ramblings of a worrier

There are a few things that we never EVER hate hearing, no matter where we are in life:

• I love you
• You’re beautiful.
• You’re awesome. Seriously.
• I look forward to seeing you.
• Keep doing what you’re doing.
• I believe in you.
• We’re rooting for you.
• You look like you love what you do.
• You make me happy.
• There’s no one else I’d rather be with, than you.

To name a few. Think of more; add your own. Think of the last time you heard any of these, and remember that no one can love you that way that you love you. So love you. 

Then, love others.

So if you know me, you know that while I am one of the most sarcastic and ALMOST mean people you will ever meet, I am also one of the most supportive friends on the planet. I’m ALMOST awkwardly supportive. Seriously. I think it all started (and ended) when I was child, and my parents weren’t terribly supportive, so I vowed that I would be the opposite in that regard.

I just take it to another level.

Before I ramble myself into a weird post, I am writing to say please please PLEASE support the writer of this short story [Cardigan Blues] at the link here: http://www.brokenpencil.com/deathmatch-2013/cardigan-blues

He is entering a contest, where you can vote here: http://www.brokenpencil.com/deathmatch-2013-round1 

I LOVE seeing people I know succeed, so if you so feel inclined (and you should) to read an awesomely poignant story that leaves you scrolling for more, check it out. Seriously. 

Ok, I’ve gushed enough, but honestly check it out and vote!

NOW, I’ve gushed enough.

I was talking to one of my friends, and that got me thinking, which as you know is an overriding theme in my life. But it got me thinking about some stuff. Let me rewind a touch and tell you what we were talking about.

So there is this girl that he is meant to be with for all intents and purposes, but for an assortment of reasons, it just hasn’t worked. Whether it be career goals, distance, or just general upheavals, there is a common thread of it being the wrong time. 

Timing.

How many things have been ruined by terrible timing? How many relationships have suffered because your timing has sucked? Or the other person’s timing sucks? There is some involved party that just gets it wrong and it just sucks.

It’s like, you’re sitting there pining after someone or something, but you know for a fact that timing is not on your side. How do you handle that? I mean, in the mean time you can try to find the next best thing, but why would you want that, when you had the genuine article?

I guess you either wait or move on. Which sucks. Either way.

One of my friends once said to me that I was one of the most deliberate people she knows. I thought that made a lot of sense. I mean I’m not impulsive and trigger happy. Almost everything I do is planned.

Including the name of the blog.

People often come up to me, or read the blog, and they are like, um you misspelled it or they pronounce it “warrior” or they say, yeah you’re totally a warrior. First off, duh. Second off, it’s not warrior.

It’s worrier.

I chose this wording purposefully because I wanted this blog to be a compilation of the random musings of my anxieties and thoughts, not a recipe to for self-actualization or a platform to promote how powerful I am. Hmmm, that didn’t make sense. Let me try to break it down a little differently.

So basically, I worry and stress and am a generally very anxious person. In my daily living, I am excellent at hiding this fact, but the truth is, I get super anxious about a lot of things, which is part of my drive today. But as you know, hiding something can only be healthy for so long, so this blog is simply a wonderful way get my anxieties and rambles off my chest.

The hope is more for you to relate to the stress and anxiety that I deal with on a daily basis (I should really start seeing someone about it), and not necessarily see a solution, but know that you have a friend  in the whole plot of it all. 

I think it makes sense.

So when you read the blog, know that this is the ramblings of a worrier NOT a warrior…this is not to say I’m not a warrior, because let’s be real for a sec: I am, but rather to say that the ramblings are coming from a person who worries about…oh forget it.

Graduating from college is maybe one of the singly most exciting and terrifying moments in any young, educated adults lives. Why do you think there are the 5th year seniors? That guy Freddy who was a senior when you were a freshman…and a senior? The people who seem to take year after year off?

Graduating means that you are supposed to be an adult. It means that suddenly, you are SUPPOSED to have everything figured out and neatly ready to go, tied up in a bow, and ready for lift off…whatever that means. Basically it means you are supposed to have your $#!t together.

Or at least that’s what they tell us.

Truth is most of us who are recent graduates (and some who are not so recent), have no earthly idea what we want to do. When people ask what our plans our, we simply get better at fashioning a fairly non-specific answer that satisfies the askers need to judge. 

And why should we know? We are young 20 somethings who are encouraged, as college grads, that we NEED to make some sort of monumental difference. And maybe we are. Or maybe we’re not. The point is, it is okay to try and take some time to figure it out. 

Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

I graduated recently, and I graduated not really knowing what was in store for me. I mean I was aware of my options; I knew sort of some of the things that I was interested in, but for some reason, the conventional routes did not appeal to me. I knew slash know that what I’m meant to do is different but necessary. Just like me. 

