When Tinder Makes You Question Everything You've Ever Wanted

When I was 10 years old I met Benny Disco.  We had a mutual family friend and were invited to swim over at their family's pool.  It was love at first sight.  Benny was 12 (swoon).  He had rosie cheeks and a chubby body and I was smitten.  It was destiny.  That is until he and the older kids went to play basketball in the driveway and I went home with my mom because I wasn't about to be the chubbiest, shortest girl on pavement.

Years passed and Benny floated in and out of my life (I'm totally lying he had no idea who I was). Benny went to a private high school and then some college, I assume.  I drunkenly friended him on Facebook one night in college on a dare from my BFF. She did it, too, in solidarity, of course.  The funny thing about my schoolgirl crush on Benny is that I rarely remember his name (which obviously isn't actually Benny), so I always need confirmation from my friend when we potentially see him out at a bar, or someone mentions a group of his friends.  "Jane, it's Benny and it's so weird that you always say that you love him!"  Whatever.

A few months ago I was doing my classic nighttime ritual - wash face, brush teeth, put on pj's, swipe through Tinder - when the most amazing, serendipitous match flashed before my eyes. There he was, Ben, 23, first pictured walking in some tropical location. Next, holding a fish or a dog or something (I actually can't remember, but everyone on Tinder fishes or has a dog, I think).

This. Was. Fate. 

I swiped right. He swiped right. It's a match, we were meant to be! I imagined he would message me eventually. Noticing our mutual Facebook friends, connecting the dots, realizing he has always (randomly, without reason) had a schoolboy crush on me, too.  We would meet, hit our stride, and be together forever ....or for a beer..... but that was not the case.

Benny and I have been matched for 5 months now, and you know what?  I totally forgot about it until the other day when Benny did the unthinkable! He posted a Tinder moment - for those of you who don't know, a Tinder moment is a photograph that can be seen by all of your Tinder matches for 24 hours.  I, myself, have posted a moment or two (or 15... 3 of which have been liked by Super Bowl Champion, Legarrette Blount, thank you very much!), but Benny's was nothing like my basic "hotdogs or legs" photo on the beach.  Benny's photo was much, much more than that.

I sat there, in my driver's seat horrified, staring at Benny's, what I'm going to call, Little Benny ready for the Disco.... right there on TINDER for all to see with the caption "someone come help me with this?"  BENNY, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! My cheeks flushed.  Benny was supposed to be sweet and innocent and not putting his package on the internet! My hopes, my dreams, my everything came crashing down.  How could I have been so wrong?!

And that was when I got to thinking, I'm probably wrong about a lot of things. We make these snap judgments and let our first impressions of people stick - good or bad - and then sometimes we are unwavering in our convictions and opinions.  While I'm obviously exaggerating my Benny epiphany, I am sort of serious.  I think it's healthy to reevaluate our goals, our dreams, and truly take a look at what we want and why we want it.  It's like when you see a blue dress on JCrew.com and you are so obsessed with it until you walk into the store and try it on and you look like Violet from Willy Wonka (no? just me?). We are terrible at predicting what we will want or feel in the future, so be ready to change your mind, have a change of heart, and swipe left on what you thought you couldn't live without.

Puppies, Pinot, and President Fitzgerald Grant

Learned helplessness is a concept that was developed by Martin Seligman through an experiment he conducted based on the behaviors of man's best friend.  Seligman sent electric currents through the bottoms of dogs' cages so their little piggy-toes were shocked.  These cages had no apparent escape route, so the dogs were forced to stay put and endure the pain.  At first the dogs squirmed and jumped and looked for ways out of their chambers.  Next, Seligman put these dogs in cages that actually had a way out and shocked them again. The dogs, though, didn't even try to escape.  They stayed put assuming that nothing had changed.  That they were stuck.  They were helpless.

