I scare myself.

My uncle was admitted to the hospital on Thursday night for gallbladder stones and I just flipped out. I was worried so I cried – as expected – but I felt this tiredness deep in my bones that I’ve never felt before. And immediately, that tiredness was followed by the thought, “I’m so tired of being here.”

I feel like I’ve fallen in a hole. The walls are smoothed and impossible to climb, no one can hear my cries and screams for help, and all I have is a flashlight that flickers on and off at random times never giving me a clear view of what’s next.

Sometimes, I feel like I find the bits of the person I used to be in my friends. When they smile and laugh, when they talk and I just listen to them, it’s like I’m grasping at the figments of who I use to be…so close but so far. And I get afraid because I’m not sure if I will ever come back to them. I don’t know how to come back to myself. Will I come back the same? Would I come back broken and bruised?

Is it really better to have loved and lost when the love that’s been lost feels like being stabbed over and over and over again?

I don’t wake up with that positive, hopeful little bubble around me anymore. I’m afraid to be happy because I know something bad will happen again. Every time I get the courage to try and be positive, something terrible happens. Like, my favorite uncle being admitted into the hospital or my boyfriend’s mother still not feeling well even after her second heart surgery in 10 years.

And I just want a break.

Not a permanent break. But I just want the bad things to stop happening to me. I want to be able to smile, enjoy the sunlight and not feel like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder for the rain. And don’t tell me everything happens for a reason. Don’t tell me, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” because I know that this is all I can handle.

I am fingertips away from it being too much. I want to run and hide, I want to sleep and do nothing, I want to laugh and live, I want to scream and weep, I want someone to listen to me, I want someone to understand, I want you to stop telling me, “It’ll be okay” because it’s not okay, I want hugs and sunshine, I want to wake up and feel refreshed not oppressed, I want to have energy, I want to get unstuck, I want to remember and not feel guilt, I want to forget and not feel an ache.

I want it to stick that Angie’s dead, I want to be able to go to her house and not forget that she’s dead so that when the door opens, I don’t half expect it to be her. I want to be able to say her name without my voice cracking. I want to know why and why and why. I want her to be alive, I want her to be back, I want to hear her, I want to see her grow up.

I want everything I can’t have.

But more than anything, I want to be me again.
Tell me I’ll be me again. Tell me I’ll find my way back home. Because I’m scared that I’ve lost the map back to my heart and I’ll always be this way, the shell of the person I used to be.

You know, I thought I would feel relieved. Like, her death would somehow fall to pieces and disappear in the spaces between gravel as Hai and I road off into the sunset leaving all of our troubles and worries behind us. Instead, I miss my mom and my brother terribly and I feel this aching numbness deep in my chest. Most of the day, I spend my time trying to ignore it, letting it fill itself until it’s nearly brimming and not an ounce of room is left. And then I cry.

I’ve been finding myself weeping at random times of the day. Guilt and resentment and anger all straining to control themselves in my heart. I blame myself mostly, but sometimes, I blame my family. I think of the “what ifs” the “I could haves” the “I should haves” and the bitterness eats away at me. I see people shrouded and colored in shades of blacks and blues; laughter that doesn’t reach the eyes, smiles that hide what lingers beneath and I wonder, “Are you her?”

In every person, I see my cousin. And I am so terrified that I am going to lose someone else by their own  hand. I had a nightmare last night where my cousin came back to life but, it wasn’t her. She was trying to push her spirit into her body and when it worked, her head was chopped off by a long, thick rope showing me that no matter what I wish, the choice to leave was and will always belong to her. I woke up sweating and painfully awake, hands desperately grabbing for anything to take me away from that place.

I was so excited about going back to school as well, eager to drown myself in the midst of papers, studying, and readings. But now, I’ve emailed all of my professors about what has happened and I don’t feel it in my heart to even pick up a book my friend lent me. I’m afraid of how I will answer questions now when people ask “How are you Analiz?”

