Over the last few weeks, I've been rereading the earlier entries on this blog, partially in reminiscence, partially as a therapy exercise, and partially out of morbid curiosity. It's been really interesting. A lot of it is stilted and embarrassing (though of course I was a child, so I'm trying to grant myself some grace), but some of it is genuinely clever and funny. I do think I believed myself to be much more witty than I was, but I was still a very, very smart kid. I just read a post where I was talking about my SAT scores. In 2012 (when I was a high school senior), a 2160 was in the 98th percentile, nationwide. I had a perfect English score, and if I remember correctly, ten points off a perfect writing score. That's nothing to sneeze at! But because I got an average math score, I and all my family discounted that. My AP scores were in the 90+ percentile; I was certified bilingual by age 17; I was involved heavily in music, volunteering, and clubs; I had a lucrative part-time job; I even balanced a pretty good social life. I had hobbies, I managed to allocate time for family, friends, church, etc., and I did it all without coffee. And yet, I was seen as a failure because I... took naps? Seriously, my family would get so angry with me when I passed out on the sofa after a couple all-nighters, and I really do think they just didn't understand. Xander was homeschooled until college, and my parents of course belong to a different generation, so they didn't get that I genuinely wasn't sleeping until 3AM on a good night during my junior and senior years of high school, and waking up at 6:30 to get ready in the morning, because tired or not, I've always been vain about my appearance. My family gave me a hard time about being ditzy and too social and going out with too many boys, about procrastinating, about staying up late, about taking too long to study, about not studying because I couldn't concentrate, and most of all, about having a shitty attitude. Which is exceptionally annoying, because I really didn't. In my freshman year, I was a bit grumpy and annoying, but I was also quite literally suicidal, knee-deep in an eating disorder, trying to reconcile myself with the fact that half the school was spreading vicious rumors about me for no reason, and struggling with a whole host of other mental illnesses. I think, all things considered, my family got off light with me just being a bit reticent and snarky. It's really sad, though, reading about how useless and stupid I thought I was. My skills in the humanities were pretty much unparalleled, even among my perfectionistic, high-achieving peers, and I was decent at science, though not exceptional by any means. Math was my one big failing, and honestly, still is. I spent so long trying to prove myself, trying to convince people that I was smart and worthy and good for something besides being hot, and each time, I was miserable when it ended up going badly. Of course, a lot of it probably had to do with undiagnosed ADHD. Not being able to concentrate on a textbook for more than a paragraph at a time if it doesn't catch my hyper-focus is not so helpful for the subjects that don't make sense to me immediately. Which, again, may have been because I didn't listen in class, because it just wasn't interesting. And then, I would convince myself that I was bad at it, and I would get discouraged, and not even want to try. And it would be a whole cycle that would end with me wanting to die because I still didn't understand integration by parts. Meanwhile, it didn't matter so much for my other classes, because I could zone out or chat/text/pass notes or do other homework for half the period and still come away with an understanding of the subject. Then, if I needed to fill in a gap, I'd ask the teacher or research it myself, and fulfill my (self-imposed) 94%+ rule in the end. All throughout high school (and college as well), I only ever once got a B on an English test, and that was because I hadn't read the book it was on. Names and dates and other bits involving rote memory were more difficult for me, but I still managed to memorize a large chunk of court cases in AP Government, and impressed my class by knowing all the terms, including somewhat-obscure Latin ones for use in court. That was when I wanted to be a lawyer (and eventually a Supreme Court justice), so I was interested, and I ended up breezing through the national exam. AP Economics was harder for me because of the math involved, but I still did very well, and the teacher liked me. My bad experience in AP Chemistry made me think that I was bad at science, but I got an A in every other class, and in fact was rather good at physics (which is to this day my favorite of the sciences). Spanish and choir were easy-peasy, of course, and history of any kind felt like cheating because it was so genuinely interesting to me. So really, aside from PE (which I either spent gossiping or flirting, and doing the minimum work possible), math was the only real weakness I had. And somehow, this translated to me being a useless dumbass with no redeeming qualities, which really isn't fair when I think about it. I'm not upset; I know my mom tried her best in an impossible situation, and I don't blame her, but at the same time, I do want to acknowledge that the lack of positive reinforcement probably did a lot to shoot holes in my self esteem. As a natural perfectionist, I glommed onto that sort of attitude, and therefore, nothing I did was ever good enough. A perfect or near-perfect score was average, and anything else was unacceptable. How many times, how many ways did I punish myself for not doing as well as I'd arbitrarily decided I should? I still remember the frustration of knowing I could do better if only I could stop my brain from turning to soup at inopportune moments, but being young and emotionally stunted and traumatized, I internalized that as being my own fault. I was way too hard on myself, I see that now.
