transcended.net

I don’t know why I did it. Especially considering the fact that I already commented on it being a bad idea (expletive removed).

I spent the last two hours combing through my archives.

And I came to this conclusion.

That break-up?

It was definitely me.

I don’t remember being that batshit insane…

But apparently I was. It’s all documented and everything. (Although to be fair to myself, there’s clearly a LOT that I left out, a few paragraphs every so often, sometimes with months in between, can only capture so much right? Right?).

I also came to the conclusion that I actually don’t remember my past in much specific detail, just vague notions and hazy impressions. Memory is a tricky thing.

This actually makes me feel better about myself. Incredibly, I am WAY less crazy than I was in college. How did this happen? I have no idea. Seems like most of my issues revolved around trust, sort of a given considering my family history.

But I now routinely send my husband out to social events on his own by my own preference. Including ones that involve partying with the boys (although, the event he was sent off to solo tonight due to my illness is probably more likely to end in hide-and-seek with the kids than anything remotely unseemly). I won’t lie, I still have my flashes of extremely crazy paranoid jealousy, but I am now able to hide them quite well and talk myself down from the inevitable argument ledge before I get too close.

So what changed? No clue. Maybe it’s something about Paul or maybe I was finally ready to let some of that stuff go. Maybe the constant jealousy just became too exhausting to sustain. Maybe it’s a function of being older and more removed from the root cause of those feelings.

The point is, as much as I sometimes feel like I’m running in place, I have been moving forward all this time after all. And in the spirit of moving forward, I think I’m pretty much done talking about all of this now. No promises, of course.

Kind of glad right now that very few people read this anymore as I have the very distinct feeling that I will be quite embarrassed by all this feverish writing when I look back in a few days.

I suppose this is some sort of disclaimer, but be warned, the following post is long and well, I had a fever when I wrote it.

This recent self-induced emotional meltdown has left me doing something that I don’t normally do a lot of.

Wondering if I should regret my past.

Wondering if somehow, this is all my fault.

If I really am nothing more than the sum of my past mistakes.

Year end is here, and for most that means time to make new year’s resolutions.

I have to be honest with you, I have never been a big resolution maker. This is for a variety reasons I really don’t have the energy to go into right now, but I do think I will make a few this year and hopefully have them be the type of lifestyle changes you can actually stick with. I was thinking one would be to regularly get on the treadmill, even if it’s only for half an hour a day before Paul comes home. I need some of those endorphins I keep hearing about…for I am depressed, remember?

Sigh.

More so than resolutions though, year end has me reflecting on the past. For some reason I keep thinking back to my life seven years past from the present. My last year in college. A turning point, really. That fine line between being a carefree student and being an adult. Could 21 year old Joyce have predicted my life today? It would have been impossible, really. It’s kind of amazing to quantify the unexpected turns that life takes, it’s really pointed out to me the fact that all these illusions of control that I have are just that, illusions. The fact that I couldn’t have known what my life would be like today, simply because none of what I have now existed at that time. Seven short, long years ago.

Career
Let’s see, six months out from finishing a BA in Political Science. I hadn’t even gone to the meeting that would lead to my internship with the fundraiser so I didn’t know that was out there. I probably had no clue what I was going to be doing when I graduated, other than moving back up to the Bay Area to be close to the bf. Instead, I got the internship, he broke up with me and I decided to stay in LA and go full-time after graduation.

All of that was somehow feasible. Political/non-profit fundraising was not a stretch considering my degree and interests. Where I am today? Not so much.

As much as I hated math and did my best to avoid classes that involved numbers, how could I have predicted getting an advanced degree in International Finance? And now, selling bonds to banks and money managers?

I will say this, I definitely make a lot more money than I thought I would!

Health
Don’t think there was any way for me to know then, what faces me now. Actually, if I’m remembering the timeline correctly, there was one hint at the time, the ache in my elbow joint which a K.aiser doctor chalked up to tendonitis (not that this is his fault, I had no other symptoms so this diagnosis made the most sense).