Do they want the polite, tidy version where I say I’m okay and I know things will get better? That I’m taking it day by day, bird by bird?

Or, do they really want to know that my heart feels like its been taken out of my chest and stomped on billions of times? That I watched my 10 year old cousin cry because she understood what it means when someone dies? That I touched my cousin’s swollen, bloated dead body and begged her to come back, begged her to forgive me, pleaded for this to be a nightmare and to wake me up? That I watched my aunt die with her daughter as she kissed my cousin’s cold, stone forehead? That my Uncle couldn’t bear the weight of his grief so he fell on his knees and wept over the death of his step daughter at her wake? That I’m afraid everyone I know and love is going to leave me like my cousin did? Because, even though I can’t promise you that I won’t leave you, I can promise you that I will never leave you willingly.

I am standing here with my hands outstretched asking, “Why?” and the only answer I receive is no answer. And I keep bitterly thinking back to Tuesday when I was at the Post secret event and Frank Warren talked about suicide and how I thought, “Wow, I’m so lucky I have never experienced someone leave me like that!”

Now here I am. And even though I have tons of hands to hold and arms to hug, I feel more alone than ever. Angie, if you’re reading this wherever you are, I am so angry at you. I miss you.

And I hope you know how much I love you. How much we all did.

There I was, 99 lbs, 5’1, with frizzy curly hair and big brown eyes filled with daring and pain as I “proved” to everyone that  girls could join the wrestling team and be successful. And not only did I prove to myself other people that I was good enough, I did it all on my own.

A lot of people may think that being strong is, well, a strength; but, in my case, strength is my biggest and most dangerous weakness.

With my strength comes the responsibility of carrying my weaknesses, my stress, my fears and anxiety, my entire life all on my shoulders until I can feel myself falling, arms flaying around desperately trying to catch my life before it shatters on the ground. It’s ironic because I have this desperate fear of being alone and yet, I feel like a burden when I ask for someone’s help. I push myself away from everyone else while desperately yearning for them to come closer to me.

I’m noticing that it’s not happening just in emotional situations but, with my education as well. When I work hard on a project, give a phenomenal speech, am complimented by the teacher and my peers, I don’t bask in the accomplished feeling for longer than a minute before I’m looking for moments where I could have done something better, different….something perfect.

There it is. My strength is the gate to my perfectionism.

This crippling ideal that has stunted my ability to write anything creatively. That has forced me to work for grades versus working towards gaining new perspectives and understandings. That has turned fun things into merely manageable tasks.

I had major anxiety issues last Friday after Valentine’s Day and the entire day, I tried to hold it in, deluding myself into thinking this was a situation that I could handle by myself. I have done that before and most times, I was able to rationalize with myself and end the anxiety. But, this time I couldn’t stop thinking about dying and how Hai might not being able to save me (once anxiety finds a thought, it’s like an alarm goes off constantly and you can’t turn it off). Eventually, I had to talk to Hai and I remember feeling so terrible.

Why couldn’t you handle it this time? You’ve done it before! This time wasn’t any different! What’s wrong with you?

I think being in a relationship for 3 years has failed to show me that I have a best friend always there for me 24 hours a day 7 days a week. I have an ear that will listen to me, a shoulder to cry and lean on, arms to hold me when I can’t hold myself.

I am not alone.

“I’m always here for you, you know.”

But I really didn’t know. I have always tried to be so self-reliant that sometimes, I forget I’m a human being and it’s okay, in fact, it’s perfect to crack into tiny pieces that have to be sewed back together. The scars are beautiful. The pain is necessary. The knowledge is a gift.

At the moment, I don’t really know how to stop being a perfectionist/let go of my need to be “tough” but, I’ve always learned the first step is admitting you have a problem.

My name is Analiz and I am a recovering perfectionist.

The good type. The one that makes you wake up with a smile plastered on your face even when the skies are grey and there’s a bone-chilling wind outside. The one that makes you nearly kill yourself in the shower as you do the electric slide and sing Justin Timberlake’s “Rock Your Body” while you “pass to the left and sail to the right!”

