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?


Source

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.

Source

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.

Source

My Halloween Wish List (As Christmas is Too Far Away)

Okay, Universe. I'm ready. I'm ready to let go, a la Sandra Bullock in Practical Magic; I'm giving up on finding my ideal (read: "close enough") mate on my own and sending my needs to you. It isn't nearly as quirky and overly specific as Sandra's character in PM, which is why I don't understand how I haven't found this bloke yet, but whatever. I'm over it.  Let Fate send me the man of my dreams (and God give me the vision to recognize him as such)...

 

Physical traits: I know it's shallow to start with this but chemistry is chemistry and I absolutely have to find the guy physically attractive (and he has to feel the same about me). Specifically he should have: dark hair, light eyes, athletic build (especially the shoulders and arms), taller than me by at least 3 inches, glasses are a plus, and a decent fashion sense (but isn't so vain as to think he's a gift to women)

Or someone like him.
I'll even wave the dark hair requirement.

Personality Traits: Um, I've had to break this down for you, Universe, because personality is a pretty vague category, so how about this:

1. Conversation Interests:

• philosophy,
• literature,
• MST3K-type comedy,
• Monty Python,
• Paranormal (Apocalypse, Zombies, etc, etc),
• basically someone who has something to talk to me about (and has the intelligence and wherewithal to back it up with facts and data--in a non-arrogant way)

www.coach2clarity.com

Yes, things happening. In the brain area.

2. Likes:

• Adventure (the more spontaneous and extraordinary, the better);
• Sex (on a somewhat regular basis would be nice);
• Traveling (especially to new places);
• Dogs (bonus if he has one for Murphy to play with);
• Nature and exercise (but not a body-builder...ew);
• Kids (and the possibility of having a couple)
• Laughing;
• Drinking (on occasion);
• Saturday all-day lie-ins (love not getting out of my PJs once in a while);
• Netflix;
• spicy foods;
• Washing up the dishes (if I cook);
• and of course, ME

I mean, come on. Look how cute I am!

3. Relationship Requirements:

• WANTS to be with me and seeks me out on his own
• Desires to go out with me but who is also happy sitting at home and having a pint on occasion;
• continues to win my heart--not every single day but regularly enough--so I always know I am loved;
• loves and loves completely;
• isn't afraid or petrified by the thought of 'forever';
• is willing to consider said forever with me

NOPE; THERE ARE ONLY CLICHE

OR FLIPPING TWILIGHT PICTURES

ON GOOGLE IMAGES---NO.

NO CLICHE B.S. JUST REAL.

 

4. Dealing with Me Requirements:

• will hold me when I cry for no reason,
• won't hold that fact against me (or any other moodiness I may exhibit);
• recognizes that every person is fighting her own battle and seeks to understand mine, and me understand his

http://www.masterfile.com/

So, this, but with us instead
and no weird website name following us.

I hope I've been specific enough for you, Universe (but not too specific that this guy doesn't exist). I know I have some things of my own to finish before I can devote myself to a proper relationship, but if you could at least send him in my general direction sometime soon, I'd really appreciate it.

 

Patience has never exactly been my virtue.

I'm dying!!!! (No, not really)

I will begin this by saying, “Pardon whatever I write; I have drunk a half bottle of Riesling (white wine) already.”

Now that that’s out of the way, on with the blog!

It’s the first day of my 30s and oddly enough, it’s been…normal. No, that’s not entirely true. I have spent the day with some amazing people at the PLUS summer camp in Chelmsford who made the morning really special. But I always imagined 30 to be a really important birthday. When Corey turned 30, I threw him a surprise party. I don’t really expect or have that kind of expectation here.

But when I woke up this morning I didn’t feel any different. In fact, I feel…liberated. Really. I feel like I’ve crossed into some new realm of existence where my past indiscretions don’t really matter and I can finally, truly, completely be myself.

You see, even while being in England, I have regressed into all those aspects I hated about myself previously. I became needy, complacent, agreeable (to a fault). I didn’t stand up for myself or say what I wanted from someone. Last year, I would have immediately broken off a relationship the moment I felt like just another girl, but this year, I let it ride. Endured the unhappiness and uncertainty. For another three months. And I wasn’t even the one who broke it off. Sad, but true.

