Separation Anxiety

My guess is that at least half of the turmoil I suffer through is caused by separation anxiety. The rest is caused by my own inabilities to be a rational thinker (I'm a very peachy person, guys, trust me). Ironically, those two parts of me kind of like to hold hands quite often. I know what you're thinking: How can someone who is such a little loner be haunted by so many feelings about being apart from another human being? I can't answer that question at all, incidentally. But the thing that most people fail to understand about my case of separation anxiety is that I live in complete fear about 75% of the time.

Being roughly two hours from home (whatever that is, I have multiple homes these days), it's hard. And considering some of the events that have taken place while I have been away from home (and even some things that have occurred while I was home), it can be very scary. And the resulting problem for me is that I am constantly thinking, "Shit, what if that happens again!" or "What if something happens to me and no one is there?"

And I understand that these life events, the things that happened before and the things that will happen in the future are out of my control. There is still that feeling like everything is going to fall to pieces right in the palms of my hands. Sometimes I get the courage to say "Hey, I have these feelings and I wanted you to know because I love you and I'm sorry if it makes you uneasy and I'm sorry if you can't handle it!" But too often it feels like a one-sided conversation.

Me: Please
Me: Please, don't leave me
Me: I need you
Me: I miss you
Me: I love you
Me: Don't break on me 

And that is another thing people don't understand.

Some might consider me clingy or needy or desperate, but that's not the case. I live in fear of being left for dead by the people that take up the most room in my heart. The people that I would jump through hoops for and sacrifice the world for in a blink of an eye if they asked.  It's a living Hell sometimes. 

I don't need for people to understand why I have this anxiety or how I feel when I'm suddenly struck by this immense amount of fear. Most of the time, I don't tell people and it's not something anyone is bound to notice from the outside. And you shouldn't worry about me either. Because you'll see that I'm fine when I'm able to unleash the infinite amounts of love I've been hoarding in my chest since I last saw you. And you'll feel the love. And you'll either give me love back or you won't.

The beauty of separation is that it sometimes makes the heart grow fonder. And the sadness of separation is that sometimes it kills the seeds that you planted long before. But there is always the hope that love will keep it alive.  

Let's keep it alive. 

5 Lessons to Learn From: Monsters University

So, I finally got a chance to head out to Ye Olde Movie Theatre and see the highly talked about and anticipated Monsters University after wanting to see it since its release back in June.

Honestly, with the way that Disney and Pixar have been popping out sequels to classic movies to bring back a crazy case of nostalgia for most college-age young adults all over the world, I was a little unsure of what I was walking into. All of my friends have been raving about how good it is and even seeing it multiple times. I mean, these are people who can barely afford to eat something that isn't Ramen, so them spending $7 or more on multiple movie tickets to the SAME movie had to say something. But, still. I'm not THAT easily persuaded.

But, I have to admit that it was pretty damn adorable. I'm a spoiler-free blogger, so I won't give any of the details away for those who still haven't seen it and want to see it, but I definitely recommend it to any college-goers and families with children.

The great thing about Pixar is that they usually include a bunch of handy life lessons in all their films. MU was no exception to that. After walking away from the dark theater, I felt like I'd actually learned a thing or two. So, here are somethings you may take away from a couple of not-so-scary monsters. 

1. You don't have to be a college graduate or even college-educated in order to be successful and achieve your goals. 

2. Best friends can be found under the strangest circumstances and may be some of the biggest surprises  in this crazy life. 

3. Just because you're the "little guy" doesn't mean you can't do big things and show off some major self-confidence. 

4. Everyone is afraid of something. 

5. Sometimes not having a plan leads to the best things. 

Maybe some of those are silly or I'm just reading way too deep into a children's animated movie. I don't care.

The point of this is you should go check out Monsters University if you haven't already. Also, while we're having this great conversation, tell me in the comments some lessons you've learned from other movies. I'd love to hear some of them! I don't bite (often).

A Salut to the Week Before Dead Week

Welcome to the real world, jackass!

While today marks the first day of a week of brutal hell (with the bursting flames and an ugly, horned Lucifer relishing in my misfortunes) for me, most of my friends and peers won't be feeling the heat until later next week (aka Dead Week aka the week that all the things are due before finals give you a good kick in the junk). I mean, I know Dead Week is going to be terrible, but I'm not even finished with this week, and I'm already throwing myself into the fetal position while cramming a week's worth of food in my mouth at one time and crying all the tears Leonardo DiCaprio has ever cried in any movie ever.