And as time passes, I still am not rushing into something that I know will and can be a grave mistake. You see, I am literally making plans to create a life that should last me for another 60 years AT LEAST. So it would be a crying shame to fall into something that I hate. I want to love what I do, and that takes time to find. 

Time that I have given myself, and as a result, I might have just found IT. 

It’s tough to deal with a situation that you know for a fact is not your fault but through some strange game of chance you happen across more than once. Did that seem vague and oddly unsatisfying?

I know.

Am I going to elaborate? No probably not. But let’s say that you keep getting into these……situations where you are compromised at best and you’re not sure who to tell or if anyone will really believe you.

That’s the worst: when something happens to you and people just don’t believe you. Sometimes it’s not even all that. The sheer fear that no on will believe it is enough to hold in these events. Well I’m here to tell you don’t. Don’t hold it in. Stop that. I mean you too men. You cannot walk around with the weight of the event on your shoulder.

 At some point you have to talk about it. Not for someone to hear but for you to have the chance to process. As a person who is intricately familiar with holding it in I have to say that it is bad. It makes you bitter and angry and it starts to shut down and retard a part of your emotions and psyche that was once alive.

For me writing used to be my only escape, but I can’t write details. I can’t say names and scream on the web. (Uppercase letters aren’t enough). So then I started opening up a tiny bit to friends but still not enough. Then I opened up a slight bit more. Then a traumatic event led to a therapist. And while I’m back to just writing and friends, I’m just not where I need to be.

Look I need to grow and become a slightly better human being and I’ll admit that I need help. But am I bold enough to let anyone really in?

I’m optimistic. I really am. I’m honest but I’m optimistic. I’m not one of those people that can let defeat have the last word.

No matter how much of a smart ass defeat is.

I believe that I’m awesome and though I might have some seriously unawesome moments, at the end of the day, I am what I am and that is awesome.

I’m rambling per usual, but I really wanted to get into optimism and how desperately hard it is to maintain. So not too long ago, I got into what one could only describe as drama via the web which of course is one of the most petty and mindless ways to disclose a problem but alas that is the world we live in.

Anyways this drama led to a flurry of emotions that ended with me being confused and shocked as to why this took place. The whole event was eating away at me for reasons I couldn’t quite name until one day in a moment of brilliance I figured it out.

She was every bully I had encountered in my life, or rather she resembled parts of every bully I had encountered. She held the underhanded and attention seeking face that I had once been all to familiar with. The difference was that I had come to realize my sheer and impeccable awesomeness.

Is the wise words of Rick Ross “these ninjas can’t hold me back”. I refuse to put stock in the words of a person who has yet to discover who they are. Instead I’ll use her as a lesson to all who once thought the mere breathe and noise people call words could be anything but just well breathe and noise.

People will forever throw shade and hate and malice and anger and jealousy and plain old meanness at you but the utter optimism that this is not the worst gives me precisely the awesomeness I need to say…….

I have an interesting dilemma of sorts. I’m realizing more and more everyday that how I look has NOTHING to do with how I act and speak and just am.

I’m getting this strange feeling that my tall, strikingly chocolate countenance is somehow mismatched with my quirky, awkward, and off the wall personality. It’s almost disconcerting. It’s like, these dudes ESPECIALLY see me, and they get “intimidated” (a story for another day), or that I am possibly the most beautiful thing in the world since Stonehenge.

And that may be true.

I honestly think that I exude something that says look at me, and I’m pretty sure it’s in a not bad way. I refuse to be modest because then I would be lying, and I am no liar. So anyway, here I am exuding this joie de vivre, looking like a scrumptious hersheys, that drips sexy words and turns of phrases. 

I might be the type of girl to say, “How are you today. I haven’t seen you in so long. Let’s get together for dinner tomorrow.” And then sexily lean down and rummage ever so sexily in my sex bag and realize that I have no sex pen and sex paper, so you HAVE to write your number on my sex boob. 

Or

I could be the girl who sits in the back of the classes with the silky tresses and red dress, and trenchcoat, gracefully gliding through life. 

Instead, I choose to have ridiculous conversations that include, but are not limited to: ducks, babies, underwear, masturbation, silk stockings, thrift stores, stairs, swindles, Rick Ross, Chingy for prez, rapist vans, strangers smooches, red Ford Explorer, ivory coast rapper, shoes, and any number of random, but equally delightful topics that render me un-sexy, all while wearing a man shirt, and this might be a teensy bit strange.

I would say that this is the part where I attempt to make one match the other, but that simply will not happen. I like and my contradictionary life WAY too much.