I've Been Through a Lot of Shit This Year, But I'ma Keep My Head Up Like My Nose Is Bleeding

A recap of my year.

January
I rang in 2013 with my former boyfriend and his friends.  The entire situation started out rocky because I had originally asked him to spend the night in my hometown and he could not commit one way or the other - obviously waiting for a better offer to come his way.  Finally we agreed on me traveling to spend the night with his friends and family.  As the night went on, he became more intoxicated and I became less enthralled.  On the plus side, my outfit was casual yet sparkly... on the downside, he puked jagger and his brother blacked out only to tell me how my visiting ruined his night.

The highlight of January, however, was visiting my best friend, Kevin, in Washington, DC, for the Presidential Inauguration, or as I like to call it - my first Beyonce concert.  The weekend was incredible!  We went to the Massachusetts Democratic Party's cocktail party, watched the leader of our nation's inauguration for a second term, and danced the night away at his school's Inaugural Ball.  I got to dress like a princess and we made once in a lifetime memories.

February
February came and I made the decision to no longer be a college athlete.  I had walked onto the lacrosse team when I transferred to make friends and get myself in shape.  Once the friends I had made graduated and I dropped twenty pounds, however, I realized that playing college sports was definitely not for me and that I was not happy dedicating four hours a day to playing a game.  Sometimes I miss being a part of a team with built-in friends, plans, and athletic gear, but then I remember all of the time I have spent on schoolwork and with my family that would not have been possible if I was still on the team.

Right at the end of the month, my family, along with my former boyfriend and I, went on a ski trip to New Hampshire.  It was incredibly fun! I learned how to stand on two skis, grew closer with my (at the time) soon to be brother-in-law, and my former boyfriend was awesome with my nephews.  He snowboarded one day and skied with me the next, took it slow so I didn't feel stupid, and we were in good spirits all weekend.  On the way home we stopped at what became our favorite memory of the weekend, a restaurant called the Poor People's Pub and had french onion soup and studied for his exam coming up the next day.

March
Veryyyy little happened in March.  Spring break was uneventful.  I spent the week at home... alone.   I missed lacrosse for the first time when the photographs of my old team started pouring in from their trip to South Carolina, and there was a snowstorm so my former boyfriend could not travel to my house for the last two days of break as planned.

April
My former boyfriend and I got in our first real fight... in front of his family.  We were invited to spend the weekend at his family's condo in upstate New York.  On the way there I asked if he would come with me to visit my friend at her school the following weekend.  He told me maybe, but then later in the night told me (in front of his brother) that he did not plan on coming because he simply "didn't want to"... and his friends would be mad at him.  I was infuriated.  While I may have overreacted, I was I could not understand why he could not take one night to meet my childhood friend.  What was so important that had to be done with his friends that night? Drink a few extra Coors Lights?  After a day and a half of tension, we fought it out... he apologized... and agreed to come.  In the end however, he STILL didn't meet my friend because his favorite college basketball team was playing in the championship and I encouraged him to stay at school and watch the game with his friends (I can be reasonable).  The team lost.

May
The school year ended and summertime started with a bang!  My mother worked so hard and planned my sister a BEAUTIFUL brunch for her bridal shower.  We drank mimosa's, opened gifts, and I read a poem that made my sister cry.  It was truly my favorite part of my sister's wedding events.  My sister made a toast when she thanked everyone for coming and what she said still resinates with me today.  "This is what I've been looking forward to... everyone being here together because I feel like my whole life is women, and I love you all."  My life has truly been shaped by the women in it.  After my dad's passing it was my aunts, sisters, and mother who stepped in to pick up the pieces, to raise me, and to help me grow into the woman I have become.

June
In June I turned 21 and it was amazing!  My mother and sisters surprised me with a trip to Florida to celebrate my birthday in Harry Potter World! The following week my two best girlfriends (one from college, one from home) brought me out for the night and we danced and drank our faces off.  The next night my mother allowed me to have a party at my house where 20 of my friends from home and school came and we spent the night playing drinking games and catching up in my back yard.  It was a blast!

