(no subject)
Pausing to listen to the voice inside...
Sometimes, most times, I am really very critical of myself.
No. it’s true.. I like to laugh and make light of any type of situation, except the situation that’s in my head. I know, how emo, right?
I have all of my ducks in the row for school, yet I tell myself that I’m never actually going to make it to the goal line - that I’ll fail in the end, but I might as well keep trying, trying, trying until they figure out what a farce I am, what non-scholarly material I really am. “They” - I don’t even know who “they” are… teachers who grade a paper telling me that I cheated, that I don’t (or can’t) possibly have any new ideas, no creativity, that I should make this my hobby not my job, that I can’t compete against the other brainiest in my field. “Them.”
Meanwhile, I know I’m totally socially inept. I know I am. Conversations. I have this thing where if I know myself and someone else, say someone from high school or someone form one of my classes, talks. I keep it all very short and distant because I know nothing can possibly come out of that relationship. Besides, I’m that socially inept person in class.. who wants to be her friend? Yeah, the catch-22 of it all.
Attractive. I’ve never, ever, seen myself as attractive, as a “catch” or as that girl that the waiters hit on. I’ve seen myself as the fat girl that my dad, on a bad night, told me I’d never have a boyfriend. I’m that fat girl that everyone laughed at the possibility of someone being attracted to. Yet, I know.. I know there’s someone for every,fucking,type,of person out there. I know it. I fear that this insecurity is there, to stay, inside for the rest of my days. Like.. a monster haunting me. Funny thing is, while I know I’m overweight, I know I’m not FAT or unattractive. I just can’t believe it. I know I’m not that girl who weighs 240lbs, like in high school. But, I still have the stretch marks to show for it all. I have the not perfect body to show for it all. Mostly, I have the insecurity to show for it all.
I’m fighting myself. I’m fighting my demons inside. Not every day, just days where I allow myself admit to myself what’s going on. Not that I walk around in some dream, simply that I have confident out-going days, and then there’s that one or two days that are blah.
Last week… I ate more ice cream than I’d like to admit. Oh my god. It’s like.. I was brain dead from writing papers so that was a excuse (note, I ate while I was writing, so I don’t think I even really ENJOYED it…)
Change. Change. Change. I want change. I weight more than I want to- I walk around feeling like I have a fat suit on, like I’m having a hard time moving in these jeans that feel tighter than they should. I feel like there’s a more athletic more ambitious more courage-filled person just underneath the surface. I striving to break free of the bad habits of the insecurity, of the swimming in a ocean of constant issues. I’m tired of using food as an escape.
School’s out in a week. One week. Post finals, and post graduation stuff, I’m going to make a change in my lifestyle. I’m going to be working more. I’m going to pay more attention to what I wat. I’m going to journal regularly, regarding food and emotional issues. I set myself a goal of 10 14ers this summer (some of which are in groups of 3, one of which is a memorial 14er). Maybe it’s impractical, but I’ve also set the goal of not thinking so lowly of myself. I need goals. I need purpose. I want 10 pounds off, to. It’s my “summer of 10.” If I get more mountains, great.. if I get more pounds, great. But while I feel like I have to prove myself to “them” I’m really only working so hard to prove myself to me. To me. To myself, to Mudge - prove that I’m worth it, that life’s worth living.
I need to find me again. I feel a little lost. I’m commonly flashing back to who I was before I was dating, when I was climbing and backpacking so often. When I didn’t have a car and took the bus or walked everywhere. When I was social with out thinking about it. Some things have changed.. I think that being as social as I was took it’s toll on me. I’m also not drinking, like I was then, to be “cool” and “social.” I wonder who I am, as a individual, and who I would be as a single, individual, today. I have to show myself that I am, in fact, a strong, human being that other people would want to know. Because, the truth is: if I can’t see the woth and value of myself, no one can.
A lot of life has changed over the last like.. year. Relationships have changed, I feel that (although it’s not directly talked about) friendships have been lost to a lack of energy on both participants parts, I feel like other friends have forgotten me even though it’s not intentional and even tho I keep waiting and knocking and waiting for when they’re ready. Meanwhile, I’ve started making new friends. I’m working on trying to trust people more, and judge them.. and myself.. less.
My first step in proving to myself that I could do something was to pass this Spanish class. I know… it sounds retarded. But that was the only class that made me feel like the dunce in the class room. It was the only thing that I’ve failed out while trying so so hard. And now, I’m at the top of my class, and I can (try) to speak (though, no pronounce) with confidence.
Life is to short. And death, it has touched my heart and soul. I need change. I need change like a prisoner needs to break free of their cuffs. I’m guilty, guilty of seeing myself as less valuable than I’m worth. I’m guilty of waiting my life. I’m guilty. No more guilt, no more chains, only freedom. Life is worth living, and laughing, and loving. Sensual and emotional pleasures are worth seeking, and are far more valuable than the emotional turmoil of wallowing in self-pity and insecurities.
Likewise, life is worth living,… so much so that despite how many people have died around me, who’s mentally ill, and how distant it’s all made me from people… I cannot allow it to control me, to lead me through fear. Another funeral can only be another beginning, and another end can only give birth to something worth writing home about.
I am in a place of spiritual discovery. It’s corny, I know. God do I know. But, beyond that voice of judgment is a voice of personal experience that’s tired of waiting and tired of hoping that it wont have to shout for attention. I’m listening. Listening when I take the bus home, listening when I’m walking to class, listening when I make a customer smile, listening when the warm hug of a friend comes, listening when I kiss the grave of my mother, listening when my grandmothers voice is on the other end of the line, listening when my father says “I love you”, listening when I wake up and roll over to a man who truly loves me, listening when my cat just wants one more shot of food, listening when I have cervezas with mis amigos, listening.. listening. Listening.