In high school, I never truly experienced a Dead Week because we pretty much kept learning until the very last minute, but, in college, you don't just keep learning. You also continue to do a million assignments that teachers have decided to assign at the very last possible minute. Why, professors? Why?!? I'll never understand the thought process behind this bologna.

In the next 8 days, I have one test, one 8 page paper over a book I haven't finished yet, and a 2000 word short story (that I imagine brutally stabbing at night) due. With all that in mind, you can probably safely assume that I am counting down the days until I am free to not do anything but make cheat sheets  smart study decisions for the two finals I actually have to go take. Meanwhile, I'm trying to calculate what kind of grades I may be able to pull off if I put in half my usual effort. (ha! just kidding. ha! no I'm not).

This week, the Pre-Dead Week Week, is basically the week where my mind is just like "Oh, that can wait until tomorrow! Tonight is definitely the time to start rewatching the second season of Degrassi: The Next Generation even though you've watched it a million times before!"and then I blow off reading from my book or even going to the gym to workout.
It's like the stuff I could be doing to lessen my Dead Week load refuse to be done. Almost like my mind wants to sabotage both my sanity and my GPA. Probably. It wouldn't be the first time my mind has ruined my chances at happiness.

So, pretty much, I'm either going to pull a Carrie and burn the town down, or I'm going to end up doing all the work last minute. Both options are quite tempting, but I really don't have the motivation to do either. So, I guess, here's to the rest of my life. Ugh. 

Release.

[The following is an excerpt from April 1, 2013]

It comes once the sun has risen and the beeping alarm blares once again in my ear. A moment of panic. A moment of mere heartache that thumps and pounds and thrashes inside of my chest at the speed of life. A gust of breath fills my lungs, and I remember why I didn't sleep well and why the gastric acids in my stomach are churning once again. Like every morning since the endless night.

I check my phone. The light blinds me briefly. My eyes adjust. Nothing. 


Am I a skeleton or girl? I cross my toes for luck. Get out of bed.

Please...

I brush my teeth, wash my face in the dark, put on a fresh pair of clothes that don't match or fit correctly because it doesn't matter either way. Like clockwork, I prepare for a day I must face exhausted and dazed and stressed beyond oblivion.  Guzzle 4 glasses full. Put on socks.

Did you put on socks this morning?

Check my email. Spam. Spam. Spam. Worthless school announcements. Spam. Facebook notifications. Spam. Delete my emails. All of them.

Should I eat? Am I hungry? Do I need this? I grab a cereal bar and call it a day with a side of multivitamins. Swig and swallow. Wrong pipe. Ouch. 

Did you remember to eat? 

40 days and 40 nights. A sigh of relief. A sigh of desperation calling for one more night, one more touch, one more heartbeat lullaby singing you softly to sleep. Hush. Hush. Don't wake. Don't stir. Hold me closer, tiny dancer....

The agenda is simple. Class. Eat. Class. Eat. Workout. Shower. Sit in wonder, procrastinating away until the due dates zoom in on the points of panic attacks and sleepless nights and falling eyelashes and bags of Sour Patch Kids on my tongue. And I wonder why I'm no fun. 15 minutes to kill.

Did you have a good yesterday? I wanna know. 

My mind blanks. I wonder about why it happened and why me and why you and why us and why the sun still shines even when you're not smiling. Can't stop thinking. I could have stopped this. I could have cried wolf. I could have saved you. Shame on me. Tsk tsk tsk.

Please...

Log-in. Tightened shoelace lungs. Dust bowl tongue. Goosebumps like rockets.

5 hours. 

Release. 

Dream A Little Dream of Me

When I dream, I feel half awake. It kind of feels like I can control what's happening inside my head, but, at the same time, feel the warmth of my sheets or detect that the pillow definitely needs to be flipped to the cooler side. I'm not sure if this can be considered lucid dreaming. My dreams are always a little weirdly realistic. I used to not be able to remember my dreams at all, but then, over time, I suppose, I began to remember more and more.