July
There is no possible way to describe the convoluted, terribly timed happenings of July 2013.  I planned my sister's bachelorette party for July 13th.  That same morning my mother woke us up to tell us that our grandfather, who had been in an out of the hospital for the previous year and a half, had passed away in rehab early that morning.  A wave of devastation and relief crashed through our household.  As morbid as it sounds, relief came first.  He was so sick for so long, needing countless surgeries and round the clock supervision.  He had been hallucinating, sleepwalking, and suffering for too long.  Devastation came next because he was our father figure... our strongest, longest male figure, and he was gone... and life went on.  I did my best to rev my sister up and we went out for her Bachelorette party on the town! My sisters, mother, and the bride's friends went into the city for a lavish dinner and drinks, and then us girls were off to the races! We drank, danced, sang, and snacked on the way home. The night was a stark contrast to the way the morning had begun and emotions were obviously mixed, confused, and overwhelming.... and my sister puked the next morning.

The funeral was scheduled for that Tuesday.  My boyfriend not only did not come, but actually did not even offer.  I received a picture from him that afternoon at a baseball game with his best friend...He skipped my grandfather's funeral for the all-star game.  I visited him that Thursday for the weekend because he had gotten me tickets to see my favorite singer in concert for my birthday.  So was I upset? Could I be?  How do you say thank you for the birthday gift, I would trade it in if it meant you would have been there to support me this week?

August
My sister married the man she will spend the rest of her life with.  I love him more than words.
My former boyfriend and I fought after the wedding. It was the beginning of the end of our relationship.  I realized during photographs that he did not see himself as a part of our family... or even consider it a possibility.  I wish that I had invited my best friend Kevin to be in the photographs instead because he is my forever.

My former boyfriend and I fought for the rest of the month about everything - his lack of commitment to visiting me, his lack of reasoning for not being there for me when my grandfather died, and especially his disregard and lack of desire to understand or even respect my feelings.  He never did anything out of love or desire to make me happy - everything was out of practicality or convenience.

September
The new school year began.  My former boyfriend and I basically stopped having sex and I did a lot of crying.

October
We broke up.  It was "my decision."

November
I began this blog.

December
I am so ready to start the New Year.

In the words of Little Wayne  - I've been through a lot of shit this year, but I'ma keep my head up like my nose is bleeding.  If anything, this year has taught me that shitty things happen... all the time.  Timing sucks, people change and hurt you, and you know what you have to do? Keep living.   Because its not everyone, every time, and everything that hurts.  There actually are people out there who love unconditionally and make your life worth living - and those are the people I am going to fill 2014 with.  The people who I care about and who care about me.

I am ringing in 2014 with my friends.  Two of my girlfriends from school and two of my girlfriends from home, and I could not be more excited about it.  Life is about reflecting on your past, drawing on what you've learned, and building upon it in your future.  New Year's Eve is the perfect time to do that, so New Year - New You, and I'm wishing you all the happiness life has to offer.

Good Cheer and Appreciation

Each year on a Thursday in November, at dining room tables across the country, families gather to share a meal and give thanks.  My family is no exception.  Each year we say grace and then circle the table asking each family member what they are thankful for.  This year, however, we got to dig into dinner a little sooner than in the past.  My grandfather, the matriarch of our family, passed away in July of this summer, and now everything is different.

The onset of my childhood was based around Sunday nights.  Some of my earliest memories include sitting three across the front seat of my mother's red car that whistled as we drove to my grandfather's house once a week for dinner.  My father would post up in our kitchen, watching television on a small eight-inch screen and bid us adieu as my mom packed my sister and I into the car for family dinner.  I'm not really sure why my dad didn't come.... or maybe he did come... the memories are hazy and blend all ages together; but I sure remember the feelings of love around the dinner table at Papa's house.  Thanksgiving was Papa's holiday.  All seven of his children would make the drive, bring their children, and help prepare a delicious meal.  He was King of the Krols and no one thought otherwise.  Since my grandfather's passing, my mother's family has been at odds.  That's what happens in fragile families.  If the anchor that held all ships at bay is lost, they are carried by wind and see in different directions.  This year, Thanksgiving dinner will be enjoyed my mother, my aunt, her husband, and myself.  A small, intimate gathering, still inundated by feelings of love.