But now that it’s over, now that I am, again, alone on my birthday, I remember what it was I came to England to do—be me. No, England does not have any special powers that allow me to be someone else (see paragraph above), but what it does have is possibility. I love that I am American, especially being overseas. We may bitch and moan about how we are treated domestically but when Americans are abroad, we have the best protection a birthright can buy. But I don’t feel comfortable in America. I don’t feel like I make sense (if that makes any sense). It’s strange when you move away because when you go back (as I’ve noticed from my mates who’ve left England and returned), you don’t quite fit. The whole “square peg, round hole” analogy again (it’s fairly useful in any situation, really). And I know that if I were to return to America, regardless of the state, I would feel…different. Such a vague word, but it’s the best I can muster at the moment (again, half a bottle of Riesling and no dinner; don’t judge too harshly).

That’s not my point, though. I love the US with all the heart an American can love it, but again, not my point. My point is that, at the dawn of this new decade in my life, where people may ACTUALLY take me seriously, I am embarking, yet again, on another life cycle. I reread all of my blogs tonight, and I remember just how full of possibility I was last year. So, on the first day of a new decade, I make this new resolution: to be myself. No frills, no hiding. No accommodating or standing on the sidelines. To be whoever I am, unashamedly. It will be tough. Hell, I will probably have to read this three or four times to remind myself, but I am pretty fucking awesome, and to deny someone that awesomeness is to deny them, well, me.

So, that’s my resolution, my 30s mantra, if you will. Stop fussing, stop worrying, remember what it’s like to live. And laugh. And love. With all my being. Because if I do anything, it’s feel in extremes. And I’m beginning to feel extremely tipsy right now, to be honest, so off to bed, and a new decade of life! :)

The Cycle of the Seasons...

I would like to apologize in advance as there are no pictures to accompany this post. There could be, but I honestly could not be bothered searching them out and linking them. Make of it what you will....

 

I am still amazed at the way God works sometimes. You think you’re led down a path for one reason only to discover the true one much later (and often with a much more profound effect). I thought I was coming to England to “find” myself, in the sense that I would find a place to belong, a culture more suited to my tastes. What I found was exactly the same thing as Ocean Springs but with different accents. People are people wherever you go, it seems, and what I left behind in Ocean Springs is no worse than here, only different.

What I have found, though, is an understanding about something which has plagued my life since I was born. In developing my essays and delving into the psychoanalytic elements of myths, I now know why I was so immediately drawn to apply at Essex. I didn’t even apply to any other universities in England once I found the Myth, Literature, and Unconscious program. Aside from the fact that I was so interested in the topic of the self during my graduate classes at South Alabama, what I’ve come to realize is that I was meant to be here. I wasn’t meant to find myself; I was meant to find Persephone.

Throughout my studies here, I have been eternally drawn to the combined archetype of the Kore/Persephone, the “Eternal Maiden,” and her older counterpart Demeter, the “Great Mother.” That the entirety of a woman’s existence could represented by one myth fascinates me and fits with so much of what I’ve already believed about females: regardless of what we nurture, we are bound to nurture, and it is the realization and actualization of this nurturing aspect which transitions us from girlhood to womanhood. But there’s more to Demeter (the Great Mother) and Persephone (the Maiden) than I realized. So much more that contrary to what I was originally feeling, I cannot wait to see my own mother next week because, well, because she’s my mother.

My mother and I have a very strained relationship. That I normally wouldn’t admit to this where she could acknowledge it is another aspect of the Persephone-Demeter relationship, but regardless. On one hand, we are extremely close, always have been. Growing up without a stable father, she was both mother and father to me. It wasn’t until I hit puberty that I began to separate myself from her. We are very different people, so much so that we rarely have conversations beyond family life and drama. However, we are also very, very alike, as most daughters realize about themselves as they grow older.

This dichotomy of my relationship with my mother is not abnormal. I used to think it was, but after this year, I realize acknowledging and accepting the normality of it is the hard part. You see, Demeter and Persephone are more than just representatives of the Eternal Feminine. They are representatives of the process every woman must go through with their own mother and daughter (if they have one). The reason my mother and I have such a strained relationship is that we are simply in the Winter Stage of our relationship.

That would probably make more sense if I were to explain the myth a little bit. Anybody with a basic knowledge of Greek myths knows how Persephone was stolen by Hades, and Demeter, as the terrestrial Earth Goddess, started the first winter when she regressed into a deep depression until Persephone was returned to her, which represents spring. But there is much, MUCH more to it than that.