Now, I know Seligman sounds like a douche, torturing those poor puppies and shocking their little paws. I'm not even an animal person and I know that sending electric currents through the cages of theses pooches is a bad move, but what Seligman discovered through this experiment is so unbelievably pertinent to our lives, he should at least get a fist bump for his findings.

I'm not about to tell you that breaking up with my ex-boyfriend was akin to having shocks sent through my toes and that I was in an inescapable cage of emotion. That would be a metaphor even I am not dramatic enough to extend, but I am going to proclaim that I have 100% learned to be helpless.

Tomorrow night I am going on my 5th date with President Fitzgerald Grant... a little pseudonym for the guy I've been seeing that watches Scandal.  Fitz and I have been seeing each other for about a month now and things have actually been going great! We drink coffee, go for walks, talk about our classes (he's a med student...swoon) and I'm totally comfortable.  The thing is that whenever my sisters or my friends ask me what he's like or how things are going, my answer is always the same:

...fine...

Not like an angry-been-in-a-bad-mood-all-week 'fine!' or an upbeat-better-than-good-but-I-don't-want-to-sound-too-eager 'fine...!'  It's more of a got-an-87-on-this-exam-which-is-4-points-above-average-but-I-am-not-over-the-moon-about-it-I-did 'fine.' Ya know what I mean? Which is so annoying because I actually think I really like Fitz.  He's smart and good looking and doesn't own more shoes than I do - talk about a catch!  He's awesome and I think we could be moving in the right direction, but I don't want to get my hopes up. 

And there it is, Ladies and Gents.  I am Seligman's puppy.  For the last two years I have been trying to make it work with my ex-boyfriend. Over and over again I have been in this relationship where I have been excited by the prospect of being together... and then I'm left totally and utterly disappointed when things don't work out.  I give my time, effort, emotions, tacos (one of only dishes I am willing to make on the reg), and I'm still eating the tacos alone.  Now I am helplessly and hopelessly on the verge of not trying anymore.  My sisters are all, "invite him to family game night!" and "let's get dim sum!" and I'm over here like, "should I even shave my legs for our date tonight?"

So, I no longer think that Seligman was trying to be a jerk; I think he was trying to figure out why we're so willing to give up when things aren't easy.  Because when we try and try to no avail, it seems like we should give up.  But I don't want to feel that way.  I don't want to be the kind of person that looks at the glass as half-empty or whatever. Who cares if it's half-full?  What's the worst that happens when it's empty?  I want to look at it and think that at least there is room for more Pinot! (My proverbial glass is a long-stem wine glass, which makes sense because there not supposed to be full. Think about it.)

Seligman and I on the same page about this whole learned helplessness concept.  It's totally learned, but I have good news!  Another forward-thinking-asshole of his time, John Watson, proved something else with a incredibly unethical experiment (another lesson for another day). Behaviors can be learned and UNLEARNED! We don't have to feel helpless forever! So, tomorrow night I'm going to be excited to see Fitz. I'm going to hope that things go well. I'm going to look forward to the future. 

And if things don't work out, I'm going to be fine. I'm going to look at the glass ready to be refilled. Plus, I'm lucky enough to know that some wine glasses are bigger than others anyway. 

Affirmation

I believe in self-compassion.

I believe that there are all kinds of love, but never the same love twice.

I believe in wearing makeup if it makes you feel beautiful.

I believe in chocolate cake. Lots of chocolate cake. 

I believe that people are the prettiest when they talk about something that they love.

I believe in speaking your mind only if you are not offensive. 

I believe in wearing athletic clothes even when you're not exercising.

I believe in fear. 

I believe that we will not make strides without setbacks. 

I believe that God brings you to struggle to lead to you success. 

I believe in wedding rings.

I believe in long soccer-mom walks in lieu of running. 

I believe in God. 

I believe that you are the best friend you will ever have.

I believe that a kind word can save a life.

I believe in hair extensions.

I believe that a few minutes in the sun can heal the soul.

I believe that you can always love deeper.

I believe in trying harder. 

I believe in midnight snacks. 

