Looking to 2024

Yes, I am blogging again. No, I have no idea how often I will do so. I hope I will do it regularly but I also know that I have promised to keep this up many times before and failed, so better to air on the side of caution...

But I do need to get some things off my chest. And as not everybody reads my blog, it is a great place to put things out into the world without worrying too much about who will read them...

As the eve of 2024 sets upon us, I sit here in reflection of 2023 and wonder what the hell happened to me? 

It was not a bad year by any means but I was definitely the worst version of myself that I have ever been. 

From the very start of the year to its very end, I have made incredibly stupid, bad choices; allowed myself to be drawn into the most negative of spaces; and just generally acted in the most un-Brittany manner possible. 

After the survival mode I lived in during 2022, I guess all the anger and resentment I didn't deal with overwhelmed me. Rather than help me feel better, it has just destroyed all my relationships, including the one with my son.

But no more. I am done with negativity. I am done with relishing in my own negativity and harbouring others'. I want to get back to being the fun, vivacious, ambitious and free-spirited Brittany I have always prided myself to be. 

I need to be a better mom, a better woman, a better human all around. 

And so, with that, I want to declare some 2024 goals. 

No, not "resolutions." Resolutions always end in failure, which always end up making me feel worse than I started.  Instead, I want to establish some goals. That way, if I don't achieve them this year, I'm not a failure. I'm just not there yet.

Goal #1: Stop yelling.

How did I become my mother in all the worse possible ways? Rather than take on her best mothering qualities (like her determination and "momma bear"ness), I apparently only inherited her predilection for yelling as a form of communication. 

Which has, over this past year, severed any relationship I had with my son. 

I need to fix that. And only I can fix that by stopping my yelling. It won't happen overnight but it needs to happen to fix our relationship. 

Because I'm losing him already, at 7, and I can't bear that.

Goal #2: Establish myself in the academic world.

Part of the problem I've had with the last 2 years is that I haven't felt like "Brittany." I'm only ever a mother, a teacher, a girlfriend or somebody else's sounding board. And none of those things serve me. 

I mean, they serve my desire to be those things but none of them allow me to do what's best for me. But feeling clever does. Working towards a goal does. And that goal is a position teaching at a university.

How do I do that? By getting published and presenting at conferences. I aim to get at least two journal articles published and present at at least one or two conferences this year. 

I already have some plans. I just have to stop being lazy about the execution. 

Goal #3: Rethink my health and wellbeing.

I defined myself as a runner before. I enjoyed running. It was easy and I could do it whenever and wherever.

But...I was 26 and childless when I started running. I turn 40 this year and I've had three kids. I am not the same person I was physically or mentally. I need to rethink how I approach my health and wellbeing now, and start looking at other ways to lose weight and feel good about myself.

Hopefully, finding new ways to feel good about myself will make me actually feel good about myself. And that will, hopefully, make me do good with myself.

There are many other goals but they are all minor and fall under those three main goals above (like "go back to church" falls under goal 3 and "stay consistent with my writing job to pay off bills" falls under goal 2), but as long as I can achieve those 3 main goals above, I will feel accomplished. And more myself.

Happy 2024, everybody! I wish you all the health and happiness you deserve!!!!

A New Me, A New Resolution...

3 years ago, I began a blog long since abandoned (well obviously not as I'm writing on it now, but bear with me). And on that New Years Day, I made a resolution, the only resolution that I have ever truly kept: to take more risks, at least one big one each year.

That fateful year saw my entire life upended. Not horribly (although it seemed that way at first), but to reaches beyond my wildest dreams. I was single, unemployed, aimless, but then, through some sort of divine intervention, I found myself seeing and living in places I never thought I would: first Chicago then England.

I never, ever, ever imagined I'd live in England; but here I sit, 3 years later, halfway to my dream of a PhD in a field I am truly passionate about (and would never have been able to pursue in the US...for various reasons). The path since arriving has not always been easy; there has been sadness, heartache, loneliness, and fear. And as I reach the midway point in my postgraduate academic career (as a student, anyway), I am beginning to worry about what comes next. But even though I'll spend the rest of my life paying back the $100,000 it's cost me, I wouldn't give up this experience for the world. Not enough people have the opportunity to live like this, and I am thankful for every moment and every connection I have had.

