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.

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. 

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.

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.