I won’t go into it too much, but just from the little bit I’ve read, the stages of the myth are stages of womanhood. Demeter and Persephone (pre-Hades) are mother and girl as mother’s self-object. The girl is a reflection of the mother, which is why the mother loves her and attaches herself so tightly; to lose the girl is to lose the self. This could be seen as the Summer Stage of the myth: everything is perfect and blossoming and bright because everybody is naively happy, just like most young summer romances.

Lamenting Demeter and lost Persephone are representatives of the daughter moving into womanhood; think puberty until mid-thirties. Demeter’s depression is less that she’s lost her daughter and more that she’s lost herself; she has defined herself as “Persephone’s Mother” for so long and without her is without an identity. Persephone, too, is no longer “Demeter’s Daughter” now that she’s in the Underworld and has “eaten Hades’ pomegranate seed,” (yeah, because that’s not sexual, at all…)but she also isn’t a mother yet, either. She’s stuck in this hazy place of unknowing who she is and who she belongs to. This is the formidable “Queen of the Underworld” that she represents in other myths; not knowing who you are can create a very angry and vengeful state. Neither woman is happy and has hidden herself from others: a.k.a. Winter Stage.

I relate all this because I’ve realized that I am in my “Queen of the Underworld” state. I don’t yet have a purpose beyond existing, which really kind of sucks when you think about it because if we don’t have a reason for living, then why live at all? But knowing this helps me relate to my mother in a different way because I know she’s in her “lamenting Demeter” state. I’ve always been there for my mother as her reflection, doing and accomplishing things she always wanted to. Her “living vicariously through me” is not an unsaid statement in my family. But it’s because she hasn’t found herself yet. Because she was so proud of me and my accomplishments, she willingly identified herself as “Brittany’s Mother”; once I wanted to separate myself from her and become “Brittany,” she lost the identity she had held onto for so long. Anything that creates such a trauma is bound to make you attack the cause with anger and resentment. And because she fights my desire to separate myself (and because, to some extent, I have the narcissistic need for her to practically worship me like she did), I resent her resentment. We’ve been this way since I was 14; hence the strained relationship.

But recognizing that this is a natural and immortal way of dealing with each other has made me realize how much I really do still need her. We may not get along but we’re destined not to…yet. Not until she becomes Bautro (I forget the actually name, but she’s a woman in the myth who brings Demeter out of her depression by flaunting the freedom and happiness one could have while being an old crone) and I become Demeter myself will we find common ground. Regardless of whether my mother ever finds freedom and happiness in being an “old crone,” I will always need her, no matter who I represent. She’s the only one who can help me find my own Persephone when I’ve finally become a Demeter, too. And maybe that’s the mystery Demeter discovers and teaches at Eleusius: mother and daughter are forever the same woman, just at different stages; it’s the overcoming and acceptance of those differences that will lead to a higher state of love. And if there’s one thing my mother has always had for me, it’s love.

It Isn't Easy Being Level...(Sung in the Style of Kermit the Frog)

March 2001-March 2011 has come to be known in my life as the “Decade of Death.” Considering I’m turning 30 this year that means that one third of my life has been spent attending funerals or waiting for the next one. I won’t bore you with exactly who all died, but know that they were all important to me.  I guess it seems fitting that the last death of this horrible decade was of one of THE most important people in my life—my grandma.

Although I kept a strong face for the rest of my family (big girls don’t cry, right?), I folded inside myself. I know my students were supposed to be preparing for the state writing exam during the 10 days between her death and memorial, but I don’t remember what I did to prep them or if we just watched movies for two weeks straight.

What I do know is that being the “strong one” took a toll on me. After leaving my grandmother’s memorial, I fell onto my sofa and didn’t move for four hours. I wanted to not think about anything. I would have stopped breathing if my body didn’t do it automatically for me. 

© Izoneguy | Dreamstime Stock Photos

I'm just gonna lie right here...

My poor boyfriend at the time had no idea how to handle it, but I could not articulate the depth of my grief. Luckily, I had already been seeing a psychotherapist and was fairly quickly able to talk through my feelings of emptiness. She suggested I start taking something to get me over this hump and my GP prescribed me Pristiq (desvenlafaxine—sister drug to Effexor, or venlafaxine).

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Pristiq_pills.jpg#filelinks 

America! Fuck Yeah!

See, what I’ve left out is that I was seeing a psychotherapist because I was already feeling like a martyr and didn’t know how to escape my martyrdom (see my previous post). I had been dealing with persecution complexes, extreme anxiety in new situations, mood swings, neediness. After back-to-back deaths of two of the most important figures in my life (my 14-year-old dog, Luna, died three months before my grandma), I couldn’t handle my own issues and my double-endured grief. My GP was up on all this info and after my psychotherapist referred me, for medication he put me on the best stuff there was. Literally within an hour of taking my first dose, I felt like every problem I ever had was gone (and stupid, to boot).