I'm still living by my 2013 resolution--taking risks, being brave--but my life has changed so much since then that I feel a need to make a new resolution for this "new me." And it needs to be one which I know I'll keep, like the last one. So, no silly things like "lose weight" (although I should), "save money" (although I should), or "quit smoking" (although I should), but one which I know I can really get behind and live up to fully.

To do this, I re-read that first post, and found another theme running through each of my heroes: none of them were afraid to be themselves, whatever that meant, and were their best selves in every way.

What does that mean exactly? Well, it means accepting myself for who I am, flaws and all, and being okay with it. It means figuring out what makes me happiest with myself and living it.

To this end, I needed to ask when was I my happiest with myself? When I wasn't smoking. When I was working out at least 5 times a week. When I was meeting up with friends on Wednesdays for a cheeky drink, on Thursdays to connect with God, and Sundays for a run and brunch. When Murphy and I saw the world together because we could (and I had a car---oh, how I miss driving). When I wasn't worried about my future, because I knew God had a plan for me and I trusted in it fully.

So this, all of this, is what my 2016 resolution is. If I don't achieve it all in this year, that's okay--because loving yourself is a lifelong process. But my goal is to at least work on making way for God and God's plan for me so that I can be the best me and live the best life I can. If the last 3 years are any measure of what I can expect by living this way, what wonders await me in the next 3 years?! I am excited to find out....

Like A Cut Phone Cord....

This post will probably do more harm than good, but my heart needs this and so it must be said. If anything I say here causes any harm or pain in any way, please, please, please let me know. Bottling things up only makes whatever it is worse, and that is the opposite of what this blog is intending. So, please, talk to me; I love you all, my family and friends, far too much to let this shit lie dormant any longer.

As the Effexor in my system has been decreasing, my introspection has been increasing, and there are certain thoughts and feelings which keep popping up again and again and can no longer be ignored. For starters…

1. I feel like I am losing my family.

My relationship with my family is…indescribable. Not because they are horrible or anything; quite the opposite. But because, for most of my life, I have felt like they think I think I’m better than them. I wish I could explain why this is the case; I don’t think that way nor have I intentionally acted in that way, but there have been comments made by various members at various times which have led me to wonder if they do think that.

If so, then I must say now, with absolute volition and clarity, that I surely do NOT feel that way. Not even in the slightest. I may be different than my family, but I am in no way BETTER. And that’s okay to be different, it’s normal to be different, but that doesn’t mean I look down on them or think any less of them. Every family has its ups and downs, and every family has its controversies, and we’re no different, but just because I don’t participate in those controversies doesn’t mean I think any less of them. They are utterly awesome. Every member of my family is amazing at something that I could only wish to be great at: my grandfather is fantastic at wood-working, my mother is ridiculously creative and determined, my brother is way smarter than he gives himself credit for, my uncle is super resilient and brave, my aunt is open and loving, my cousin is ridiculously musically talented, the list goes on and on. I love them all so much, and it hurts me to wonder if they really think of me in such a way.

Which is why I worry I’m losing them. I know I’ve stated in the past, both in calm times and in angry ones, that I don’t like how involved my family can be, but to be completely honest, that involvement is how we show we love one another. And since moving to England, I feel like my family has all but forgotten me. This seems petty, but when you’re alone in another country, without the comforts of home, simple care packages and messages/calls make all the difference. And the only person to send me anything (apart from mail) has been my grandfather and his partner. This was particularly painful last year, when I was alone on my 30^th birthday, and barely got a phone call or two. I never let on that it hurt me so much, but it did, because I was going through some serious stuff at the time, and I really could have benefited from having my whole family there for support.

Side note: Please do not respond with “Well, if you love your family that much, you shouldn’t have left.” There are a lot of reasons I left, the least of which was my family. I needed to find a “home” and as much as I love my family, Ocean Springs has never, even when I was growing up, felt like “home.” So that statement doesn’t really apply. Moving on….