At the same time, though, I have to acknowledge how I crashed and burned later. College was fine; I ended up graduating from UCLA, as per my teenage dreams, and overall, I slept around a lot and made friends and ate good food and went to bad parties and had a good time. And then I took a gap year, but I started fucking things up. And then I got kicked out of my PhD program for my suicide attempt and subsequent hospitalization, and then things really went to shit. I had to go back and live with my mom, and I worked in a warehouse for awhile, and then I went to rehab, and by the time I was stable enough to leave the sober-living facility, it was summer, and I was preparing to go to grad school again. And then I fucked that up, too. I didn't get a job, and I'm going to have to take a leave of absence, not just because of the strikes, not just because of Corona, but because I didn't take care of my responsibilities. I feel like a financial burden on everyone, and a regular burden, too. My life is a mess. Although, as of this morning, I do officially have a job, but I can't help but feel that it's too little, too late. What happened to me? I wasted my potential. I let people down. Every day, I feel so guilty for even existing. I do 90% of the cooking, housework, etc., but it doesn't feel like enough, and I'm afraid Emily is going to leave me because I'm annoying and easily distractible and have loud Skype conversations in the living room while she's trying to watch Netflix in bed. I'm flakey, I'm weird, I'm lazy, and sometimes I say controversial shit just to stir the pot (not like politically controversial, more like "I think the flat-Earth theory could be true, except we are in fact on a round Earth, but that Earth is embedded in a larger flat surface like a yolk in an egg"). I have too many opinions. Sometimes, it takes me an hour to do my makeup, and she'll have to sit around and wait for me. I have a "ridiculous" amount of shoes and clothes, and I value aesthetics over comfort, and I buy too many storage baskets. Yesterday, I almost cried because there were maggots in our kitchen trash, and I only barely managed to get rid of them and clean the bin, and will probably insist on throwing out all expired food items straightaway from here on out, regardless or not of if the bag is full. In short, I'm high-maintenance. That's to say nothing of how much money I've spent in the past! Before lockdown, I think I must have spent about £40.00 all told on clothes, shoes, and makeup, and then there's all the takeout and fancy alcohol and groceries. I'm a selfish spendthrift, and no matter how hard I try to budget, I crack in the end, and buy the more expensive cheese rather than walking half an hour more to get the store brand at Sainsbury's. And I do budget cheaply, I do, and I made a month-long meal plan for less than £60, but isn't that a lot, really? And couldn't I just make food for Emily and not eat it myself? I don't need to eat so much. I shouldn't, really. I don't really do anything deserving of eating like I do.
But I shouldn't be so negative. I'm twisting my thoughts again, needlessly being cruel and critical, and it's not productive. Instead, I should do something more worthwhile. I suppose I'll clean up and do the dishes. I need to clean the bathroom, too. And when Emily wakes up, I'll ask her what she wants for dinner, and I'll start on that. There's no use in sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I have to create the life I want, even if that means getting off my ass sometimes.

I feel massively insecure today. I'm not sure why, but it likely has to do with the fact that I got all emotional and cried on Emily last night for literally no reason. We'd had a few drinks, and I'm usually happy and flirty when I'm tipsy, but this time, I got sad and cried and it was embarrassing, really. I think part of it is my continued fear of emotional vulnerability, because even though I do think my EQ is decent, I still hold back a lot. It's something that I'm working on, and I'm definitely getting better at being open, but there's always the lurking fear at the back of my mind that something is going to go wrong, and I should sort of check out in preparation.