I believe that you are a product of both nature and nurture. 

I believe in adoption.

I believe that who you love is not a choice. 

I believe in family.

I believe that high heels look better with dresses than flats. 

I believe in hometowns.
I believe that there are warriors among us. 

I believe in angels. 

I believe that some fights worth it and some are worth letting your opponent win. 

I believe that Chinese food tastes better cold. 

I believe in silence. 

I believe in rolling the windows down, even in the winter. 

I believe in designer jeans. 

I believe that when you feel like life is over, it may only be the beginning.

I believe in going home. 

I believe that you can touch the lives of people you've never met. 

I believe that you are always in the right place at the right time. 

I believe in admitting defeat, but never accepting it. 

I believe in froyo for dinner.

I believe in seat belts.

I believe in self-forgiveness.
I believe in happiness.

I believe in living the life you have created, are creating, and have yet to create.
I believe in this moment you are a person that you will never be again. 

(Insert Tinder Pun Here)

Anyone who knows me in any capacity knows that I've had the same dream since I was a teenager.  One goal that I've been working toward each and everyday; an aspiration that consistently presses in the back of my mind whether I'm studying for an exam, sipping pinot noir on a saturday night, or completing the lightest agility workout you can imagine... I cannot get this one idea out of my head. 

I want to be on The Bachelor. 

Before you begin passing judgment, let me stop you right there and redirect you to another thought: have you ever heard of Tinder?

If you haven't, you clearly haven't been a single twenty-something recently and neither have any of your friends.  Tinder is, in essence, the quintessential expression of how overtly shallow our generation's vision of beauty has become.  It's an iphone app that demonstrates how technology has enabled us to not only embrace a depthless idea of what is beautiful, but it also allows us to forfeit all human socialization and courting that once was "dating."

Don't get me wrong, I have a Tinder (yes, I am that desperate).  I went on my Facebook, picked out what I thought were the most flattering pictures of myself that also reflected who I am as a person - a photo of my sister and me at her wedding, a picture of my niece and me on Easter, one of my mom and me- and I created an account.  I even thought of a funny yet sweet bio for under my photos, you know, so that guys could really get to know me:

Lover of carbohydrates, sunshine, and ice cream for dinner. Currently studying to spend the rest of my life helping seventh graders get their shit together.

Perfect.  And ya know what, I think it's going great.  Look at this super sweet message I got today. 

Ahhh, romance! Like, is this guy serious?  Indeed he was.  So, here's my annoyance.  I have always made comments about wanting to find love on The Bachelor, half in a kidding way, half in a serious I've-already-filled-out-my-application way, and people are constantly telling me how stupid that is.  They meet me with unrequested and unwelcome opinions of how fake the show is, how dumb the girls are, and how I'm "so much better than that."  But I invite all of the people of that opinion think about this:  the men and women who meet on TV on any reality show, be it The Bachelor, Dating in the Dark, For Love or Money (I could go on forever), these people are ACTUALLY meeting.

So, yes, the bachelor himself has twenty-five girlfriends and narrows it down to one that he supposedly wants to marry after six weeks in romantic, idealistic beautiful locations; does that sound worse than checking out a thumbnail size photograph, maybe checking to see how many mutual Facebook friends, and then swiping right because "you're hot?" 

I don't know, something doesn't sit well with me.  And maybe I'm being dramatic.  Maybe reality TV, iphone apps, online dating websites... maybe they're all the worst possible ways to meet your other half.  They probably are, but we're living a world of inorganic interactions where texting is the primary form of communication, emojis are worth a thousand words, and read receipts are one of the easiest ways of letting someone know you're just not into them.

So forgive me for fantasizing about meeting the love of my life on television, it's pathetic and I should have more respect for myself.  Instead, I'll just Tinder message all of my matches the following emoji combination until one of them takes me up on it. 