(Shit. I just went through my archives to see if I had written anything about it because, honestly, my memory is fuzzy on this one. That was a really bad fucking idea.)

Love
I suppose that’s as good a segue as any to discussing E. E was a turning point in my life all on his own. We had been together a little over two years, I think, at that point, but what I didn’t know (or perhaps I did) was that it was probably already over by then. I think I can honestly say that he was the first person I loved in the mature sense of the word. When he was on active duty I think we were more both on the same page. We wanted to be settled, and for him, I think he needed it really. And maybe that’s why he was with me at all to begin with. I was there. But then life happened and I guess that was that.

It’s unbearably sad to come to the realization that regardless of how you feel, time has run out. Especially when you had allowed yourself to envision a future together. In fact, that is probably what I was envisioning seven years ago as since I didn’t even know the hubby was out there until six months later.

Is it a problem that I’m afraid I still have some latent issues with this that need to be dealt with? There are still so many questions I never asked. It all revolves around not being good enough. As I watched the end of 500 Days of Summer today, I suddenly became panicked. Wondering, how will I react when he is inevitably settled (like in the end of the movie when Summer is married). We’re getting older. It has to happen at some point. Will it hurt less because I have moved on? Because so much time has gone by that I can reasonably conclude that it wasn’t about me but simply timing? Or will it still feel like a judgement against me? That something about me was too broken to really love. Because I think that that’s the real reason this has continued to haunt me. Where did I fail? What could I have done?

I know this is something I should just let go of, but I guess I haven’t been able to because it cuts at a very raw nerve, the part of me that feels I don’t deserve to be loved because I barely loved myself all those years.

The truly twisted thing? I think I continue to dwell on this (despite the fact that I really DON’T want to be back with E) because that broken part of me? It likes when I feel things that reinforce the brokenness. With Paul? There is no question the boy loves me. I know he would do anything for me. With Paul, I’ve always known exactly where I stand. And so that extremely fucked up part of my brain is unable to get its jollies and thus reverts to questioning the past.

Apparently, that is how desperate I am to make myself feel bad.

Awesome.

None of this is a knock on E. His reasons made sense, and he never made any promises to me (as I just read in my very own words, he told me when he got back from the sandbox that he didn’t want to put anything into us anymore, I think I blocked that shit out). He was quite dignified about the whole break-up and really, I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. He’s one of the good guys. But I think that made it harder for me at the time too. It’s hard when you can’t be angry. And no matter what, when someone dumps you, you can’t help but figure it has to be you right? Perhaps if you were prettier, taller, smarter, less opinionated, more…whatever, you get the point. It’s easy to feel bad about yourself, especially when you have no animosity towards the other person.

And the little masochistic goblin inside of me loves it.

The rest of me? Not so much.

It’s just not me. I don’t believe in regrets. I have too many good things in my life today, things that I wouldn’t have had I lived my life differently. I’m the type that thinks about the past quite frequently, nostalgia is a companion I know well, but for the most part that’s just what I feel. Nostalgia. Not regret.

I realize that a lot of what I just wrote is quite contradictory. Part of me loves to regret and part of me can’t understand regret. Part of me loves to feel like everything is all my fault, and the rest is mature enough to realize that certain things are out of your control.

I never got anywhere by running away
I never learned anything without a mistake
I never loved anyone by playing it safe
It’s a long way down, but I’m here right now

I think because of this dark place I’ve been in, the new year means a little more to me this year than it has before. I’m hoping it really can be the turning of a page. The year that I am healed, physically, spiritually, emotionally. Not miraculously, but because I quit being scared of failure and give it my best.

So, here goes nothing
Here goes everything
Gotta reach for something or you’ll fall for anything
Take a breath, take a step
What comes next?
God only knows
But here goes

Maybe that’s the whole point of this quarter-life crisis. To remind me, that for better or worse, the bulk of the “growing-up” years are over for me now. Excuses don’t get you very far as an adult. And if I don’t “fix” myself now, when it matters, I will regret it when it’s too late to do anything about it.