I have had messages from other members of my family, members whom I did not expect to be there (more on that later), and for that I am grateful. And yes, I know the time difference is huge (6 hours) and communication works two ways, but I’ve reached out to them. I’ve sent them gifts, messaged or called on holidays and birthdays and at random times to check how they’re doing, and yet…maybe I’m just being overly sensitive. Logically, I know that they may just not have the time available that I do (I AM just a student and part-time employee), but I worry they’re mad at me. For what, I do not know, but it still hurts. And when I’m hurting, well…. 

2. I'm not very good at negative emotions.

I really wish I knew why this was the case, but alas, psychotherapy has so far not helped me to understand nor fix it as of yet. All I do know is that whenever I get frustrated or angry, rather than deal with the emotion, I tend to wall up and strike back. Or completely ignore the person/situation. Neither of which are good, solid, healthy responses. Whether or not I’ve been justified in my anger/position or not, I’ve said some hurtful things to and about my family, and that isn’t a good thing. I know it’s “normal” to do so, but I still worry I’ve caused some permanent rifts. And with family, that makes for very uncomfortable reunions.

In the case of feeling “left out,” I’ve started distancing myself in response (that whole “ignoring the situation” thing from above), which doesn’t do anybody any good, but there it is. I’ve stopped making the effort to call anybody or keep in touch beyond a simple ‘like’ on Facebook (again, more on that in a bit). And although I am now actively participating in this lack of communication, it makes me angrier that it’s still happening. I feel like I’m making all the effort (even if that’s an over-exaggeration—remember, this post is just about my feelings, whether they’re appropriate or not), which makes me communicate even less with them, which makes them communicate less with me….you get the picture.

But how to break the cycle? Well, this blog is a first step, I hope. It’s a way for me to express all of these negative emotions in a place where A) I know they can be seen and B) I feel safe about being honest. See, that’s another problem I have: I cannot be completely honest about my negative emotions. Oh, I can be properly blunt when the situation calls for it and where feelings are easily mended, but something like this, where I know I’m probably in the wrong for some of it, I cannot face head on. I usually just turn into an ostrich and hope my back end doesn’t take too much of a beating while the storm passes. Which makes communicating even more difficult, particularly because….

3. Facebook is disconnecting me from everyone.

Facebook is great and has quickly become the ONLY way people communicate today, which sucks for me, being born at the dawn of the digital age, because I still desire a more personalised approach. You can blame it on me being a woman if you want to, but no Facebook or WhatsApp message beats a phone call or webcam. There’s a connection when you are actually responding, in real time, to someone else. And although Facebook, Twitter, WhatsApp, and all those wonderful programmes do keep me loosely connected to the US, they only do it LOOSELY; I don’t feel like anybody really cares about me or what I’m doing. Not really. 

(Again, I know this is an overexaggeration, but these are just my feelings, regardless of their appropriateness or correctness)

I do have some amazing friends who make it a point to reach out to me, outside of FB—Heather, Sergio and Dennis, Thomas, Laura—and family members who have messaged me when I’ve been feeling down—Angie, Debbie, Laurie, Jason—in an effort to show me they care. But I still feel so distant from my immediate family. Rarely do they message or call, outside of Facebook, to see how I’m doing. The first year I was here, I would try to call people but I was just getting used to using Skype through my phone, and my phone wasn’t always the best, so either my calls would  get dropped or it wouldn’t let me leave voicemails (seriously, so annoying). I did eventually work it out and started making phone calls to family members, but again, I was calling them. And after a while, I stopped making the effort.

The caveat to this is my brother, Stacy. He actually calls my Skype number and chats with me, particularly when he was going through rough patches and just needed someone to talk to. I actually feel, on some level, like me moving to the UK has strengthened our relationship in some ways.

But again, this isn’t me bashing my family; I’m actually bashing Facebook because I honestly think that’s a big reason why I feel so disconnected. It’s much easier to just comment on a status or send a quick message than take the time to call or Skype because those quick comments fit more easily into our daily lives. We don’t have to worry about time differences or stopping what we’re doing to talk because on the Internet, time doesn’t exist. And most of us have Facebook on our phones, so we can do it while we’re at the doctor’s office or on the toilet (neither of which are great places to have a phone conversation). And I know I should start making more of an effort (I tried on Father’s Day, but I think my Skype messed up again, because both phones just rang and rang without even going to a voice mail—which I know both my grandfather and uncle have), but it doesn’t negate the fact that I feel…disconnected.

