Monday, November 14, 2016

I have privilege.
Quite a lot. If we were to count up the ways in which I have it better than others, the numbers would be staggering. Don't think I don't feel guilty about that. I do. But this isn't a post about that.
This is a post about beauty.
I've always been conventionally attractive. I'm a natural size zero, with D-cup boobs. I have long, shiny hair and big eyes, and I've been told my freckles and crooked smile are cute. My voice is high-pitched and sweet, I giggle a lot, and I'm (usually) charming. So it's no surprise that people find me attractive. While I don't– I suffer from numerous issues, in fact– I can't deny the effect that my general appearance seems to have on people, inscrutable though it is to me.
This has its perks. People are, in general, more friendly to me. I can get free drinks just by asking. People jump up to help me or offer me things, everywhere I go. And it's nice. Even though I don't always want the attention, I would have to be incredibly foolish to deny that it's a privilege.
But there are times when I curse my appearance, and everything that comes with it. Times like now.
One of my dearest friends, one of the people I love most in this world, is mad at me because last time we went out, a man followed us around all night and flirted with me instead of her. She said she's tired of feeling like the token ugly friend, and she's upset that I led him on. Which is valid. I understand what it's like to be ignored. Not by straight men, no– I can count on one hand the number of times I've failed to be the center of attention among groups of potential admirers. But outside of that, in the realm where it matters, I know what it's like to be locked out, to feel cut off from everything. And it's not a nice feeling. It's awful. So I sympathize, I really do.
The thing is, though, I didn't realize what was happening. I thought he was flirting with both of us. I think my friend is one of the most beautiful people in this world, and I know many other people think so, too. So the thought of her being the "ugly friend" just fails to compute. I don't want to dismiss her feelings, because of course she knows her own experiences better than I do, and I'm quite socially awkward, really, so I don't notice things a lot of the time. And of course I will accept blame where blame is due. I did wrong, and I won't deny it. But, that being said, I don't understand. If I were to replay the night over again in my head (and believe me, I have been), I wouldn't be able to pinpoint the moment which I would change in order to make things right. She said she gave me an out, and I didn't take it. But I didn't realize what was happening, and I still don't. I was dissociating the whole night, on the brink of a depressive episode, trying to cope with a horrible midterm that I'd taken an hour before, and even the broadest social cue would have been lost on me, which, apparently, it was. I'm more than sorry, and I would do anything to make this better, but I don't understand how. I know I did wrong, but I don't know what.
It's easy to assign blame in these cases. "If I hadn't..." I say, and then you reply with "Well, but then if he had..." There are so many eventualities, and in the end, they really don't matter. That being said, though, I know that none of this would have happened if I didn't look like this. The man would still have come over to talk to us, because my friend is beautiful, and amazing, and I don't think there's a straight man on earth who wouldn't want to hit on her. But he would have ignored me, which is fine, because I don't want that kind of attention anyway, and she wouldn't have felt so bad. And I wouldn't be in danger now of losing one of the dearest people to my heart.
If I weren't so pretty.
If I didn't smile so much.
If I didn't talk like a Barbie doll.
It sounds petty to complain about these things. I know it does. And maybe, to some extent, it is. Some people would kill to have these problems, even for just a day.
Maybe just a day, though. Awful as it is to say, there are some things that people who aren't conventionally attractive just don't have to worry about.
I have few real friends, mostly because almost everyone either wants to date me, or have sex with me, and I don't want either. And even if I do find someone who likes me for me, inevitably, something like this happens. Everyone ends up jealous of me at some point, and I don't blame them, because it's awful to be in someone's shadow, but it means that I never get to keep anyone in my life, no matter how much I wish for them to stay. On the same token, I could have a date every weekend if I wanted to. Everyone wants to get with me. But it's rare that I find anyone who wants to stay. Once people get past my appearance, I'm just like anyone else, a complicated, broken girl who isn't right for everyone– and I understand, because of course I'm not everyone's cup of tea, and I wouldn't expect to be– but the rate of people loving-and-leaving me is so much higher than normal, and it's demoralizing, sometimes. And I can never go unnoticed. Sometimes, I just want to slink about, not have people stare at me, either like they want to bed me immediately, or they want to fight me for supremacy, but I turn heads everywhere I go, and I can never hide. I can wear my ugliest, rattiest clothes, go out with no makeup and my hair unbrushed, and people will still stop me to ask me out, or stare at me as I walk around, or try to talk to me, and I know I shouldn't complain, but sometimes I don't want attention. When I'm trying to stave off a panic attack, or when I'm struggling not to cry in public, and all I see are eyes, eyes, eyes, it feels like the most unfortunate thing in the world.
I didn't ask to be born this way, nor did I do anything to model myself in any particular likeness. My genes were fortunate, that's all. And it sucks. It's unfair. I know so many people who want so badly to be petite and curvy and feminine like me, and who, through whatever unhappy accident of fate, are not. I feel for them. Even I have wished that I was taller, more muscular, had a less babyish face, a different smile, anything. But in the end, it just comes down to happenstance.
I'm not complaining, not really. I don't deserve to. I'm just grieving the loss of yet another loved one in my life, turned away by my face.
Beauty is a blessing, I know. It's true. But it's a curse, too.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Get to know me!