© Tina Rencelj | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Fuck you bitches. I’m out!

All those little annoyances, all those little traumas I carried with me every day just evaporated. I could smile again. I could breathe. I had finally stripped off that last layer of cocoon to fly through life the way I always wanted to. The Pristiq was so great that I never considered coming off of it. I never thought I’d stay on it for the rest of my life, but I knew I felt like myself again. It wasn’t until I moved overseas (where Pristiq isn’t available) that I considered getting off the medication, but now that I am, I’m frightened all over again.

To start, here are all the documented side-effects of discontinuing Pristiq/Effexor (in order of likelihood):

·         dysphoric mood

·         irritability

·         agitation

·         dizziness

·         anxiety

·         sensory disturbances (e.g., paresthesia, such as electric shock sensations, known as “brain zaps”)

·         confusion

·         headache

·         lethargy

·         involuntary crying and/or laughing

·         insomnia

·         hypomania

·         tinnitus

·         seizures

Doesn’t that just sound awesome? When I attempted to quit Pristiq cold turkey, those first five symptoms emerged within 36 hours of my last dose. I held out for three days, but I finally had to go to the doctor and beg for help because I seriously thought my world was ending. 

© Photoeuphoria | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Don’t drop it! Don’t drop it! Don’t drop it!

After being bitched out by a rude nurse practioner (because the one thing you should do to a suicidal person is make them feel even worse about themselves), the UK doctor suggested I go on a daily dose of 75mg of Effexor (as I was on 100mg of Pristiq) and see about weaning off after 3 months of balancing myself out. Just like the Pristiq, I was my normal self again within moments of taking a dose. 

The three months came and went, and now I sit here, one week into weaning off, wondering if I have the willpower (or the mental stability) to do this. Since I’m no longer taking an extended-release tablet, the medication only stays in my system about five hours, which means that if I take my AM pill at 9ish, I’m ready to murder someone around 3. Sounds about right, actually, as I have always said I would be happiest in a society where I could siesta in the afternoon.

© Geoffrey Kuchera | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Two things will happen if you wake me; you won't see the second...

But what worries me more is that even when I take two doses a day (I’m on an alternating schedule: 75mg one day, 35mg the next), my brain is bringing back all those old anxieties. Stupid things are starting to get me all riled up inside. I’m feeling insanely lonely and quick to anger. I don’t want to come off a prescription that I might need to function, but considering I don’t have a psychotherapist over here (and even if I did, he/she wouldn’t have known me long  enough), I have nobody to help me make that determination. I know these horrible thoughts and actions aren’t me…or are they?

© Ken Griffith | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Wait—is that me? Or you? Or YOU? I’m so confused!

I always said I was like my mother in that I feel only in extremes: extreme anger, extreme anxiety, extreme jealous. But also extreme love, extreme happiness, extreme excitement. Since I’ve been on Pristiq and now Effexor, I feel no extremes. Just…contentment. Is that normal? Is that what people are supposed to feel? Or am I just in a medicated haze? I’m making another appointment with the health center to discuss my withdrawal symptoms but if websites like this and this are to believed, no matter how gradual my reduction, I’m going to experience withdrawal.

If I have to stay on Effexor forever, so be it. I just want what everybody wants: to experience life in a normal, well-adjusted way. I would just rather not be medicated to do so. :/

An Open Letter to 2013

Dear 2013,

Can I keep you forever?

Seriously. Although you started out a bit bumpy, you turned out to be one of the best years of my life. I started out this year writing a blog where my only resolution for the year was to "Take More Risks (let's aim for three big ones) and Be Passionate Enough to Enjoy It." I didn't plan which risks to take. Nor did I go through the year going, "Oh, I took one risk today, just need two more!" I just kind of made knee-jerk decisions that in another life (read: in 2012 and before) I never would have made. And they all (for the most part) turned out well. Really well. For example:

Risk #1: Leaving OSHS
Now, 2013, I know I had planned on leaving OSHS for at least the two years before you came along. But give yourself some credit. If you remember, 2012 was supposed to be my last year, and it wasn't. I stayed, which turned out to be necessary considering my reasons for leaving completely changed by the time March rolled around.