I don’t want to turn around
And wonder what happened
Never lost and never found are one and the same
I wanna run across the battle lines
And take my chances
Not the long way around
When I’m here right now

I think I’ve actually come quite a long way from seven years ago. Back then, I was mired in regret and self-hatred. That’s why it’s so hard to read my archives from those days, because it’s so clear how lost I was. At least, it ebbs and flows now. It’s no longer my identity. I guess you can add that to the list of things I couldn’t have imagined seven years ago.

And what good is chance, not taken?
And what good is life, not living?
And what good is love, not giving?

Here goes nothing
Here goes everything
Gotta reach for something
Or you’ll fall for anything

Not to get too philosophical on you right out of the gate here, but do you ever get the distinct impression that you are a bit of string twisting in the wind and God is a cat?

Because that pretty much sums things up for me right now.

I’ve also suddenly developed a fear of social networking. I pretty much stopped going on FB. I may or may not have nearly had a panic attack today when I signed onto AI.M for three seconds before my tongue started to go numb and I logged off.

Yes, I meant like an actual panic attack. Hence, the shocking conclusion that, I might just be a little depressed.

Unfortunately, I recognize this place.

But luckily, I know I can come out of it. Eventually.

Perhaps I am merely stating the obvious at this point.

I am depressed.

I just can’t get my head in the right place.

It doesn’t even help that at this point I’ve analyzed my own state of my mind so much that I know precisely why (something which I still plan to elaborate on at a later date TBD).

I still can’t help torturing myself with the past. I still can’t get myself to focus on what’s really bothering me, can’t even think about it at all really. As much as old ghosts still seem to haunt me, the uncertainty of the future must hurt more.

Anyway, today, it all just clicked in my mind. Barely eating. Waking up every night around 1-2am and only kind of sleeping the rest of the way til 4am (I go to bed around 9pm so it is 4-5hrs but I’m the type that needs at least seven solid hours of sleep to feel rested). Tearing up all the time, over pretty much anything (including inappropriate times when I am surrounded by people men at work, luckily I’m pretty sure no one has noticed yet).

I actually considered looking up a good therapist – but I don’t know if I’m quite there yet. It’s hypocritical I know, because I’m always recommending that other people try counseling, but I don’t know. I don’t like to talk about my feelings. Period. It makes me uncomfortable. I guess I’m kind of a dude like that. And that’s why ultimately, I’ve never made it past the first couple appointments before finding some reason to never schedule the next one.

In a weird way, I think that’s why I’ve continued to blog all this time. It’s a way for me to send these thoughts out into the world without ever knowing where they end up. Like digital messages-in-a-bottle, if you will.

Besides, like I said, I’ve already figured out what’s really driving all these feelings, what I’m really upset over. What I need to know is how to now FORCE myself to process that, rather than continuing to obsess over the other thing. Because I really don’t like how I feel right now and it’s probably not great for my health (especially the crappy sleep since that inevitably triggers joint pain). The sooner I start to deal with this the sooner I can (hopefully) um, deal with it.

(Quote from This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald)

I hate to admit this, but I don’t think I’m very happy right now.

Quarter-life crisis? Fancy meeting you here at the corner of my youth and middle-age.

I was watching this movie Post-Grad on HBO, feeling like it was all very relatable until suddenly it hit me. I’m almost seven years out from my under-grad days and I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count as being a “post-grad” anymore. I think now it’s just called Being A Real Adult.

It doesn’t seem so long ago that I lived a life of very little responsibility. I was basically responsible for making it home at night in one piece, a task that I, luckily, always managed to do (I confess, there were nights where luck was a bigger factor than others). I had only a vague picture of what my future would look like, in fact I really only had one piece of it worked out (all revolving around the ex, clearly things did not go according to plan) and otherwise the possibilities were endless.