I like to read my old posts sometimes, so today I was scrolling through this blog, and I happened upon this gem. I really admire that I've had the foresight to do this all these years! I believe there was also one that I made in maybe tenth grade, so I'll try to dig that up as well, just for comparison purposes. Ed: I found it.
But now, I'm going to fill it out again, because I'm 21 now, and that's another benchmark. So, here we go!
..
Favorites~
Season: Fall, but each of them are nice in their way.
Singer: I have a big, gay crush on Nicki Minaj. I also love Lykke Li and Lana Del Rey and Marina and Grimes and basically, all the ladies. And of course, I love the Greats like Natalie Dessay.
Song: November Rain by Guns'N'Roses
Color: Pink
Cosmetic: It's hard to say, because I can't really pick just one. But I could never do without my chapstick, so I'd have to say that.
Animal: My guinea pig, of course, and I also love moths and butterflies and penguins and birds! I also think my Fursona would be a kitten.
Food: Strawberry croissants from Bruin Cafe tbh
Outfit: It depends on how I'm feeling. My favorite lecture outfit is my black skater skirt, belt, and gray half-sleeve top, but I also love knotted cardigans and crop tops and sundresses. And if I'm going to a party, of course I'm going to get the Tity out.
Perfume: My signature scent is Japanese cherry blossom.
Drink: Grande double-shot Americano with a splash of cream.
Possession: I guess my phone and my laptop. But I really value people more than things, of course 
Car: My dream car is a manual transmission Volkswagon Jetta, but I think I would like anything at this point. I'd really rather have a manual than an automatic, though.
Subject: Linguistics by default, but also cognitive science and computer science and literature. And then art history! And regular history. And then poly sci and econ, too, but then I have to go to math, and how can you have math without science? But I love the humanities, so philosophy. And how could I forget, foreign languages!!! French is my very favorite.
Book: Les Misérables by Victor Hugo ♥ Another (not as much, but nothing could ever rival my Les Mis love) would be Swann's Way by Marcel Proust, and it's not really a book as much as a collection, but Vladimir Nabokov's short stories oh my goodness. And then of course I love The Brothers Karamozov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. And of course, poetry!
Type of person: Generally, I get along well with everyone. But I'm a Social Justice Warrior™ so I might find it more difficult to find common ground with a really bigoted person.
Type of boy: This is really heteronormative. I like boys and girls and other genders, too. But anyway, I don't really have a "type" per se. I'm attracted to kindness and humor and intelligence, but the most important thing is that we're friends.
Game: I'm really good at beer pong, actually. But anything can be fun if you're drunk enough.
Song on the top ten: (literally had to google for the charts right now. I'm so old) Just Like Fire by Pink. It's so feisty and fun, and it was super cute in Through the Looking Glass.
Now my least favorites!
Season: None, although I get sad when I have to be at home for any amount of time.
Singer: I don't think this is a nice question, so I won't answer it. I do have a lot of Opinions about problematic people, though.
Song: There's a lot of songs I object to for various reasons. I couldn't really single out one.
Color: None. I think every color has its time to shine.
Car: I don't support Ford, or several other brands of that nature.
Animal: None.
Food: Hospital food. I sometimes still have nightmares about that "chicken."
Cosmetic: I don't support brands that test on animals. I have a list somewhere, and I can probably dig it up if needed.
Outfit: Anything that makes me feel less than confident. I don't wear pants much.
Possession: My existential angst and debilitating mental illness lmao
Perfume: Again, anything that tests on animals, or is otherwise oppressive.
Drink: Beer
Book: Oh gosh I have a lot. Although, now that I think about it, I think I've been angered more by certain academic articles of late.
Subject: This is a little petty, but I have a grudge against anthropologists. I think they're so hypocritical and myopic and culturally appropriative (among other things) and they don't even have all their facts, but they still go around spewing hateful, half-baked rhetoric, and they're so insufferable and mean and just ugh. Okay, I'm calm. I'm calm.
Tyoe of person: This isn't very nice.
Type of boy: I'm not answering this one, either.
Game: Once, my brother and I played Spin-The-Bottle, and we were in the same room. I couldn't possibly be drunk enough to forget the sight of him macking on his boo. Never again. (I do like Spin-The-Bottle, though, because I'm a huge flirt)