What I am most thankful for this year is a hidden lesson that I have found in my grandfather's passing.  My mother, brother, and sisters are a beautiful exception to the rule.  I am one of six children born to my father, but only one of two born to my mother; thus, the four eldest of my family are my half siblings, but I whole love them.  When my father passed away, it was truly a tragedy.  He lost his battle to lung cancer five days before Christmas 1999.  What I have learned in the fourteen years since my father's passing, however, is that my siblings had the option to run.  My dad was the anchor that kept my family at bay.  He was our common thread, our home base, and our gravitational pull.  Without him there, what glue did we have to hold us together?  To this day, I am not sure.  I was seven at the time that we lost my father, and from that point forward it never occurred to me that my sisters and brother could have stepped out of my life forever; that my mother could have decided not to love them as her own, not to see my nieces and nephews as her grandchildren....but luckily for me, that was not the case.  My family loves harder, deeper, and with more vigor than any family I have ever known.  It isn't about having a shared relative or a thoroughbred blood line that makes two people family; it is love.  It is values.  It is knowing that losing that other person would be losing a part of yourself.  At seven years old, I was not old enough to know who I loved, but I knew who loved me.  I am so beyond lucky to have been born into the family that I have. I have an incredible, awe-inspiring mother, three beautiful sisters, and a strong, handsome brother that care about me more than words can say, and for that I am undoubtedly eternally grateful.

I pray for those who are not surrounded by the same love and affection that I have had the fortune of indulging in over my last 21 years on this earth.  As for those who are as fortunate, I pray that they take that luck and transform it into good cheer and appreciation for our world and the people who create it.

A Gift From My Former Self

After reflecting more deeply on my "rock bottom weekend," I began thinking back to times past when I have felt low.  Even lower than I feel right now.  My first semester freshman year of college I suffered from biological depression.  I went to school six hours away from home, and thought I could handle that.  Obviously I could not.  By Thanksgiving break I had gained 15 pounds and had a panic attack at the ten o'clock mass.  When I got home, my sister called to ask if I was okay.  She said she could tell something was different and wanted to make sure I was adjusting at school.  The thing is, I honestly thought I was fine.  That's the thing about depression, it sneaks up on you, and sometimes you don't know it's there... until it's really there.  I went back to school after Thanksgiving in a downward spiral until Christmas break.  I suffered three panic attacks: one in the bathroom during calculus class, one blow drying my hair in my bedroom before Spanish class, and one on my way to work at the ROTC building.  I felt worthless.  No one liked me; why would they?  I saw myself as overweight, unintelligent, and different.  I began to see myself the way that my roommates told me I was when they were drunk.

"You're so stupid!"

I let them define me and I didn't even know it.  And then I came home for Christmas... and it was apparent to everyone that something was undeniably wrong.  I didn't want to spend time with my friends.  I couldn't sleep at night.  I had gained at least 5 more pounds since Thanksgiving.  I was lethargic, sensitive, distant, and alone in the presence of others.  So my sister stepped in, and I will never feel like I can thank her enough for it.  She told my mother something had to be done.  I flew to Florida to spend my last week of winter break reading in the sun at my Aunt's house, and I received a call from the counseling support center at my university asking if I'd like to set up an appointment; my sister had called them.  I went back to school for one week in January 2011.  I didn't sleep a wink at night and could barely coax myself out of bed during the day.  I met with a psychologist who encouraged me to see a psychiatrist for antidepressants. That Saturday, I got a call from my sister,

"Mom say's she'll come get you."

and that was it for me.  I walked away from school and didn't know if I would ever go back.  I withdrew, packed up, and moved home with no plan and a lot of love.  My family did everything they could to keep it together for me.  I had never felt so low, so incapable of happiness, but my family and my true friends got me through it.  I got a job, took night classes, and tried to get it together.  I exercised, read, and wrote my way through depression.