I think this is actually one of the things that scared me the most about buying a home – that feeling of being so completely tied down. Not just to a state or city, but to an actual specific location, an address. I probably never would have run off to Paris for a year, but now I really won’t. Because I have a mortgage to pay. And a property tax bill. And I have a Real Job, also known as My Career, which I can’t blow off the way I probably could have a few short years ago.

I’m not complaining. Really, I’m not. Okay, so I am, a little bit, but my life is good, I know this. Everytime I walk by an old person collecting cans out of the garbage, I feel like the asshole that I am for even having the nerve to bitch silently in my head about this stuff. But I’m just being honest in saying that I do.

I’m only twenty-eight years old and I feel exhausted. Exhausted by all this responsibility. Exhausted by getting up every day for work in the dark, paying bills, cleaning the house (because, yes, I actually am a pretty good housekeeper now), the mundane every day crap that somehow ends up being your whole life. I feel like I don’t know how I got here, like I just want to go back to the days where the biggest problems I had were having to cram for a test or my boyfriend not calling when he said he would. The days when I was thinner, healthier, younger and mobile.

I know I’m glamorizing it. That it’s better in my head than it was in reality. I mean, let’s see, in my early twenties I lived in crappy, dirty apartments and made no money (even when I had a job!). I would routinely eat bags of chips for dinner and I think I was pretty miserably depressed for large periods of time during college.

Do I really want to go back to that? I think not.

Most days, I like that feeling of being a Responsible Adult. I love that I come home in the afternoons to a clean, organized home, one that I contribute to. And I’m so beyond lucky to have a husband who is quite adept at performing domestic duties and willing to share the load. Most days, I am quite content with where I am career-wise and am happy to have a job that I both like and pays well. I’m glad that I can take care of myself financially, that I can pay my bills and save for the future and so on and so forth.

Most days I am not having a quarter-life crisis, but unfortunately today is not most days.

For the past few weeks I’ve been avoiding writing here.

When I’m honest with myself, it’s because I’m ashamed of the feelings and thoughts I would be immortalizing in some small way. And even if I did decide to talk about them here, I’m not sure I could be as honest as I would want/need to be because of who I know is reading. I’ve even thought about scrapping this place and just starting all over again. A fresh. completely anonymous, start would be nice in so many ways. But I won’t. Because I’m scared of change.

(For anyone out there who might be thinking the paragraph above was directed at them…trust me…it’s probably not. This is really probably not what you think it’s about at all, I promise.)

As such, the post that follows may seem a bit cryptic but that’s because it’s meant to be.

Recently I’ve been participating in one of the more pointless exercises there is – revisiting old wounds (all in the confines of my very own head!). Because really? What could be more fun.

I’ve been finding myself wondering if this is simply a loose-end that will never truly feel put away. If it’s something that I will always allow to hurt me even though I am happy. Even if I know things turned out better.

I’m wondering if I actually like how it makes me feel. Broken. Rejected. Hurt. Maybe it validates what I already feel about myself and that’s why there is something so bizarrely comfortable about feeling like I’m not good enough. And thinking the worst of myself.

Life has been kind of good lately, and perhaps I don’t know what to do with that, so I revert to what I do know.

There is more than just the hurt though, and I think that is really what has always made it so much harder to move completely past.

But what if I’m reliving this shit because even though life appears good right now, I need an outlet for all this fucked-up brokenness I’m feeling inside. I feel like I have no right to complain, and yet I still want to. I have so much. A wonderful husband, a beautiful home, a successful (new) career. I’m scared to think about what’s missing, about how much it eats at me, so maybe instead I think about the last thing I can remember that really hurt. Sort of like pricking your finger when you have a headache. Hoping to use pain to distract from pain.

I swear, I’ve never been a cutter.

And with that, this is what I’m trying hard to make myself believe these days…

You Are More – Tenth Avenue North

There’s a girl in the corner
With tear stains on her eyes
From the places she’s wandered
And the shame she can’t hide

You are more than the choices that you’ve made
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes
You are more than the problems you create
You’ve been remade