Song on the top ten: Whatever that one is by Meghan Trainor, because I don't think she's a very nice person, and I have a lot of issues with her for various reasons.
..
So that was that! I'll be interested to look at this later and see how things have changed. I think these things are always so exciting, because it just goes to show how life is such a fluid thing! We're always growing and learning and changing, hopefully for the better. We don't stay static, and that's wonderful. I hope that when I do this again in however many years, my answers will again be completely different.

Thursday, July 7, 2016

Some people are so awful. I'm not even talking about the people who commit atrocities on a large scale or anything. Just common, everyday people. They're so rude and mean. I try not to be bothered, because I'm a big believer in trying to understand where people are coming from, and all that. But still, I think I must be a bit nasty myself, because I get so upset sometimes. Just, all this vitriol, all this hatred, it seems so unnecessary.
I'm not saying we shouldn't get mad about things. That would be ridiculous. When things happen everyday like what we're seeing on the news, it's impossible not to be incensed. But if that's the case, how does anyone have any hatred leftover for their fellow people? I'm furious at the bigots and hatemongerers and people who should be called criminals, but who are protected by privilege, and the benefits of an unfair society. Who wouldn't be? And I would definitely punch them in the face, or (more likely) write a seven-page essay decrying them in great detail. But I /wouldn't/ publicly mock someone about their appearance because I didn't agree with their political views, and I wouldn't message people to tell them horrible things for no real reason at all.
Well, I can't be too quick to judge. Maybe there are things I don't know.
But it bothers me anyway. I can't seem to stop it.
Am I too soft? I've always thought so. There was a time when I actively tried to make myself harder, but it wasn't me, and I was so unhappy. So I went back, but honestly, it's ridiculous. I don't like bad language (I tell everyone that I don't curse because it sounds funny, and that's true, but it sounds funny because I don't like it), and I don't like to raise my voice, and I get upset when people insult me. My first instinct is to smile when I see someone smiling even remotely in my direction, and I feel bad for hours if I accidentally close a door on someone or cut them in line. It's too much.
I hate the word "bitch." I hate it, hate it, hate it. I said it by mistake the other day while I was driving, and I still feel bad about it (you don't understand- I want to flagellate myself or something). So, I hate the word "binch" as well. It's not okay just because it's a different word. You're obviously using it in the same way, to mean the same thing.
But whatever. I shouldn't be trying to regulate people's speech patterns just because they make me uncomfortable. So I need to stop it.
I'm just going to stop talking to people. Who would like me, soft and sensitive as I am? I have fire, but only for causes outside myself. And I'm not fun. So I'll stop.
Whatever.
It doesn't matter.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