Maybe that’s just me. But honestly, I am happy.

Although I’ve sort of been denying attention to my Happiness Project, I’ve actually been working on some of the goals/habits I wanted to develop and now, I feel like I’m actually learning things. I am in love with English. Changing my major was the best decision of my life.

Anyways, with all of the craziness going on, I didn’t realize that I actually completed my very first long term goal; Maintain a blog for one year.

I have done it.

This crazy, sarcastic, painful, and hopeful blog is a beautiful product of an entire year’s worth of emotions, dilemmas, and experiences. For those of you who’ve stayed with me through it all and for those of you I’ve just gained, thank you

I didn’t realize how much I’ve grown as a person until I went back and read through some of my old blog posts. It’s been a truly challenging and worthwhile experience! So now, I will make my next long term goal, and I think you all will like this one.

I, Analiz, promise to maintain this blog for another year. 

From my heart to yours.

Love always,

Analiz

Honestly, I hope it never fucking happens again.

In my dream, I was sleeping next to booga. Please note that in real life, Booga and I were taking a nap. Anyways, in this dream, my roommates bring their friend into our room to introduce him to us. I begin to “wake up” and was completely disoriented but I said, “Hello. Nice to meet you.” For some reason, my eyes felt extremely heavy and everyone was laughing at me because I was struggling to open them up. Before I opened my eyes, this “friend” came closer to our bed in an attempt to hug me and I said, “Oh, well, he smells nice.” To which the same “friend” replied, “Well, that’s a good start.”

I opened my eyes and am confronted with a very handsome guy but, something was wrong about him. His smile was demented and his eyes were extremely small, completely black with no pupils or irises (sp?). I immediately looked over to Booga’s face to make sure he was seeing what I was seeing and as I stared at Booga, his face began to morph into the same demon eyes and demented smile. Soon, I was completely surrounded by my roommates, boyfriend, and a stranger all with demon eyes.

Now, here’s the kicker.

I knew I was dreaming.

I knew this wasn’t real.

And I immediately began to bang on the walls of my imaginary room telling myself to get the fuck up because something was wrong. As soon as I began to try and wake up, I became surrounded by complete darkness, a darkness that held so much fear and anguish in it. I was terrified. My soul started to leave my body and I was fighting against something all the while begging,

“Please. Please not yet. Please. I’m not ready. Don’t do this!”

That’s when I woke up (for real this time) screaming and questioning if I was still in a fucked up dream. It took Booga 15 minutes to calm me down and another 5 to get the story out of me.

I know this seems silly since it was just a dream but, those emotions I felt of feeling completely alone, terrified, my soul trying to escape my body, and of near death, those were real.

I am not ready.

I am not ready.

And if dying is truly as lonely and as painful as what I experienced, then I hope I don’t have to feel it for a long, long time.

Today, at 12:37pm, I handed my French teacher my final test and told her “Merci! Bon vacances Madame!” I could literally feel all of the weight and stress leave my shoulders the moment I walked out of the classroom.

Free.

I had high hopes for this semester. After such a terrible, stressful, and depressing summer, I wanted this semester to make me “me” again. I was excited; I was going to take a class about happiness, I didn’t have any Friday classes, I was moved in with my boyfriend, and I was taking classes with my friends.

What more could I ask for?

The first day of school, my happiness class was cancelled, I ended up having to take an 5pm class, and I don’t think I have ever felt more distant from my friends than I did this semester. In short, the semester was like a continuation of my shitty summer except, I could actually eat my food and I wasn’t depressed, lying down in my bed hating myself.

Now that the semester is over, I just feel…peaceful.

I know four out of my six classes will be “A”s and the other two will either be high “B”s or low “A”s (either of which I will accept). It’s been surprising. Moving in with Hai has been normal, like we have always lived together. I ended up becoming closer to new people and distant with those I really missed over summer break, which is bittersweet. I didn’t have the semester I was hoping for but it was both good and bad, so, I’ll take it with a grain of salt.