Sometimes, most times, I am really very critical of myself.
No. it’s true.. I like to laugh and make light of any type of situation, except the situation that’s in my head. I know, how emo, right?
I have all of my ducks in the row for school, yet I tell myself that I’m never actually going to make it to the goal line - that I’ll fail in the end, but I might as well keep trying, trying, trying until they figure out what a farce I am, what non-scholarly material I really am. “They” - I don’t even know who “they” are… teachers who grade a paper telling me that I cheated, that I don’t (or can’t) possibly have any new ideas, no creativity, that I should make this my hobby not my job, that I can’t compete against the other brainiest in my field. “Them.”
Meanwhile, I know I’m totally socially inept. I know I am. Conversations. I have this thing where if I know myself and someone else, say someone from high school or someone form one of my classes, talks. I keep it all very short and distant because I know nothing can possibly come out of that relationship. Besides, I’m that socially inept person in class.. who wants to be her friend? Yeah, the catch-22 of it all.
Attractive. I’ve never, ever, seen myself as attractive, as a “catch” or as that girl that the waiters hit on. I’ve seen myself as the fat girl that my dad, on a bad night, told me I’d never have a boyfriend. I’m that fat girl that everyone laughed at the possibility of someone being attracted to. Yet, I know.. I know there’s someone for every,fucking,type,of person out there. I know it. I fear that this insecurity is there, to stay, inside for the rest of my days. Like.. a monster haunting me. Funny thing is, while I know I’m overweight, I know I’m not FAT or unattractive. I just can’t believe it. I know I’m not that girl who weighs 240lbs, like in high school. But, I still have the stretch marks to show for it all. I have the not perfect body to show for it all. Mostly, I have the insecurity to show for it all.
I’m fighting myself. I’m fighting my demons inside. Not every day, just days where I allow myself admit to myself what’s going on. Not that I walk around in some dream, simply that I have confident out-going days, and then there’s that one or two days that are blah.
Last week… I ate more ice cream than I’d like to admit. Oh my god. It’s like.. I was brain dead from writing papers so that was a excuse (note, I ate while I was writing, so I don’t think I even really ENJOYED it…)
Change. Change. Change. I want change. I weight more than I want to- I walk around feeling like I have a fat suit on, like I’m having a hard time moving in these jeans that feel tighter than they should. I feel like there’s a more athletic more ambitious more courage-filled person just underneath the surface. I striving to break free of the bad habits of the insecurity, of the swimming in a ocean of constant issues. I’m tired of using food as an escape.
School’s out in a week. One week. Post finals, and post graduation stuff, I’m going to make a change in my lifestyle. I’m going to be working more. I’m going to pay more attention to what I wat. I’m going to journal regularly, regarding food and emotional issues. I set myself a goal of 10 14ers this summer (some of which are in groups of 3, one of which is a memorial 14er). Maybe it’s impractical, but I’ve also set the goal of not thinking so lowly of myself. I need goals. I need purpose. I want 10 pounds off, to. It’s my “summer of 10.” If I get more mountains, great.. if I get more pounds, great. But while I feel like I have to prove myself to “them” I’m really only working so hard to prove myself to me. To me. To myself, to Mudge - prove that I’m worth it, that life’s worth living.
I need to find me again. I feel a little lost. I’m commonly flashing back to who I was before I was dating, when I was climbing and backpacking so often. When I didn’t have a car and took the bus or walked everywhere. When I was social with out thinking about it. Some things have changed.. I think that being as social as I was took it’s toll on me. I’m also not drinking, like I was then, to be “cool” and “social.” I wonder who I am, as a individual, and who I would be as a single, individual, today. I have to show myself that I am, in fact, a strong, human being that other people would want to know. Because, the truth is: if I can’t see the woth and value of myself, no one can.
A lot of life has changed over the last like.. year. Relationships have changed, I feel that (although it’s not directly talked about) friendships have been lost to a lack of energy on both participants parts, I feel like other friends have forgotten me even though it’s not intentional and even tho I keep waiting and knocking and waiting for when they’re ready. Meanwhile, I’ve started making new friends. I’m working on trying to trust people more, and judge them.. and myself.. less.
My first step in proving to myself that I could do something was to pass this Spanish class. I know… it sounds retarded. But that was the only class that made me feel like the dunce in the class room. It was the only thing that I’ve failed out while trying so so hard. And now, I’m at the top of my class, and I can (try) to speak (though, no pronounce) with confidence.
Life is to short. And death, it has touched my heart and soul. I need change. I need change like a prisoner needs to break free of their cuffs. I’m guilty, guilty of seeing myself as less valuable than I’m worth. I’m guilty of waiting my life. I’m guilty. No more guilt, no more chains, only freedom. Life is worth living, and laughing, and loving. Sensual and emotional pleasures are worth seeking, and are far more valuable than the emotional turmoil of wallowing in self-pity and insecurities.
Likewise, life is worth living,… so much so that despite how many people have died around me, who’s mentally ill, and how distant it’s all made me from people… I cannot allow it to control me, to lead me through fear. Another funeral can only be another beginning, and another end can only give birth to something worth writing home about.
I am in a place of spiritual discovery. It’s corny, I know. God do I know. But, beyond that voice of judgment is a voice of personal experience that’s tired of waiting and tired of hoping that it wont have to shout for attention. I’m listening. Listening when I take the bus home, listening when I’m walking to class, listening when I make a customer smile, listening when the warm hug of a friend comes, listening when I kiss the grave of my mother, listening when my grandmothers voice is on the other end of the line, listening when my father says “I love you”, listening when I wake up and roll over to a man who truly loves me, listening when my cat just wants one more shot of food, listening when I have cervezas with mis amigos, listening.. listening. Listening.