I think my heart is about to burst, but not in an everything-is-so-great kind of way, because you see, things are not so great. In point of fact, things are terrible. I think my entrails are dissolving from anxiety. Which is, you know, not so comfortable.
Why, you ask, is Maria having yet another Time? What ridiculously inconsequential thing happened to set off her meltdown this time? Well, now. That's a good question. However, its answer is not so good. Let me tell you, and you shall see why things have fallen into place this way. 
So.
Boys.
That's a punchy opener, isn't it? It's short and brief and to the point, and it encapsulates perfectly the struggle of man (or men, as the case may be). 
Anyway. I've made friends with Trace, as you know, and it's quite nice and we get along and everything is Swell Beans (as they say). Recently, though, we've moved into the friends-plus category, which is okay for me, although I don't want any feelings involved. Now, here's the tricky part. You see, Xander and Trace are best buddies. They've been friends for years, and they get along well (which is rather rare for Xander). I thought Xander was okay with it when I made friends with Trace, and I thought he was okay with us becoming friends with benefits, because Trace told me that he knew and had given explicit permission. So I thought he knew, and out of delicacy for his feelings, I didn't really talk about it, because who wants to know that their little sister made out with someone? I certainly don't.
Okay! So now comes the tricky part. It seems that Xander really didn't know that we were getting involved. And now that he knows, he's mad about it. Or, maybe mad isn't the right word. He's angsty. Or something. At any rate, he's not happy. It's not even that he doesn't want us to be involved (because I could understand that); he's upset that we're friends at all. Because he thinks that I'm going to steal Trace away from him. I talked about this yesterday, or whenever it was that I made my previous post, but things haven't gotten any better. I keep dodging Trace's efforts to hang out with me, and ignoring his texts, and all that, because I really don't know what to do. Tonight, I asked Xander point-blank if he minded us being involved (in any capacity) and he said there was no easy answer to that, which basically means that he minds. So I suppose I have to do something, but I don't know what. I've never been good at this, and now that it's my own family involved, it's much much worse.
Now, okay, I guess it's my natural not-being-good-at-social-interaction-ness speaking, but I???? just do not????? understand???????? To me, friends are always good. I always love to meet new people and talk to them and get to know them (depending on if I'm feeling up to it, but I'm speaking generally). So, I don't think there's a limit on friends, like wow I have three, I have to get rid of one if I want to make another, I mean come on, friends aren't video game inventories! Just because I know Trace now doesn't mean he has to stop knowing Xander! It boggles my mind why he would think that. 
Maybe it's because I don't understand the concept of jealousy. I know people get jealous, like I see them talk about it, and yeah, I feel it sometimes too because I'm a human and it's a normal human emotion, but I don't understand letting it corrode an entire relationship. If I'm jealous of someone, it says much more about me than them. So maybe I'm just not predisposed to understand. Well, if that's the case, then maybe I'm lacking in empathy. I don't know. It might be a problem. 
Okay, but then again, I don't know? I don't think I did anything wrong. I'm a pretty friendly person, you know, and I talk a lot if I'm comfortable with someone. I text people all the time. (Actually– remind me to make another post about this, because I've grown and matured so much and I've learned to manage my anxiety so much better (I'm still not good though) and it's really cool, so let me talk about it sometime.) So it's not even necessarily that I'm "talking" with Trace (although I guess I sort of am), because I'm like this with everyone. Good morning text? Motivational messages? Random messages telling them how great they are and how much I appreciate them? Obscene use of emojis and exclamation points? You betcha. I just love the people in my life, and I want to show them that, and if I can make them happy, I want to do so as much as I can. But that's my style. So it shouldn't reflect badly on Xander if he doesn't do those things, because that's not who he is, and his friends like him for him, not because he fits some kind of stereotypical mold of a "good friend" (whatever that is). 
I don't know. I feel for Xander. I really do. But I don't know what to do about it.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

I'm in what might be called a Pickle!
Okay, so it's kind of an issue, and I don't want to be all dramatic about it, but I think it's kind of bad, and man, I sure don't know what to do, I really durn tootin don't! How does this happen? Okay, so here it is:

As we know, I have broken up with My Love, and now I'm single and ready to mingle (in the eyes of the world), and somehow I seem to have deduced yet another of my brother's friends. Oh, well I mean seduced. But I'll give you this one, iPhone. This is a problem, because it's the fourth one this year (I KNOW), and I think we're going to start running out here, because Xander doesn't have that many friends around here to begin with.
(Did I say that? I didn't say that.)
I don't know, man! I didn't do anything! I just went to a few parties, drank a few shots, maaaaybe got a little flirtatious in my texts, but that's not too bad, so you know, basically I was just my normal charming self. And what happens? This. This happens. I would express my disappointed surprise, but I really have none to express. (Surprise, that is. Disappointment, I have plenty)
Okay. But we haven't gotten to the Thick of it yet.
Just wait.
So, I decided to have some casual doings with my latest admirer. Why not? He's smart and handsome and fairly nice, and we both had Xander's express permission. Or at least, so I thought. Lo and behold, Xander begins to fall into a depression, worried that I'm taking his friends away from him. I quote (second-hand from Mom, but still): "Eventually, they'll all realize that she's more interesting than me and abandon me."
What.
No.
Child.
I sympathize. I really do. I, too, have the constant fear that my friends actually hate me and think I'm weird and annoying and ridiculous and would like to be rid of me as soon as possible (is that not normal?) and I understand where he's coming from. I do. But, from a purely objective perspective (how's that for a band name), let me just humbly say,
What to heck.
There's no way his friends would abandon him for me. No way in, well, heck. Sure, I'm fun sometimes (I think), but so is he. We're different, that's all. I'm air; he's fire, I'm gelato; he's a spice cake, I'm the embodiment of anxiety; he's suffering and existential angst in a human form.
You feel?

So, I don't know what to do. I already turned down an invitation to hand out with Dat Boi and his friend (both of whom really wanted me to hang out tonight) because I felt guilty that they didn't ask Xander first. Granted, I would have said no anyway, because my throat hurts, and I'm dying of pestilence and despair, but that's beside the point! I can't keep on giving excuses forever. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to face the music. Or rather, the musician. And we all know which is the worse of the two.

Thursday, June 9, 2016

It's the last day that I'm spending here in the dorms, because I'm going home tomorrow for Talia's graduation, and I'm really melancholy about it. No one's answering my texts, and I'm lonely, and it's sad anyway because I don't want to get older, and I think I'm getting a rash because of my tonsillitis medication, and everything's just a bummer. I don't want to do anything, but I also don't want to not do anything, do you know what I mean? I feel at loose ends because I don't have any more schoolwork to do, but I don't feel like going on tumblr or watching netflix or anything like that. I guess I'll sleep soon, because I want to get up early and get breakfast so I can use my meal swipes, and I need to pack, so I'll do that. But right now, I'm just so full of ennui. Well, it's okay. I guess it'll pass. Or not. But I might as well just sleep, so at least I can be rested and sad instead of tired and sad.

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Letters I won't send, part 2/?

My dear,

I don't want to sound rude or judgmental, but if you don't like what I have to say, why do you keep checking up on me? My tumblr is intensely personal, but I always make an effort to hide things under a read-more or to specify if they have sensitive information, so it's not really like you're seeing things accidentally. I know you're not there because of all the Les Miserables and memes, so why? It's just going to upset you. And maybe it was silly of me to post this:

I’m not good enough and I never will be, and that’s okay, but I don’t feel real, and I want to go out and get really drunk and dance with strangers who grab my ass a little too long and share life stories in dingy bathrooms with girls I’ll never see again and fix my smudged lipstick with the half-clean tissue someone found at the bottom of her purse and breathe in all the smoke and stale liquor and bad decisions of an entire disappointed city. I want to have rough, painful sex that leaves me bruised and struggling to walk straight, with someone whose name I’ll never know, because if I’m the one being hurt, then I don’t have to worry that I’m doing something wrong for once, and if I’m being used, then at least I’m grounded in reality for a little bit. I want to jump on a bus and leave far away, no destination in mind, just floating along with the lights and dreams and glitter of a blessedly oblivious world. And, I want your arms around me, your voice in my ear, your heartbeat next to mine chasing away the ghosts that try to claim me. Not that love can fix a thing, no, but loneliness never did anyone any good either. And so, I think that’s what I want most of all. The stability of a touch, the reality of a quiet whisper. Anything but this. Because more than anything, I want to feel, and if I stay as unreal as I am, I never will.

But it's my own blog, and really, I can post what I want, because I deserve to be able to take care of my feelings too. I was dissociating so badly that I thought I would do something drastic and awful if I didn't let it out somehow, and this made me feel better, so really, I don't regret it at all.
You made it about you, though. You thought I was trying to be passive-aggressive, trying to accuse you of cheating on me. Why would I? Don't you know me? If I were upset with you, wouldn't I have it out right then and there instead of resorting to some kind of underhanded tactics? I miss you, of course I do. You would make everything better. That's why I put it in there– when you were with me, it didn't hurt so much, because I knew I had someone on my side. And now I don't. But, it's not about you. It's a bigger thing, something I can't talk about with you, because you're so quick to accuse me of abandoning you nowadays.