Looking back on that time in my life is what brings me to my post today.  I found a gift from myself in a file on my computer.  If at the lowest moment of my life, I was able to write this way - to think this way- then I can carry myself through the superficiality of a college break-up with dignity.

A fact: nobody chooses to be broken. It would be irrational to believe that a person makes the conscious decision to feel the unyielding piercing in the pit of her stomach, the relentless pressure building behind her eyes, or the perpetual feeling of emptiness that remains seemingly insurmountable. It has been said that you are always in control of your own fate; it’s a lie. Sometimes the choice is not yours to make, and many times there is a breaking point. The world is silent, sleep is exhausting, smiling is infrequent, and your spirit is broken. Barring natural disaster, the truth is that someone contributes to this personalized, toxic, apocalyptic state. They chose for you. They fueled the earth-shattering, emotional tragedy that inevitably infiltrates every crevice of an already fragile life until the glue had been employed to hold the pieces together is forced to give way to devastation. 

A fact: everybody has the ability to heal. It would be irrational to believe that a person could be broken forever. It has been said that you are responsible for your own happiness; it’s the truth. One day when the world is silent, sleep is exhausting, smiling is infrequent, and your spirit is broken, you will realize that the catalyst that caused this quasi-apocalyptic tragedy is unworthy of grief. The anguish will turn to fury, and eventually to numbness. You will choose to fill the new wound with the same glue that used to hold the broken pieces of your life together, and with time, you will heal.

Started From The Bottom Now We're Here

I've been calling this past weekend "rock bottom."  For three nights in a row I went to my closet,  selected a mostly see through top, applied a little too much eyeliner, and stepped into the tallest pair of wedges I could get my hands on... and then, I drank.  My typical five beers a night quickly escalated to seven or eight, my no-shot-taking policy flew out the window as I drank Captain straight from the bottle, and the box of wine my friends left in my room was considerably less heavy by the end of each night.  I kissed a guy I barely know, woke up in my bed with no idea how I got there, and spent two hours crying to a friend as he helped me out of my heels and into his roommate's slippers so I didn't break an ankle.  I offended a girl I'm barely acquainted with, fell down the hill outside of my apartment, and ate more drunk pizza than I even care to think about.

So, after all this, do I feel any better?  Surprisingly, yes I do.  I am embarrassed, ashamed, hungover, guilt ridden, and definitely in need of some exercise.  However, I've realized that acting out reminded me who I really am.  I am not the person I acted like this weekend; if I was, I wouldn't feel shame or embarrassment.  I let myself lose control of my emotions, of my values, and of my inhibitions.  I am definitely not proud of that, but I needed this weekend to remind myself that I am always in control and responsible for myself.

In relationships, from what I have learned, the power lies with the person who cares less.  At some point in my last relationship, I let the balance tip.  I loved deeper - cared more - and I gave him control.  I tried to want what he wanted, do what he wanted, and act in the way he wanted.  Every move I made was with him in mind.  I relinquished control.

Over the past five weeks, I have done little to regain control and responsibility.  I made excuses for my melodramatic responses to small infractions, my oversensitivity to the criticism of others, and my short temper in the face of controversy.  "I'm going through a tough breakup," I'd think, "it's not my fault."  And everyday, I wish things were different.  Sometimes I wish we were still together.  Sometimes I wish we had never met.  Sometimes I wish that he wasn't in the same state as me, at the same school as me, or at the same party as me.  I don't have control over any of those things, but what I can control are my actions and the way I treat others.  Over the past five weeks I lost sight of the fact that there is never an excuse to knowingly do the wrong thing.  My mother taught me to know right from wrong, to respect others, and to carry myself with dignity.  This weekend I exemplified zero of the things my mother taught me, and there is no excuse for that - not even a broken heart.

