting our country.

But this country does not define me.  This religion does not define me.  We were all made with much larger definitions, much larger purposes, much more reason to exist than just… existence.

It sounds too simple to just beg everyone to get along.  But all of this getting under each other’s skin has really gotten under my skin.  Get out of my skin.  You’re breaking my heart.