Why I Fell In Love Again - Despite My Better Judgment

So, here I am, almost one whole year since my boyfriend became my ex-boyfriend.  Almost one whole year since I started this blog.  Almost one whole year since I started drinking whiskey and housing hot tamales instead of drinking green tea and picturing the houses of my dreams. And finally, here I am, almost one year from having my heart broken... and I am still heartbroken.

My ex-boyfriend and I... yes, please notice I have started using the term ex-boyfriend in lieu of the euphemistic "former boyfriend" I used to say to soften the blow... anyway, my ex-boyfriend and I have spent the past three months falling back in love with one another.  Well, at least, I was falling back in love - not that I had ever fallen out of it - I think he was playing with the idea of loving me again.  So, the two of us have been spending our days thinking of each other, sharing in each other's joys, and I have been happy.

My smile was back.  I know I sound like a cliche Taylor Swift pop song.  I felt like a Taylor Swift song. 

Every time you smile

I smile

and every time you shine

I'll shine for you

Unfortunately, like most Taylor Swift songs, this one is quickly followed by an angry song about a breakup that was seemingly Taylor's fault, but honestly, I don't blame her. 

I think Taylor Swift is just trying to find love, and be loved, and be in love.  Who would want to be known as the girl that dates guys and then get's dumped on her ass and has to write pathetic love songs about the breakups? 

Anyway, you're probably wondering why I let this happen again.  Or maybe you're not wondering, but I'm going to be writing it down here regardless, because this is blog has basically become the adult version of my seventh grade livejournal. 

I fell for him again because I wanted to.  

Yes, it's that simple. I took a class in my undergrad where my professor suggested that the best way to live a happy and healthy lifestyle is to treat yourself like you are your own best friend.  I loved the idea.  I absolutely one hundred percent cannot stress enough how much I love this idea.  Think about it...

When you're tired at the end of the week and the last place on Earth you want to go is the gym, what would your best friend say? 

I'll tell you, mine would say, "Oh, no you're not going to the gym, we're drinking wine." 

On the other side of the same coin, if I am just being lazy, my best friend is the first person to kick me in the ass and tell me to get out of bed and hit the ground running. 

So, what's my point here? My point is that as my own best friend, I knew I would be happy with my ex-boyfriend if things worked out, so I let myself fall for him all over again.  I cooked him dinner, I wore more dresses (as if that was even possible), I smiled my biggest, brightest smile for his parents even though I know they don't approve of me, and then... when I realized how pathetically in love I was with someone who wasn't giving me the same in return... I walked away.

Because, see, as my own best friend, I can't let myself look stupid.  Best friends help you decide when what you're doing is going to make you happy momentarily or when the brief happiness is not worth the consequence.  For example, I have an incredibly strong desire to wear athletic clothes to pretty much every bar I go to, and sometimes my best friend let's me.  Like if she knows we're just going to a slummy bar to drink cheap beer in a room full of middle-aged men, she totally let's me rock the nike's.  But then sometimes, she's like, "Jane, no, go change! And stop crying!"  (an ode to my over-emotional response to every given situation). 

What I'm trying to say is that it's okay that I am heartbroken again. It's okay that I made the same mistake that every best friend tells you not to make, but then you make it anyway because you just think that this time will be different.  See, the best part about treating myself like my own best friend, is that I'm not mad at myself - I'm proud of myself.  Letting him back into my life was a decision I thought would make me happy, and when it didn't, I cared enough about myself to change that decision.  

And even more importantly, I am lucky to have true best friends that love me.  That knew all along I was making a mistake and they let me make it anyway.  And yeah, they're annoyed that I'm still sad.  Hell, I'm annoyed that I'm still sad! But they love me enough, and honestly, I love myself enough, to let me be sad for a little while once more, and then to kick my ass and make sure I move on. 

Today Is Evaluation Day. The Key Word Being Value. Do You Have Any?

I haven't written anything here in a while, and honestly it's because I haven't really had anything to say. Which is weird for me, because I ALWAYS have something to say.