I genuinely believe that this past weekend was actually an experience I needed to have.  I am finding myself, rebuilding my life, recreating my outlook, and mending my heart, and sometimes the only way to do that is to start from rock bottom and work your way up.


**inspired by "Beauty in a Breakdown" firstworldthoughts.blogspot.com

There Is No Revenge Better Than Happiness

The best advice I have ever gotten after a breakup was from my aunt.  I was two weeks into my senior year of high school and my boyfriend of two years dumped me...hard.  "How would I know I want something, if I've never had anything else?" ...oh. So for weeks I over dramatized the situation.  I cried and cried about how he would rather meet other girls, how he thought there was something or someone better out there, and how I felt so betrayed.  My aunt finally said to me one day, "You know what, Sweetie? There is no revenge better than happiness."  Looking back, she was absolutely right.  Why live your like letting other people define your happiness?  At eighteen, I thought my heart was broken, and I wanted him to feel like losing me was a mistake.  Since then, my friends and I have been broken up with by a countless number of ultimately unworthy suitors.  Each time, I make it a point to remind myself and my friends of my aunt's advice. 

But this time feels different.  Revenge isn't what I'm looking for.  My boyfriend didn't walk away from our relationship, he was basically never in it.  And what makes this separation so difficult for me is that his contentedness with our break up validates my prior assumption that he didn't want to be in a relationship in the first place.  At least not a legitimate one.

I remember last New Years Eve when he refused my offer to spend the night with my friends, and waited until December 30th to counteroffer an invitation for me to spend the night with him and his friends.  I recall each time I asked him to meet me for dinner and before committing he first found out what his friends were doing - just in case they were going to have more fun without him.  I remember each time he ended a phone call with me regardless of what point of the conversation we were in because he had arrived home from work, and why keep talking to me when there was the prospect of talking to someone else?  And I recall each time I wished he would offer to come to Massachusetts, walk over to my dorm room instead of myself walking there, invite me to sleep over, wait for me to watch our favorite TV show instead of watching it with someone else, and so much more.  It's like dating me was an addition to his day that he didn't want to do.  Like a sixth class with too much homework, when he'd rather be watching Pokemon with his roommates or drinking on a Tuesday with his friends and their girlfriends.  So,  I walked away.  I gave him what he wanted, he has all the time in the world do the things that really matter to him.  He no longer has to think about what I might want, what I might feel, and what might be a compromise for the two of us.  He wanted to think only about himself, what makes him happy, and what takes little to no forethought about me.

What does this have to do with my aunt's advice? I should be happy... and sometimes I am.  But I don't feel like it's "the best revenge."  In a way, happiness validates that he was right.  That this is better for both of us.  That we both have what we wanted.  That cannot be any further than the truth.  Rather than him loving me enough to give more to our relationship, he wants to do way less, and I am supposed to be happy now?  Happy that I had to walk away from someone I loved because he did not want me anymore, but didn't have the decency to tell me that?  He let me decide... As if to say, "if this isn't enough for you that's your problem, I shouldn't have to WANT to spend time with you."  I feel like I was easily disposed of, and like he is relieved to be single, and it is entirely disheartning.

I know that my aunt's advice rings true here, but not in the way I had always thought it would.  I am not looking for revenge, rather I am looking for something I deserve.  I was a good girlfriend.  I was understanding of his values, of his wants and desires, of his flaws, his shortcomings and his worth... but I could not be understanding of his lack of commitment and respect for what me - for my wants, my values, my shortcomings, and my worth.  And that does not make me a bad person, it makes me deserving of happiness. 

So, I am not trying to be happy as a form of revenge in hopes of making him miss me or think that this was a mistake.  Honestly, if he wasn't willing to let me be happy with him, I sure as hell deserve happiness without him.