I didn’t intend this whole post to be about my family, but they are really whom I miss the most. I miss knowing I can talk to them at any time or knowing how things are going in their lives. I miss hearing about the great parties they throw or accomplishments they’re achieving. I miss just being involved. And I know a large part of my disconnection is on my part, which is something I am willing and able to fix. However, I also need to know that it’ll be reciprocated because otherwise, the cycle will just continue, and I’ll become even more disconnected, which is what I don’t want.

I will end on this, in the event that this was (well, it is) a bit TL;DR: To anybody, but my family in particular, I just want to say:

I’M SORRY IF I’VE HURT YOU; PLEASE LET ME BACK INTO YOUR LIVES; I LOVE AND MISS YOU ALL!

Kicking the Pristiq/Effexor Habit

Since I attempted tapering off last year (see this blog), I knew that I would need to prepared on how to mitigate the withdrawal symptoms as much as possible before I even began feeling them. However, I found that there was very little good information out there; mostly, the forums were full of people lamenting the symptoms without anybody finding real help. I did find some useful stuff, which I followed as best I could, but I had to wade through ton of crap links to get to it. And as someone who, last year, was searching for answers in the full sway of a withdrawal breakdown, I know that my post needed to be much more obvious and searchable. Hence, the title of this post.

I do need to make a few disclaimers before I start:

1.     I am not, nor am I pretending to be, a medical professional. Always follow the advice of your doctor (unless you’ve found a reason to distrust him/her, then follow the advice of one you DO trust).

2.     I am not being paid or endorsed by any third party to make any of the claims stated. Just so you know.

3.     Everybody is different and this information may not be completely helpful.  Some of the things which were immensely helpful to the people I gleaned my info from did not work for me (for various reasons), and the same is likely to happen for you. That doesn’t mean you should give up, but you should keep looking for what will work.

4.     DO NOT comment that “if you need the pills, keep taking them.” First, that’s asinine, unhelpful, and essentially trolling. There are many reasons people stop taking Pristiq/Effexor; the biggest of which is that as a woman, if I ever hope to have children, any form of venlafaxine is EXTREMELY damaging to the unborn child. Had my doctor told me at the time he suggested Pristiq that I would have to either stay on the medication forever or suffer the worst withdrawal symptoms this side of crystal meth/heroine, I would have refused it. It’s just not worth the effort. So, please, keep those types of comments to yourself; they aren’t helpful nor appropriate.

Now, as I said above, the advice I’m giving below is based on my experience tapering over the last two weeks. This comes from others’ success stories, as well as mistakes made on my part. Unfortunately, it will sound mostly like common sense or something out of one of those supermarket health magazines. Also unfortunately, there’s a reason: it’s all true. You’ll see what I mean. Without further ado, here’s how I’m kicking the Pristiq/Effexor habit (as successfully as one can):

·         Take Your Vitamins!

The most common advice I found others mention was that Omega 3 and Vitamin D (not THAT kind, you dirty minded readers...) was HUGELY helpful in staving off brain zaps and fatigue. I specify Omega 3 because I thought I could use the 3-6-9 complex I already owned and be okay. Nope. Not even a little bit. There isn’t nearly enough 3 in the complex to be of any benefit. You have to take an absurd amount (think 2500mg/day) to counteract the brain malfunctions, so a pure Omega 3 ONLY supplement (plus diet—see next entry) is needed.

I also found that my energy in general was SEVERELY lacking, and so I would suggest some sort of energy supplement. Caffeine is useless unless you rarely drink it to begin with (which hasn’t been the case for me since I was 14), so I chose to take a diet supplement because I wanted to curb my hunger, too, but take whatever you find helps. Experiment a bit, but be careful with what herbs you take because some may interact badly with the Rx; serotonin syndrome is a BAD deal that you want to avoid as much as possible (For this reason, STAY AWAY FROM ST. JOHN’S WORT—until you’ve completely rid yourself of the medication)

·         Eat Like a Healthnut

There’s a reason fatty foods are called “comfort foods”; they make you feel safe and comfortable when life is stressful. Unfortunately for me (and possibly you), that was the opposite while tapering off Effexor. Anytime the food I ate had a high fat content (i.e. bacon, gammon steak, sausage, French fries—I live in England), I woke up the next morning feeling like absolute shit. Only when I ate a balanced diet (I feel like such an advertisement saying that phrase, but…) did I function properly the next day.  I’m sure there’s some obvious reason for it that has to do with chemistry in the cells or something, but I don’t know what it is (science is like magic to me). Only that it works.