You know I'm your friend, first and foremost. Why do you keep sneaking in all these little references to "I need a friend who will be there for me" and so on and so forth, with the subtext that I'm not? What do you want from me? Tell me how, and I'll do it– I want to support you however I can. But don't just leave me to guess, and then be upset when I don't guess right.

I know you're not well, and I'm sorry. I want you to get better, and I want to help in any way I can. But, I have to take care of myself, too. I won't make that mistake again. I can't. So, please. I'm trying my best to understand you. Won't you put even a little effort to understand me?

Thursday, June 2, 2016

I realized today that three of the most formative classes I've ever taken have been English classes. There was AP Lit in high school that gave me validation and the confidence to continue, then my dystopian literature class in Ohio that taught me not to be a snob, and now, there's my wonderful honors class on Nabokov and cognitive science that has opened my mind and stretched my brain in all sorts of amazing ways. Why is that? Is there a particular reason that I feel most alive in an English classroom? Linguistics gives me the spine tingle too, and I could never give it up, because at this point, linguistics is me– our integration is total and I wouldn't want it to be any other way, but I feel so strangely invigorated when I'm analyzing literature. No, more than that– I feel smart. I feel capable. If it's done right, it's right at that proximal zone between too hard and too easy, and it's just. So indescribable. I don't know if I will ever take another English class in my life, but the ones I've taken up til now have done so much in changing the way my mind works, and making me (hopefully) more open to the world. This is why I'm always so salty about schools cutting funding from the humanities. Sure, math and science might get us to the moon, but literature and philosophy make us human. This isn't any shade on STEM, by the way– I love STEM. I do cognitive science and computer science for goodness' sakes– and just wait til you hear my proposal on the subject of integrating math and linguistics– it's a doozy. But don't you see the distinction? I've learned so much about the world we live in, and even who I am as a person just by taking these too-few literature classes, things that I frankly could never have learned in my freshman physics lab (for example). And so, I'm always going to be grateful for these opportunities that I had to stretch my wings and grow. It seems like whenever I hit a wall in my life, whenever it came to a point where I just wasn't good enough, a lovely opportunity for one of these classes presented itself, and I took it and saw that maybe I could be good for something after all. Vacuous positive reinforcement? Maybe. But I'd like to think of it in slightly more pedantic terms. Literary critic Joshua Landy describes some works of fiction as "formative"; that is, they can help us to grow and learn even as we read through them. I think my experiences in the literature classrooms have been formative. I've learned innumerable things from innumerable sources, and I deeply treasure all my experiences, but these classes, these forays into the world of literature and analysis, these have been the backbone of my intellectual development, and I would despair for anyone who never had the chance to engage in such experiences as these.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Letters I won't send p.1/?

Soleil, chère amie,

I really don't know what else to call you at this point, and French seems more nuanced somehow, so I can get away from the dry implications of the English "dear" and move into a different, more fluid area (is that all right with you?).

It's not my place to complain, I know. You made this clear yourself, and just as I accepted it then, I accept it now. But please forgive me if I sound a little bit whiny, just a little bit, because I need to put this somewhere, and I would never bother you or anyone else by saying it aloud. So if I do this, it's the only bit of selfishness that I will allow myself.

I know it wasn't your intention to break my heart (that sounds so cliche, doesn't it?) and I would never accuse you of it. But– forgive me– if you had no intention of staying, why did you let me hope? You told me you would be here no matter what, if things got hard, if everything was bad, you promised you'd still stay by my side and be here for me. Just as I would be for you. And of course I understand. I do. Who would want to stay with me, having seen the horrible person that I am? I don't blame you, and I'm not bitter, I'm just complaining, because I guess that's what I do. I complain.

But now you're angry that I won't trust you with my problems? I don't want to sound accusatory, but what did you expect? You told me very clearly that you needed to focus on yourself now. And I completely respect that. Sometimes, when things get bad, all you can do is think about yourself. But please don't be angry with me for trying to respect your wishes! You clearly don't have the energy to think about me, and that's fine, but it was your own choice to make it this way, so forgive me, but I'm not going to keep burdening you with information that you clearly don't want to hear!