Now, this is a problem, specifically at this point in time, because Emily and I have decided to get married at City Hall earlier rather than later, just for tuition and residency purposes. Once I'm a UK citizen, things will be a lot easier in multiple ways. We're still going to have a wedding later, and in fact, we probably won't even tell anyone that we're going to be legally married until the ceremony, because we're only allowed two witnesses, and we don't want to hurt any family member's feelings. I'll tell Talia, but probably only her. I can't trust anyone else not to blab to the world. But I'm suddenly remembering my old commitment-phobe days, and my little 20-year-old self is whispering for me to cut ties and run away before I get hurt. Of course, that's not me anymore, and I don't want to cut ties in any way, shape, or form. I want to be with Emily forever, and I know this, but I'm still scared of how it's all going to turn out. It's a leap of faith, in a way; I've never done this before, and my own personal experience with marriage has been poor. I know we're not our parents, and things will be as we make them to be. We have control over our future together. Still, it's hard to shake the anxiety that persists even in the face of me knowing that I'm doing the right thing. I think even now, it's hard to accept the fact that life is happening. No do-overs, no makeups. This moment will never come again once it's gone. Which is terrifying, frankly, but also cool in a way, because it means that every day is a new chance to make the world even a little better, not only for everyone else, but for me, too. I'm always making progress, even if it doesn't feel like it, and I need to remember that.

joyeuse 14 juillet !

Greetings from the new apartment!
Moving was an ordeal. We had to pack up everything, and move it downstairs, then move it into the truck (thankfully, the man was nice and let us put everything in, instead of having to carry some of it through town), and then we had to carry it up to the new flat. And then we had to unpack it all. We were so exhausted by the end that we didn't even use our brand-new kitchen on the first night. We had fish and chips from a nearby shop instead. It took us a full two weeks to finish all our laundry and get it sorted and put away, because we washed everything we own (and because I have a lot of clothes, even in spite of leaving half of them in California). Also, the place hadn't been cleaned at all when we moved in, which wasn't great. I did a deep-clean over two days (minus the bathroom, which needed professional help), and now it's all gorgeous and sparkling. It's a sweet little flat, and every day, I'm grateful that we get to live here.
Emily's dad and step-mom came to visit us over the weekend. It was fun, but beforehand, I was so stressed and anxious, and I really felt physically sick. But we got food, and more importantly, alcohol, and everything became much less scary once we were all a few drinks in. I mostly stuck with wine, though I did switch to Bloody Marys by the end of the night once we were all back home, and it was nice to not be the drunkest in the room! Emily said the visit went over well, and they both seem to like me (she said I'm now the favorite child of both her sets of parents 😂) so I'm really relieved. And I think they've finally gotten over thinking I'm quiet and shy. Not that it really matters-- I mean, it's pretty funny, all things considered. But now they seem to have a better idea of who I really am, so I feel like they can whole-heartedly approve (or disapprove) of me.
One of our friends is coming over on Thursday. I'm really excited to see her, but I'm also concerned, because she's just gone through her first "real" breakup, and she seems, well, broken-up about it. She's the sweetest person, who honestly deserves the world, and her ex was so annoying (none of us liked her), so it's probably good in the long run, but I hate seeing her upset like this. I just hope we can make her some nice food and coffee (with a heinous amount of milk) and we can cuddle and watch horror movies and listen to folk music and sea shanties. I'm not good with breakups either, but at least I've had significantly more experience than anyone else in our friend group, so I sort of know the drill. And I'm a damn good listener, if I do say so myself!
Gosh, I wish we had some celery. I made a soup, and it's simmering away in the slow-cooker now, smelling absolutely savory and amazing, but it would have been so much better with the proper ingredients. We really don't have much of anything. Emily doesn't get paid until next week, so we currently have about fifty pounds between us.  I'm literally more financially destitute than I was in middle school. Moving was so expensive! I've been keeping a cheap menu, and we haven't bought anything we don't need, but it's still hard to pay for everything on one furloughed salary. I really hope I can get a job soon. Now that I sort of know what's going on with my university, it will be much easier to apply.
Oh, right. I didn't say. Due to everything, really, I'm going to have to take another semester. However, since it's not cheap, I'm going to take a leave of absence and save up money. During that time, Emily and I will get married, so I'll be a UK resident, and I can pay the domestic tuition (much cheaper than international tuition) and apply for financial aid. I'm trying to keep my head up and not be too despondent, but it's hard, and I'm genuinely terrified to tell my mom. She's going to be so disappointed in me. I haven't even told Talia yet, which goes to show you how bad it is. I think right now, I'm still processing, and still half in denial. I know everything will turn out for the best, or at least how it's meant to. My life has a trajectory, even if I don't know it yet. But in the meantime, it's really hard not to fall into despair. At least I haven't had to sell my hair and teeth to provide for my young daughter who's being used as a servant for some crooked innkeepers, though, right? It could be way worse.