What’s great about this, though, is that if you like salmon and mackerel and sardines, you can get a LOAD of Omega 3 from those sources and kill two birds with one stone. You still have to take the supplements, but not as many and the fish are generally healthy.

·         Exercise is Key

I don’t enjoy sounding like a health magazine—I really don’t—but it’s hard not to when it all applies. During the first week, I started doing some interval training for 25 minutes a day. Nothing too hectic but enough to get my endorphins going and my heart pumping. And I felt really good afterward (albeit a bit sore…). The second week, I had some stuff going on and skipped my workout for three days. Every Single Morning After, I woke up feeling terrible. The fact that I combined my lack of exercise with comfort foods probably compounded my terrible and anxious mood, but still. Exercise of some kind is a must to releasing those good hormones which help counteract the bad ones you can’t control, and has the plus side of helping you shave some of those Effexor-induced pounds you probably gained (like me L ).

·         Take a Holiday

Now, I need to specify that you should not actually take a family trip somewhere. The idea here is more to limit your stressors rather than increase them, and I’ve often found that vacationing generally adds just as much stress as it releases. At the very least, take some sick leave off work. Don’t do anything different beyond existing (and the above) for a few days because you will be anxious. You will be moody. You won’t be able to focus. You will feel like you are going through menopause (men included) due to the hot and cold flashes and general uncomfortableness you feel in your own skin. You are detoxing, in the truest sense of the term, and it will suck. The above helps some, but I still found myself experiencing aches, pains, tight muscles, and short fuses. Being aware that you aren’t in control helps but only as much as adding a drop of water to the ocean helps raise the tide; you just need to ride it out.

And although I do appreciate people trying to help, for those who suffer from anxiety (like ME!), it’s a scientific fact that mindfulness and trying to be happy just makes things worse. You just have to be honest with yourself, accept that you’ll feel and act like a shitty person for a few days, and hope it ends quickly. Again, the above and below help, but limiting your stressors helps the most, which means you should also be really aware of WHEN you are doing this. I chose the summer because there’s lots of sun (vitamin D!), I wouldn’t be teaching, and I have less to do for my PhD. When I tried to do it last year, I was smack dab in the middle of the most stressful month of my MA WHILE trying to keep an online teaching job. The experience this time has been a hell of a lot more manageable, so that’s something to be aware of.

·         Surround Yourself With Support

Again, this is a DUH statement, but you do need it. Let everybody close to you know in advance what you are doing and how it will affect you, and ask for their patience and understanding. Because you will need it. You will need someone who reminds you that you are still a good person even if you are acting like a raging douche on occasion. Because you will act that way and you will hate yourself for it. But having people who know that this isn’t forever, and treating you as such, makes a huge difference.

·         Document Your Progress

Although I am a self-proclaimed writer, journaling has always been a difficult task for me. However, deciding to chart my progress via Twitter has really helped (#nomoreRx). Not only did it keep my friends updated on my progress but it also helped me stay aware of what did or didn’t work. I received support and encouraging comments (which, as stated above, is essential), but I also was able to reflect on the fact that things were getting better. It may not feel like it at the time, but I know that when this is all said and done (i.e. I am completely off the medication), I will be able to look back and see that I actually accomplished something huge. And that sense of accomplishment will be absolutely vital to feeling like you are moving in the right direction.

So, that’s my story and my advice on kicking the Pristiq/Effexor habit. I know it sucks, but it isn’t forever. It isn’t really even for a long time, as long as you take as much control of the situation as you can. And if you ever feel like you can’t deal, like the pain and confusion is too much to continue living, PLEASE get some help. Hell, comment on this blog or my Twitter feed (@NerdyWriterRuns) if you need to; I’m generally accessible 24-7. But know that you are not alone. We have all felt this way while coming off these pills, and we will all be here for you should you need some support on your own journey. Good luck!