Am I dejected? Am I sad? Of course. You left me. But that's my problem, not yours. Please, you need to focus on yourself. I'll be all right. Or maybe not. Who knows? What matters is that you chose to make our relationship one-sided, and I accepted your terms. You can come to me whenever, and I'll be here. But you pretty clearly told me that you don't have the capacity or energy ("spoons" as they say in the discourse) to worry about me. Again, I said this was all right. So don't accuse me of not being emotionally open. I am. I just can't burden you when you asked me not to.

I'm respecting your wishes. Please don't hate me for it.

Sunday, January 31, 2016

I'm supposed to be studying, so naturally I'm doing everything else. It came to my attention that I haven't posted yet in January! And I want to! So here is my post. I'm going to edit it later when I don't have fifteen tons of homework to finish. Bye now!
ed: I realize that I have indeed posted in January. My bad. I'ma still edit though, I'ma still edit.

Thursday, January 7, 2016

The yearly birthday mope

I'm about to turn 21, and I don't think I like it. Well, okay, I know I don't like it. I've never liked my birthdays, and as I've grown up, I've liked them less and less still. It's partially that I fear the passage of time, and partially that I feel I'm much too old to be this young, and partially some deep, unknown fear that I can't name, but all of it is unshakeable. We always like to laugh at the people who want to be young forever, and we think we're above them, but the truth is, I'm not. I want to be young forever. Not alive forever, no- a lot of the time, I don't even want to be alive now. But I want to live out my life, however long it may be, holding (successfully) unto my youth until the very end. Do I want knowledge? Of course I do. That's the purpose of my life, after all. But I don't think I have to grow old in order to get it. If I live freely, I should be able to gain wisdom, and experience, and all the knowledge I want (and I want a lot) without having to turn old and ugly and ineffectual and dissatisfied. I want to be 18 again, and hopeful, and ingenuous, and able to learn without trying to argue everything or be slowed down by the pressure of my own mind. By the time I'm 23, my brain cells will have matured, and then they will start to die, and I'll begin the descent into dismal decrepitude which I know is coming, and which I would do anything to forestall. I'm so afraid, but there's nothing I can do.
And then, too, I feel that as I mature, I have to change who I am, fundamentally and completely. So I'm pretty bubbly and joyous by nature, and I like to dance and sing and twirl around and put flowers in my hair, and so on. And that would be okay if I were younger, but I feel like I shouldn't be this way as an adult. I don't want to lose my enthusiasm, or my love of beauty, but it would look weird for a dignified linguistics professor to bend down and talk to a puppy, or stop and say hello to pretty flowers, or take selfies in front of a particularly nice building, and I can't really do any of that once I get to be at that stage in life. But am I at that stage in life? I don't know. Probably? I'm a third year in college already. That's pretty old. Oh gosh, I don't know. Some facets of my personality are good for this, of course- my drive, my willingness to help, my ambition- but that's only part of me, and if I get rid of everything else and just leave the good parts, what will I be? But I don't really have a choice. Playful young people are cute. Playful adults are annoying. Obviously, I can't stay sweet and adorable forever, and I have to grow up at some point. But I'm afraid to, because once I do, I'm not going to be Maria anymore, and it'll be weird. I suppose I'll adjust, though. I /am/ resilient. That's another of my good traits. And maybe I'll grow more good traits to replace the ones that I'll have to dispose of. That's something, right? It'll be okay. I can do this. I've gotten through everything before, and I'll get through this now.
It helps, of course, that everyone is so excited. 21! It's a big year! I can finally drink! Gosh, I've been waiting so long, you know. (Oh, that reminds me- I should tell you about New Years. But later.) And even my less alcoholic friends are excited. I'm going to celebrate with Trisha and Irene and Marissa tomorrow, and then after that I'm going to celebrate with Sigma, and I'm really excited. They're all so enthusiastic that it's making me more enthusiastic, and of course I do want to have an excuse to dress all cute, because goodness knows I will take literally any opportunity to get dolled up. I think I'll get up early and do a fancy makeup look too. So at least I have that. I'm going to try and focus on the good here (though there doesn't seem to be much), because I always get long depressive episodes around my birthday, and I don't want it to happen this year. I'm going to fight! Let's DO this!
All right, I think I'll go to bed now (so early! But I don't get to sleep much because of the Screaming Children who live with me) and get up early. I have a 10am discussion anyway. Goodnight!