- Go Ziplining
- Leave the country
- Fall in love with the right guy
- Find my purpose
- Graduate college
- Decide which direction I want my career to be in
- Learn to be completely vulnerable to a spouse. No facade. No pushing away. No snarky comments. 100% vulnerable and loving and open even if its so far out of my comfort zone.
- Become a role model for someone
- Swim with sharks
- Scuba dive in The Great Coral Reefs
- Fly in a hot hair balloon
- Learn how to surf (even though I’m from the beach and should probably already know how to do this…. this also means I must overcome my fear of the water lol)
- Become a mom
- Ride an elephant
- Talk to a serial killer (while they are obtained. I know this is sadistic but this is one of my possible career paths so hop off!)
- Find a reason every day for the rest of my life to be happy
- Go to every state in America
- Never stop reading books
- Never stop learning new things
- Own a home (which has a library filled with all kinds of books)
- Learn how to play the piano
Us girls grew up watching movies where the main actress always fell in love with the asshole and she continuously failed to see The Other Guy standing by her side. This Other Guy, he was such a good guy. He could care for the girl like no one else could and love her more than she thought was capable. As a viewer, it was infuriating watching because that never happens, we always recognize the good guys who deserve our love when we see them… Or so I thought.
I have a good guy. He cares about me. He treats me well. He wants to spoil me although I don’t let him. God he’s such a good guy. And the thing is I want to like him so badly. I want to return those feelings he has expressed so deeply for me but the truth of the matter is, another guy has my heart. And he doesn’t even know it…. But maybe he does?
This guy is no good guy: he is textbook definition of “a fuckboy.” He plays with my emotions and maybe he does know he holds the combination to the safe hiding the key to unlock the chains that have forever surrounded my heart. So why do I like this Fuckboy? Why do I like him when I have that Other Guy, The Nice Guy vying for my attention? I have told myself countless times, rationally speaking who is better to have feelings for (Spoiler alert: it’s The Nice Guy). But all those cliches I’ve learned since before I can even remember keep replaying in the back of my head: Ultimately, I have to have trust in what my heart is feeling and forget about what my head is trying to piece together.
My heart is telling me The Fuckboy makes me laugh. My heart is telling me The Fuckboy gives me butterflies. My heart is telling me I would rather love The Fuckboy with every ounce of my being even if it ended in my heart being broken more than it’s every been broken before. I’m willing to be vulnerable for him and open my heart up to him if he gives me the chance.
I have this chance with The Nice Guy but the difference is I don’t want this chance with him. Like I’ve said, I want to like him so badly but at the end of the day I have to be honest with myself and the truth is we just don’t mesh well as a couple.
One day I will find a man that makes me laugh and makes me want to love like The Fuckboy but he will also love me more than I ever thought capable like The Other Guy. I will find another Other Guy one day and he’s going to make me happier than I’ve ever been in my life and I can’t wait for that day. But in the meantime, I can’t wait for the journey to find him, even if it means breaking hearts and getting my heart broken.
It’s 12:02am on June 16th, 2016. It is officially my least favorite day of the year: my birthday. I hate my birthday. I can’t explain why, I just do. It almost makes me mad when my friends and family ask what I want to do, saying we HAVE to celebrate. But why? See I think the thing I hate most about birthdays is they are so impersonal. We choose to celebrate people for one day every year on a date that was decided by chance. Can you imagine if we didn’t know when anyone’s birthdays were?! We would choose to celebrate people whenever we wanted because we think they deserved to be celebrated! That would mean so much more and would actually be personal. When my friends say we should celebrate on the anniversary of my birth, they are only saying that because they think that’s what we are supposed to do. I would appreciate a card so much more on February 7th or August 10th or whatever random day of the year because it lets me know someone was thinking of me because they wanted to and not because they were supposed to. I am not a year older; I’m a day older. I shouldn’t be celebrated; merely surviving doesn’t deserve to be celebrated. I am not any wiser because of my age; I learn through my experiences, not my age. It is now 12:20 on June 16th, 2016. It is still my least favorite day of the year. Although I hate birthdays, I still want to make a wish. I wish one day I’ll live in a world where my life is celebrated based on my accomplishments, the value of my friendship, and on not just surviving but truly living on a day that means absolutely nothing because my friends and family thought I deserved it. But since who ever reads this now knows my wish, I won’t be surprised when it never comes true.
There have been countless of times when I have said, “That was the funniest moment of my life”, “They are the nicest person I have ever met”, or “That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” We are all guilty of it, I know it’s not just me. But have you ever stopped and thought about who really is the nicest person you have ever met? Do I actually have a funniest moment of my life? Was that truly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me?
All of my blogs thus far have been thoughts, ideas, beliefs I have thought a lot about before. However, I’m laying in bed right now, reflecting on my life: the good, the bad, new friends, forever goodbyes, role models, best friends (both those of the human and furry nature) and I randomly thought about something incredibly sweet one of my friends did for me. And I wanted to write about it because honestly, writing about a minuscule moment in my life which doubles as the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me is about a million times better than the thoughts floating in my head pre-blog.
When I was 16 years old, my dog was 17. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out given this math, my dog was there my entire life; I had never lived a day without him. When I was 16 years old, I came home from school at lunch one day because it was time for me to say my forever goodbye to my furry best friends (remember noted above, I was reflecting on life about both of those things). Cooper, my dog, was not only my best friend, but my cuddle buddy, partner in crime since the womb, and I loved him so much, dog was my first word as a baby. Not ‘mama’ not ‘dada’ but dog. My theory is even as a baby, I understood dogs would become my greatest love in life and best friends that never disappointed and only loved you unconditionally, flaws and all.