Then I got to thinking, maybe it's good I couldn't think of anything.  Maybe it means that I am moving on - moving forward.  Maybe my heart is mending itself.... which is partially why I haven't been writing: I am definitely on the mend.  I have been feeling better about myself, about my body, about who I am as a person; but that's not the whole story.  I've really begun to ask myself: how much of my self-worth comes from within and how much I base it on other people?

Let me explain, for the month up until spring break I was going to the gym five days a week with a friend of mine that is incredibly fit.  She was, and still is, running me through ab workouts, leg workouts, bike workouts, etc. She's like my own personal trainer and I'm finally feeling good about myself again.  Don't get me wrong, what I burn in calories, I make up for in beer consumption, so I have lost ZERO pounds.  But I'm feeling good and that's what matters.

See, that's where I question myself.  Do I feel good because the exercise is my way of releasing stress or accomplishing something? Sort of.  I definitely don't find exercise - cardio or otherwise - therapeutic at all.  That whole "running is my escape" mantra is awesome for some people, unfortunately I don't fall into that category.  So I guess only half of my reason for working out is that it makes me feel good physically... so what else?

The problem is that sometimes I catch myself doing things because it's how I want to be seen by others.  I want other people to see me as as fit as my friend, thus, I am working out with my friend.  Is that the worst thing in the world?  Absolutely not.  Any motivation can be considered good motivation as long as it's not hurting anyone.  But still, something about that irks me.

But it's not just that I want to be seen in a certain way, it's that I feel desperate for the acceptance of others.  I know I'm not alone in saying that I wish I had more friends; I feel like everyone does, and if you don't you're lying... or maybe you're not.  Maybe some people are perfectly content with the number of people that they wave to when they walk across campus, or how many different pregames they are invited to on a saturday night. And to them, I guess, kudos! But I want everyone to like me, which is clearly never going to be possible, but for some reason I'm still that girl at the bar complimenting everyone's shirt and trying to remember everyone's major, or life plans, or dog's name --  and it's not a matter of acting fake because I'm truly not.  I think I just like being liked! But sometimes I wish I could just be more content.  Like "you don't have to be friends with the girl washing her hand's in the bathroom, Self, just let her rinse them in peace." But I can't, and I don't know why.... and worse than that, I can't decide if it's a good thing or a bad thing - a virtue or an annoying flaw - because trying to be friends with people is something I like about myself, but I find it annoying about myself at the same time.

Annnnnd finally, why do I feel like I need every guy to want to make out with me?  It's possibly one of the things about myself that annoys me the most.  For the past two years I prided myself on being that girl who never went out prowling for guys.  I was the girl ready to drink beer and hang out with my friends, never worried about if the guy across the room thought I was pretty.  Now, that's so far from how I act I can't stand it.  I'm falling into the typical college girl trap and I hate it, but I clearly don't hate it that much because I'm still doing it.  I'm walking into bars, scanning the room for the cute guy I kissed last week, the boy from my Tuesday - Thursday class that sits across the room, or the guy who only gives me the time of day when there isn't a new sneaker being released the next day (weird non-relatable reference, sorry). But that's just my whole point, why am I so concerned about what they think of me?  They barely even know me!  Most of the guys I've made out with in the past three months haven't known me at all, but I'm so desperate to make them want to kiss me.  What is that?  That, my friends, is how girls mend their hearts.

I'm not pathetic, I'm NORMAL.  When you're heart is broken because someone doesn't want to be with you anymore, that's a terrible feeling.  It felt like something was wrong with me.  Maybe I'm not pretty enough, or nice enough, or blah blah blah... and I don't have his approval, so I've been looking elsewhere.  A lot of girls do it, and honestly, I think it's okay!  Even if my motivation for going to the gym is flawed, I'm going!  And if I'm taking extra time to do my hair because I want a guy to think that it's actually long instead of hair extensions (no secret, I wear hair extensions), then so be it!