In Response to my Own Heart

I realized after posting yesterday’s poem that I needed to do some explaining—to myself as well as everyone else. You see, I’m not nearly as hung up on the past as that poem lets on. I’m actually quite happy with my present situation, which could, in fact, be the reason such thoughts are on my mind lately.

You see, in every relationship since, well, my first “real” relationship, I’ve always known two months in that it wasn’t going to last, but because I’m stubborn, I would let it go anyway, incurring loads of pain for the both of us. Case(s) in point:

My Teenage Boyfriend: tried to break up two months in, he wouldn’t let me, we ended up dating for 3 years, experiencing all the highs and lows a teenage relationship can cause, damaging my self-confidence almost to the point of non-repair.

Uni Boyfriend: two months in, had a massive fight about the origins of Mardi Gras of all things (just one example of the endlessly stupid fights we would have), ended up dating 3.5 years (fighting most of the time; go figure)

Twenties Boyfriend: knew with absolute certainty two months in that we weren’t going to marry, spent the next 4.5 years hoping I was wrong (hint: we’re not together anymore).

My intuition at the two month mark has been pretty consistent, even with those “minor” players I mentioned: one completely stopped responding to my texts; one ignored me when his best mate was around; one made me pay for everything. So, yeah, two months has generally been a good mark of evaluating my relationships, even if I don’t ever listen to myself.


It's like a depressing holiday...

Here I am, again, at the two month mark of a relationship, and I find myself in a predicament. You see, I have no qualms about this relationship. No concerns. No desire to run away. No, in reality, I want to be with him more than before. Two months in, and I already know this has a future; British Boyfriend makes me happier than I’ve ever been.

Which is disconcerting to my brain because it was already gearing up to analyze and rationalize the situation for potential threats. But there are none. At all; and believe me, I’ve looked—hard. Since the start of this relationship, British Boyfriend has been everything I asked the Universe for in this blog. And that freaks me out.


Not MY bubble bath
but just know British Boyfriend did this. For me.
And it was awesome.

I’m so used to protecting myself that not needing to, not needing to hide or half-lie about who I am is absolutely terrifying, especially because I don’t know (or like) myself all that completely. To have someone who is so very accepting of my quirks and my weaknesses, who loves that I am curvy, who can match my ability to be both highly intellectual yet crass at times, who is willing to watch documentaries yet go out on the piss now and again, who encourages me to try new things, to approach new ideas, to be ME without rebuke.

It’s fucking scary!

Seriously, I know many of you are scoffing or rolling your eyes, but I am treading unfamiliar terrain here, and my brain, rather than turn its condemnation on British Boyfriend (because it can’t), has reverted to reminding me of my past hurts. My heart is open and willing and screaming with excitement, but my brain, in an effort to keep me safe, has brought back all those old emotions of self-hatred. It keeps reminding me how I didn’t measure up before in an effort to make me hold back, to cause some self-fulfilling prophecy where I end up alone again. Because sadness is easier.



Where IS that other shoe...?

But I don’t want that. Was it Einstein who said insanity was trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? I never told anyone how I felt before because I was scared of jinxing my already jinxed relationships. Well, here’s me trying something new in hopes of getting a different result; rather than hold things in, I’m going to broadcast them here. What’s a blog for if not the expression of one’s thoughts? Let’s hope, though, that my intuition holds up. Because right now, I don’t see myself being alone again for a very, very long time.

"Smiley faces all around!"

 

A Little Bit of Me...

This will not be my only post this month, but holding back what keeps fighting to get out only makes whatever it is want to get out more. So in an effort to avoid this, I penned a poem. It's a little bit emo, but I've come to accept that I'm a little bit emo; comes with being so open with my emotions.