So back to my point, sweetest moment ever: I said goodbye to Cooper and I was devastated. I cried so much my eyes were swollen shut the next morning. All my friends knew how much Cooper meant and still means to me. I got apology texts, endless hugs, hand written cards from good friends, even a Jamba Juice giftcard, but nothing compared to what my best friend Sara got me.
I had been crying all day and she just wanted put a smile on my face. She bought my my favorite coffee and snack from Starbucks and put the name “Fat Amy” on the order (Pitch Perfect is one of my Top 3 favorite movies and I may or may not aspire to be like Fat Amy… Okay not actually but she’s fucking hilarious). It was something so simple but it made me smile on the worst day thus far in my life. It has always stood out in the years since and I think it will be one of those things I never forget. And why should I? It was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.
Do you think suicide is considered a selfish act? I don’t, however my opinion is bias because I have suffered from depression in the past and have attempted suicide. That being said, I still believe with my current healthy state of mind, my attempts to end my life were anything but selfish and here’s why:
Depression is an uncontrollable disease. Many people think the victims chose to end their own life, take matters into their own hands, control their fate but those people couldn’t be more wrong. The victims don’t make that decision… No the thing that makes the decision is the disease that has brainwashed them into hating their lives, convincing them the most rational option to ending their pain is ending their life.
It is easy for a rational person to say that suicide is selfish. I get where they are coming from, I really do. Those that leave us are leaving their loved ones to deal with the pain of them being gone. They think those who are depressed have given up and are tired of trying, which may be true but unless you have experienced severe depression that made you contemplate living, you can never understand the victim’s viewpoint. I wish I could try to explain it, however it is nearly impossible to convey that perspective. There are no words, there are no emotions because when you’re in that mindset, you feel nothing: you are empty. And let me tell you, I’d rather be devastated, bawling, feeling something than to feel empty ever again.
When people tell me they think suicide is selfish, I always ask them isn’t it selfish of us not just asking, but expecting them to live with their pain just to spare our own? Medicine, therapy, and the support of our family and friends may temporarily alleviate the hardships. However it is important rational people understand there is no escaping depression, it is the shadow that is constantly following you.
Depression is a disease, like cancer. When an individual successfully takes their own life, it is another way in which the disease wins. Unfortunately we lose loved ones to cancer everyday, yet when they pass away, it isn’t viewed as selfish… Because it isn’t! It is just another way the disease wins. A disease claiming it’s victim through suicide isn’t the conventional way most people believe in but that doesn’t make it any less true. Depression is a disease that makes you feel like your only option is giving up. This disease makes you hate everything so much after perpetually feeling empty that you just want to be happy again. You crave happiness, but it doesn’t matter what you say or what you do, you just can’t find it. Depression wins when it successfully convinces its sufferer that something irrational does in fact seem sensible and that is that death is the only viable answer.
Having depression is like drowning. You feel like there is no room to breathe and when you try to swim to the surface for air you end up getting pulled further and further down. And the worst part about depression is you see everyone up above, able to swim, able to breathe, able to survive but they don’t see you fighting the seemingly impossible. So to say suicide is selfish… Well frankly it’s ignorant. I will never agree with one’s decision to end their own life, however I will always understand it.
I hate you……
- I hate you because you made me different, and not in the good way.
- I hate you because smiling and laughing became a chore.
- I hate you because you made me hate the sport I love more than anything.
- I hate you because you made me pull away from my friends.
- I hate you because you made me pull away from my family.
- I hate you because you made me hate everything and anything that brought me happiness.
- I hate you because you gave me an excuse to sleep all day.
- I hate you because you kept me awake all night.
- I hate you because you never let my mind stop thinking and feeling and hating and hurting.
- I hate you because you made me cut myself.
- I hate you because you made me actually feel like I was alone.
- I hate you because you had me thinking I was the problem, not the disease eating away at every good thought, memory, and relationship I had.
- I hate you because you made me hate myself.
- I hate you because you made me try to kill myself.
- I hate you because you still have me living in fear that I will fall victim to your games again.
- I hate you because you loved to see me cry.
- I hate you because for a time, I didn’t hate you; you were my excuse to do the unthinkable.
- I hate you because you had me convinced it was a bad idea to tell anyone what I was dealing with.
- I hate you because you turned good, happy people into one of your little puppets not only controlling their lives, but also destroying them.
- I appreciate you because you made me a strong, confident fighter who after years of suffering is able to enjoy the smallest joys in life and can assertively say, she would kick your ass if you tried to destroy her life again.
Nine years later and he still visits her every month on her “anniversary”
and every month, he cries as if it were the day she had to say goodbye.
It’s hard to see the person you love most in this world
ready to give up anything to be reunited with the person they love most in this world.
His love for her has never wavered, not in over sixty years
and I’m sure of that because I can still see the sadness in his eyes nine years later.
Death is something we all experience; death is inevitable
but that doesn’t make it any easier when you lose someone you love.
He has always visited her on the 22nd of each month
and he will continue to visit her on the 22nd of each month until he has to say goodbye.
He will continue to cry until he has no tears left,
he will continue to grieve until he no longer has a reason to grieve,
and his heart will continue to be broken until the day he takes his last breathe.
When he has no tears left, no reason to grieve, and a fixed heart full of joy,
it’ll be the day he decides to give up;
it’ll be the day he’ll know he’ll soon be reunited with the forever love of his life.
But that’s what terrifies me most
him giving up….
The thought of losing my everything,
the thought of losing the person I’ve always cared most for in this world
the thought of losing the person that saved me
from doing the one thing I’ve always truly wanted to do.
It was the sorrow in his eyes on the 22nd of every month
that kept me from making him cry every month on my anniversary.
It was the sorrow in his eyes that taught me to fight.