The First of Many

A friend of mine suggested that every time I am feeling sad about my former relationship, I should write a letter and tear it up.  I understood where she was coming from, but the problem with that plan is that it doesn't hold me accountable for what I have to say.  Every thought and every emotion - be it sad, angry, hurt, relieved - are all my own and not only crave expression, but need to be expelled.  I'm pissed.  I'm saddened.  My mind and heart and everything in between is twisted and crumbling and being fueled by every day.  Every instance.  Every moment.  So, why write a letter and tear it up?  These notes are a reflection of myself that should not be destroyed, but should be celebrated.

It would only be appropriate to give a short bit of background about my relationship, since feelings and emotions do not, or should not, come from thin air.  I am a senior in college and my former boyfriend is a junior.  We attend a small Catholic college in New England.  After meeting at an event highlighting student-leadership two summers ago, we dated for a few months more than one year.  Most recently, we spent the summer apart, as his family lives a few states away, and I did a lot of traveling to see him.  A. Lot. Of. Traveling.  Unfortunately, as I came to find out, I was more interested in seeing him than he was in seeing me, he thought little of making this relationship long-term or long-lasting, and he believed the plans I was making for my future following senior of college should not include him... at all.   He also cared more to spend time with his friends, male or female, than with me, thus spending Thanksgiving, Spring Break, and visits over Christmas vacation together were not in the cards for us without a conversation which typically ended with me in tears and him looking more and more annoyed each time.  Sleeping in the same bed quickly shifted from three-five nights a week last spring, to one-three times a month this fall.  Eventually, I became insecure in a relationship that I once believed made me the luckiest girl on the planet, and found myself doing things not because I loved him, but in hopes of making him love me... and that was a terrible feeling.  I laid it all out there for him one last time, he told me that he didn't value the same things in a relationship that I did, and that what I wanted was too much pressure; so, I told him that I didn't want a relationship at all.

Keep in mind there are two sides to every story, and I do not have an account of his side.  In his eyes, I could have been too clingy, too forward thinking, too hopeful... who knows? And I am not in any way trying to demonize him.  My former boyfriend was, and still is, an incredibly friendly, upbeat, intelligent, good-looking guy.  Does that make him a good person? Yes. Does that mean he's a good boyfriend? Maybe for someone, but not for me.

This whole experience is overwhelming, underwhelming, disheartening, empowering, and a whole slew of emotions that I can't even define or articulate for myself.  A choice that I made feels like a punishment on some days, and a new beginning and introduction to my new sense of self on others. 

I am sad that our relationship has ended, that all of the memories we made together now taste bitter on my tongue.  That when I think of something to tell him, I have to keep the thought to myself or think of someone else to call.  I am sad that the love I felt for him wasn't cut from the same cloth that the love he felt was.  But mostly, I am sad for what could have been... that I could have been complacent.  I could have wanted for nothing more, and I could have molded myself into the kind of person that he wanted to be with: blindly happy, baring no request, living in the here-and-now, and moderately content with a half-hearted juvenile desire to be close to one another.  It feel like it might have been possible.  Sometimes I wish to myself that instead of asking for one more conversation about our feelings for one another, that I could've just climbed in and accepted the single time that week that he had wanted to share a pillow, a blanket, and bed as enough.  

And then I remind myself that I want more.  I want feelings of certainty.  The feeling of knowing that no matter where I am, in happiness or tragedy, that person will come running.  That when I am lost, he is looking... and that when he is lost, he wishes we were lost together.  I want aligned values and the desire to be with one another whether you are four states away and a ferry ride away, one mile away, or laying in the same bed.  Is that too much to ask? Maybe... actually, probably.  But if it is, I hope there is someone out there who asks for too much, too.  Because I am willing to give everything, to love unconditionally, and to make someone else's needs my own, but only if they can do the same... since I'm willing to give so much, I need a partner who is not so selfish as to take and take without the desire to give in return.  

So, I think this is what heartbreak feels like, and honestly, he is probably only the first of many to break my heart. But, more is out there for me.  Even when I am feeling downtrodden, hurt, and cast aside, I know that I am not meant to feel this way forever.