Once Corey and I broke up, I could have easily pulled my resignation. I did it in 2012. The moment I posted on Facebook that I was single again, I was even offered some perks in order to stay. But something in me, something about you, 2013, made me decide to leave still. And boy was that the greatest decision I had ever made.

HP

No work. All sleep. Rock on.

If I hadn't left OSHS, I wouldn't have been looking at teaching overseas. Which led me to Chicago. Which led me to Across the Pond. Which led me to Essex and the UK. I seriously would not be here right now had I not taken that risk. And it was a scary risk. I had no clue what I was going to do once that check stopped coming from OSSD, but I was ready to experience whatever it was, no matter how crappy it would end up being. But I had faith in you, 2013; I knew you wouldn't let me down. And you didn't. :)

Risk #2: Joining the Soul Sisters
I have a strained relationship with women. There's another blog coming about that, but when my psychologist told me I needed women in my life, I didn't believe her at first. I had been burned by so many female friends in the past that I just didn't want to open myself up to that kind of hurt again. It hurts a woman much more deeply when a woman betrays her than when her man does. And I was tired of that hurt.

                                                            How to parent a teen

 It's my vest, isn't it? Fuckin vests...

 

But, 2013, I had promised you to take more risks, so when Heather Eason (one of those people whom God has decided I need in my life--and I must agree with him) offered for me to join the new session of the women's bible study group at school, I decided to do it. I wish I had joined earlier! That first session was like finding a puzzle piece you didn't realize was missing. Or one you had just assumed was gone forever so stopped worrying about it.

Everyone was so welcoming and warm. My experiences in the past with church had left something to be desired, but this group was nothing like that. We joked, we confessed, we praised--both God and each other. I didn't realize how much I had been missing by willingly excluding female friends from my life. And because of you, 2013, because of whatever it was about you that gave me strength to go in there gave me friends more dear to me than I ever would have thought they'd be (and led me to make friends easier later in the year).

Risk #3: Chicago

2013, I'm just going to say this now: you started off shite for everyone. Maybe you were just trying to find your bearings, but man, did you just take a giant dump on the lot of us. Tressie, for example, went through some massive heartaches those first few months, yet she still managed the strength to pack up her and the baby and move to Dublin for a job. How awesome is that?! I realized then that I was being too narrow-minded about my future. If Tressie can move herself and an infant--not even a toddler--to Ireland all on her own, what's stopping me from going somewhere outside of the US? Not that I'm better than her in any way; not at all. It was just that Tressie's experience made me realize any reason I had was just a lame excuse. What did I have holding me back? I could totally go overseas! But what could I do? Teach English, of course!

 

So, I started searching and found Teaching House. I originally wanted to go to Boston but I would have missed my grandfather's 70th birthday. The only other place that looked interesting was Chicago. So I did it. And because it was so expensive, I ended up using AirBnB (a homestay type website) and stayed with an awesome couple and just ended up having the most awesome time. Again, 2013, not something I would have EVER considered doing prior to you coming along.

I fell in love with Chicago AND I was able to reconnect with Karen Murphy, one of my close high school friends. I made some great friends through Teaching House, and it was generally a great experience all around. I even used the road trip as a way to reconnect with Courtney in Wyoming, my cousins in Colorado, and Ann in Texas. But, 2013, what Chicago helped me do most, was reignite that passion for living again.

It wasn't until I was crossing into Louisiana to go back to Mississippi that I realized how heavy I had been living. Finally, I could breathe again. Life was exciting again. And full of prospects! I don't know why I had become so jaded, but you, 2013, made me remember what it was like to be...well...me.

Risk #4: ENGLAND
And the biggest risk you helped me take 2013, the one I never in my right mind would have considered doing before you came along was applying to Essex.

I had found Essex through Across the Pond, a website I had found in my search for overseas teaching vacancies. When I saw there wasn't a deadline and the application process was so easy, I decided that the worst they could say is no and I wouldn't be out of anything, not even an application fee. But then they didn't. In fact, not only did they not say no; they gave me a  £2000 scholarship! I knew before I knew that I wouldn't say no. How could I?! It was like winning at life. Here I was, with the opportunity to not only go back to college for an MA in Literature, but study something I was really interested in AND do it in another country. Like I said above, what was stopping me?

And so here I am, almost a fortnight into 2014 in the UK, wondering and hoping what the next year will bring. If 2014 is even half as great as you were, it's going to be a good year. But I'll always remember you fondly. I promise. :)

Thanks for everything,
Brittany