There is something weird about my dreams, though. If there is a man in the dream that seems to be the one I am "with," I can't see his face. I can hear his voice... It's always a familiar voice. And I know who he is. Sometimes he's someone that I know or have known in the past. Sometimes he's a celebrity figure. Other times, he's just a figment of my imagination.  It's just that when I look up at him, I am blinded. It's like someone somewhere turned the lights right into my eyes. I have to shield myself or look down. It's kind of like when you wake up from a deep sleep, and you reach over to check the time on your phone, and you're just blinded by the illumination of the screen. What does this mean? What does it mean to not be able to look into the eyes of someone in a dream? It's frustrating at times.

I can feel myself yearning to be able to look at this figure in the dream. I know what he looks like. Why can't I just see him with my eyes?

I decided to look into this repetitive element in my dreams. Here's what I found:

According to a bunch of google searches on the subject, I found that being blind in a dream means you are refusing to see the truth about a situation. You are just rejecting something about yourself that you have denied for so long. This makes a lot of sense to me. If I can't see this man's face, maybe I just haven't come to terms with feelings for him... or I'd just rather pretend that they don't exist. To look at him would be to acknowledge that there is a spark or a true desire for him. Then, light, apparently, means clarity or discovering the truth. So, it kind of goes hand-in-hand, right? 

I think it will be interesting when I can finally look him in the face in my dreams... If that ever happens, I'll have to let everyone know.

I think it's fascinating that dreams can just be dreams... and other times, they can act as goggles to see all the weird inner-workings of the mind. It's like your mind wants to reveal secrets and stuff to you while you're asleep. The mind is really cool like that.

Snorts of Love

Have you ever been in infatuation with someone? Maybe a small crush? In like? In love? Whatever you want to call it, most people have experienced that rush of hormones and adrenaline when just the idea or casual name-dropping of Mr.Handsome-Amazing or Miss Tits-and-Ass is out and about. For some people, dealing with these various feelings (or feels, as I like to formally call them) is way easy and second nature. Others might not be so fortunate. Me? Well, I'm one of those poor bastards who can't seem to make heads or tails of anything when it comes to those of the opposite sex (which is why I am 4ever alone and destined to be the neighborhood hag one day), especially when it's a Mr.Mister that I have an abundance of feels for.

For anyone who knows me and spends time with me, you have probably had the amazing opportunity to witness one of my snort-giggle-fits. Ever so often, I'll totally be trying to be cool as a cucumber when suddenly someone (usually the one I fancy... maybe just anyone who makes me feel good) will say something funny or cute and I'll catch the snorts. It's uncontrollable. Once I start snorting, it can be hard to stop. I probably look like I am one of those patients on House MD that just has seizures every 5 seconds until the end of the episode (which is when House suddenly connects all the dots to the medical mystery and cures the patient of their enigmatic case), and everyone is just waiting around to see if they'll ever stop. So, naturally, it's terribly awkward and embarrassing for me when they happens. Like, can I please just be excused from ever having to talk to anyone ever again so this doesn't happen ever again? Thanks.

I have a great fear of rejection. I can tell you right now that if I am in like with you or if I want to skip all the socially acceptable steps of courting rituals and just elope to Vegas and pop out a couple of babies with you, you might never actually hear me say any of that. Of course, I am fully aware that if people never know how you feel, you will never go anywhere, and that's really no fun when you think long and hard about it. Still, my fear cripples me. (This is where my best friend Bruce will proceed to palm-face himself... or worse... out of frustration).

The thing, though, is that even when I think the other person might like me just a bit (maybe even tolerate my presence, if I'm lucky), I still don't make a move. Why? Trust issues! I don't trust my gut. I don't trust myself. I don't trust anyone. Point. Blank. (Well, there are other reasons, but, like... those don't matter)

A drawing from The Twits? Maybe... or maybe a diagram of hag evolution!

But, I think it all goes back to the snorts. When they'll strike, nobody knows! So, I'd rather just pretend that men don't exist (or that if they do exist, they all just suck and don't deserve my love) and that my feelings don't matter and that there are benefits to being the neighborhood hag who lets her tits sag because there aren't men to impress.

So, if you take anything from this, take this: I'm probably secretly in love with you. That's all. Nothing else to see here.

*snort*