Self-worth is a tricky thing when you're heart is broken when for so long your value was dependent on someone else.  And it's going to take some time to love yourself enough for two people, so until then do it how you feel it... and put on some lipgloss, you never know who's looking.

Dear Best Friend,

I really thought I was in love with you.  Isn't that weird to think about?  We were eighteen, driving to school, watching movies late at night, going to concerts all summer long.  We were the best of friends, but you're a boy and I'm a girl, so in my mind we were meant to be something more.  And I was right, we were meant to be something more, but not in the way I had imagined.

You are more to me than any friend, any boyfriend, anybody on this Earth.  You are a part of me.

When you first told me that you were gay, you put it so eloquently, "it's not that I don't like you, I just don't like what you are." Looking back I feel intense guilt that a moment that should have been about you was suddenly about me.  I feel ashamed that you were nervous to tell me, that you thought I would cry.  What does that say about who I was then?  Was I that selfish?  Now when I look back on that conversation, my eyes do well up because that was the day you became my best friend for a lifetime.

Since that moment, we have shared in every major, minor, mediocre or monstrous happening in each others lives.  The day I left for college and you doubled back to my house for a second goodbye hug.  The day you got into college and called me from the train, secretly in route to surprise me in New York.    The day I moved home from Philadelphia.  The day you moved to Washington.  Every phone call about a boy - your first love, my first love, and every one after that.  Family reunions, dinners, birthdays, holidays, weddings... you're my eternal plus one.

I think about all of the time I used to spending wishing, hoping, praying that you would realize we were meant to be together, and I'm glad for it.  Because we are meant to be together.  You and me. Us. Taking on the world together, because who you are as a person makes me who I am as a person.  You are my reason when I can't think straight.  You are my laughter when my tears are too much.  You're my call-me-anytime.  My "cut the shit, Jane."  My slumber party, defender from bullies, biggest cheerleader and toughest critic.  You are a part of me.

I don't think I thank you enough.  Maybe because I can't thank you enough.  I have grown to be someone I like because I have you in my life.  I am who I want to be because of you.  You are the strongest and bravest man I have ever met, and I am grateful you let me draw on your strength.  You are loyal and kind and beautiful, and I cannot imagine my life without you.

My fear is that I need you more -- that you are all of those things on your own and that I offer nothing in return for your unyielding, unwavering love.  But please know that I am here with you, for you, a part of you forever and a day.

I love you until the moon becomes the sun.

Suppose You Can Get What You Want...

Whenever I find an eyelash on my cheek in the mirror I am sure to make a wish, I take birthday candles very seriously, and I love fortune cookies.  I wouldn't describe myself as superstitious, but rather I have a lot of faith that what is meant for a person finds its way into his or her life.  Fortune cookies, to me, are the best part of sushi nights with my family, chinese food nights with my friends, and are an excellent excuse for mai tais or scorpion bowls.

I always like to say that my former boyfriend and I fell in love over fortune cookies.  He probably would not say that, but I do.  The first time I really remember the two of us having a conversation together was over a fortune.  A common friend of ours ordered chinese food for dinner and offered me the cookie.  Together my former boyfriend and I opened it and read allowed our first fortune together

Your income will increase.

I was disappointed.  I don't like the fortunes that have simple, literal meanings; my former boyfriend on the other hand was beyond excited.  We were getting paid the next day, so in his mind, the fortune was meant for us.  When I went to throw it away he stopped me, "hey, wait... you should save that," so I stuck it in the back of my phone case.  

The next time we got a fortune together was the first time I visited him that summer, the next time he visited me, and the list goes on.  Fortunes were our thing.  We got one last New Years and read it at midnight. We would sneak them from the dining hall for each other on stir fry Wednesdays --  it was our fun little game, and I saved them all.  My favorite one we ever got was from a restaurant in my town.  We stopped there one day on our way back from the grocery store and asked for just one fortune.

Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.  