The logical part of me wants to delete this poem because it's just a reflection of how I can't let go of past hurts. But then, the more I fight it, the more entrenched those hurts become. Maybe by penning and publishing this, I can finally let them free, let them go, let them haunt some other space besides my head and my heart. So, here it is:

I know because you're there
In the way I remember your name
Through those half-forced sighs
In the way I remember my body
Slumped in self-defeat
In the way I remember my cries
Muffled among my tears
In the way I remember waiting for you
Only to be joined by silence
Fifteen years
Of equating “love” and “sex”
Fifteen years
Of disappearing into you
Fifteen years
Of a thousand “What if"s
What if I were…
      …thinner?
      …taller?
      …smarter?
      …dumber?
      …darker?
      …frailer?
      …wilder?
      …weaker?
      …better?
      …perfect?

But I never could be,
Always aspiring to whatever form
Of perfection you desired.
You, who loved stick thin beauties with dark hair,
And you, who loved pale Southern belles.
You, who loved smart girls,
As long as they weren’t smarter than you,
And you who loved everyone…
But me.

And those are just the major players;
There were others.
Smaller ones
Whose tiny flames
Still added to my angry fire,
My lonely future.
Angry because I cannot trust
Lonely because I cannot live.
I know
Because you’re there
Every time something goes wrong
Every time I think I’m happy
You’re there,
You’re all there,
To remind me
How imperfect I am
And how, nobody
Not one person
Can love me;
Not
Even
Me.

Again, this is not meant to get comforting comments or exclamations of "It's okay!" or "Get over it!"; my own brain berates me with those phrases enough as it is. No, this is purely meant to send these negative emotions into the ether in hopes of ridding myself of them forever. Yes, I know it's not entirely fair what I've written, and yes, I know I'm being melodramatic, but it's my blog, my poem, MY feelings, so please don't demean them. Again, my brain does that enough as it is.

Thank you for reading, though; however you may feel about it...

Looking back....

It seemed apt that I write a blog now as Monday would mark one year to the date that I left the US to embark on my solo adventure in England (well, solo save for Murphy). I knew the moment I submitted my application to Essex last August that I was making the right decision, and I must say that I still stand by it as the best decision I have ever made. It was a whirlwind of preparation, and my first few months here weren’t exactly peachy-keen, but I settled in and have fared pretty well, if I do say so myself. I never thought I would stay. I never thought I would get accepted to a PhD program, much less be studying video games as part of it. I mean, seriously, who does that?! Legitimately?


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And that's how my chapter 3 ended...

But here I am; in a new flat with a new O.M.G.-amazing boyfriend (thanks for reading, Universe!) and three years of research, writing, and substitute teaching ahead of me. I will probably reread this blog sometime in the next year and curse myself for being so naïve and/or blind, but whatevs. Right now, I’m basking in the awesomeness of it (all the while waiting for that other shoe to drop).

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I was really hoping it'd be a flip flop...

Cynicism aside, coming to England was the right way to round out my twenties. I had grown so much from the distrusting, anal retentive chicken shit that I was into this fearless, open, brave person I didn’t recognize. People tell me constantly how much they admire my decision but to me there was no decision: I HAD to come to England. To turn down the opportunity to obtain a degree in England, where our history and our literature were BORN, would have been paramount to figurative suicide.

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I said FIGURATIVE!!!!!

Because I would have always wondered what would have been. I would have died the moment I chose not to come because I would have always lived in that time of “what if I had gone?”. For someone who has never really held others’ advice up to any sort of light, it’s true, looking back, that you should always choose the riskier option. Not in the sense of taking all the drugs in the world, or drinking four bottles of Jack Daniels then getting behind the wheel of a car. But in the sense of chasing after the person you still love because you think you might be able to make it work; attending the interview for a job you want but don’t feel qualified for because qualifications are only a small part of why people get accepted into certain careers; following a dream even if it leads you to a foreign land where you know not a single person just because there’s nothing holding you back.

Yes, there are things you might have to give up in order to follow that risky option, and if you are more afraid of losing what you would give up than what you might gain, then the riskier option is in sticking with your current situation. Is this advice perfect for every situation? OF COURSE NOT! I’m not so egotistical to think that I have the whole of society figured out, but I do know that if you are unhappy in your current situation, if you feel stuck or like your whole life is being wasted, MAKE A CHANGE! And don’t be scared of it. Embrace the fear, the change, the risk. Otherwise, you’ll just be another empty husk, wondering what would have been. And I’d really rather not live in a Zombieland. Dawn of the Dead was scary enough.

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