I should correct my previous statement: I fell in love over fortune cookies.  Ever since we have broken up, I have been less than delighted when my sister and I finish our sushi or my friends' scorpion bowl is empty because my favorite part of Asian cuisine has been tainted.  Fortune cookies started to become a bitter reminder of all of the fun memories we had.  Is it pathetic that cookies started making me sad? Maybe, but they did nonetheless. 

The other day, I went to pick up dinner for my family at the same sushi restaurant near the grocery store where we had gotten my favorite fortune.  While I was there I asked for one extra cookie to open by myself in the car.  This fortune, I told myself, was meant for me.  Whatever it said was going to set the tone for my new life - my new outlook for the year ahead.  I know how cheesy this all sounds, but that's honestly what I did.  I opened the fortune and found a phrase I truly believe was intended for me.

Suppose you can get what you want...

At first I thought that the universe was telling me that if I want to get back together with my former boyfriend I can, but then I took a second look.  My fortune is telling me that I can, without a doubt, find what I'm looking for.  I should never settle.  I can find someone, something, anything that makes me happy as long as I know what I want and I accept nothing less.  So for now, I don't know exactly where to find what I'm looking for but it's out there; and I'll find it in the unlikeliest of places because our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks. 

Two Emotions

I recently started following an Instagram account of a boy that I go to school with.  While looking through his photographs I saw that eleven weeks ago he shared seven pictures of white lined paper on which he wrote his most personal fears.  I was awestruck.  He mentioned in the caption of the first picture that he was inspired by an artist that had done something similar and he felt like it was "something he had to do" - as if sharing his fears in a public way would help him feel less afraid.  I was beyond impressed by the honesty of his list, and have been inspired to create my own.  I'm not sure that writing down my fears will have the same as confronting them, but it is certainly worth a shot.

I am afraid.

I am afraid at all time that people do not like me.  I always assume that a person's first impression of me is negative and I am constantly worried that people speak negatively about me when I leave a room.

I am always fearful of entering social situations.  Before entering a social setting I spend about ten minutes mentally preparing for what we will be doing, who will be there, and how I anticipate acting.  My good friends know that I "rev myself up" before any event, even if it is just watching a movie with them.  I become flustered when plans change or if I am in contact with people I was not prepared for.  "Bumping into" someone I was not expecting is my worst nightmare.

I am afraid that my mother will never allow herself to be fully happy.  Ten years after my father passed away she began going on dates.  After about four dinners with the same man she stopped dating entirely claiming that she "felt like she was cheating on someone."  What an amazing tribute to my parents' love; however, it makes my heart sad that my mother thinks she cannot find love again.  I'm afraid that she is missing out on happiness because she is holding onto something that she will only have again after this life.

I am afraid that I will never find a love like my parents'.

I am afraid that I will always care more, love deeper, and give unconditionally.  I am afraid that no one will ever feel the same way for me, and that I will emotionally exhaust myself for others who will not or cannot reciprocate.

I am afraid I will lose myself.  Each time I hit a bump in the road, I am completely derailed.  I do not handle tragedy, separation, or major changes with poise, and my behavior and way of looking at the world is ultimately altered.  It takes months for me to recover, but I eventually find my way back to my faith, my family, and myself.  I am afraid that my mind is not strong enough. That someday something will happen - the final straw - and I will not bounce back.  God-willing, it will not be the loss of another family member…because I truly would not recover.

I am afraid of almost everything.

Being afraid is not always a bad thing.  Fear itself stops us from putting ourselves in harms way.  It is the reason that women are less likely to be victims of crime - we engage in more preventative behaviors because we are afraid.  Fear, however, is debilitating.  It stops us from taking the good risks, as well.  It is one of two emotions in this world that both protects us yet leads to our demise; the other is love.  The combination of the two can be deadly or exhilarating, but it is hard to tell where one stops and the other begins.  I fear falling in love again, but I'm also afraid of a life without it.  Unfortunately, until I can get over the former I will be living the latter.

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

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.