I’m so sorry about this challenge! I know I’m 13 days behind but, I’ll just pick off where I started. For those of you taking final exams, good luck! You can do this! For everyone else, have a great work week and don’t forget, in every bad day, there is something good.

Love,

Ana

I am learning that it’s okay to ask for help.

I love that about myself.

I’ve always been a loner. I don’t know if it’s because I push people away, if people just don’t pay attention to me, or maybe a combination of both. During my high school years, being a loner was difficult. I was angry and filled with words that were rotting me inside and there was no one to talk to. Even when I did find friends, even when my relationship with my mom was fixed, even when I got into this amazing relationship with Booga, I still felt like I was battling everything by myself. I was ashamed to ask for help because that meant weakness.

In my childhood, I never had the privilege to be weak. My mom was sad, she needed us to be strong for her, or so I thought. I locked everything inside and threw away the key. I let it fester until it exploded (literally) into a full blown panic attack, and that’s when I realized if I didn’t ask for help I was going to be miserable.

I love that I care enough about myself, my sanity, my health, to let go of my pride and ask for someone else to hold me up for awhile.

I guess the one thing I don’t like about myself is my inner critic. She demands nothing short of perfection and I think I disappoint her each and every time. After all, I’m just a 19 year old girl/woman trying to figure out what I want in my life. I’m not supposed to be perfect.

My inner critic is convinced everything I do is never good enough. I got one “B” last semester turning my perfect 4.0 GPA into a 3.8 and I remember just feeling unhappy with myself. Meanwhile, my hall mates were complaining about how difficult it was to make a 3.0; they would have been overjoyed with my GPA but for some reason, that thought didn’t comfort me.

Pathetic.

Even this past week she continuously criticized me. I read 300 pages in the span of 2 days, memorized/transcribed my recitation for French, studied for a final that is 2 weeks away, and planned my outline for my 10 page paper due this Friday. However, I didn’t get to finish reading the chapters I selected for my essay nor have I been able to start writing it and that has really upset me. I told my boyfriend yesterday, “I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing all week. Like everything I do is a big waste of time.” He gave me a shocked and slightly upset expression and proceeded to tell me what I had done and it really opened my eyes to how insane I was this week. How could I finish something that needed at least a week to be done in one day?

Even doing this right now, my 30 day challenge that I actually looked forward to, I feel like I’m wasting my time. Everything is go go go. Rush rush rush. Do do do. There are no exceptions. There is no room for failure. Push yourself until you can’t push anymore. And then, push harder.

I guess that’s something I really don’t like about myself. People think so highly of me and I get complimented for all of the things I do; however, I never take the time to really recognize and appreciate myself and when I try, I end up feeling like a failure because I didn’t do everything I had planned.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so busy and stressed out in my life. I woke up at 3:30am and I have been awake since then (it is currently 12:39pm). I literally slept for two hours, woke up in the middle of the night because we fell asleep with the light and TV on, and then I couldn’t sleep. Not even sex and an entire season of The Office could get me to rest!

I know this is late by two days but a promise to myself is a promise that I can’t break. Thus, I present to you my next 30 day challenge to celebrate achieving my goal of maintaining a blog for an entire year! I got a little lucky since this month has 31 days, I can write the first two posts now

Enjoy!

Love,

Ana

I have decided on another 30 Day Challenge to do and have posted the selected prompts on this post. However, I will not be doing this challenge until December to celebrate my goal of maintaining a blog for an entire year. If you decide to do the challenge, please link one post to me! I love to read them

Also, Happy Thanksgiving! No, I’m not crazy, I know it’s not Thanksgiving yet, but, I will be extremely busy this month preparing for finals and projects (ick) and this is my early “best wishes” message to everyone who stumbles upon my blog! Be happy and eat plenty.

Finally, I will be posting twice tonight, the next post being my “diary-like” entry which I hope will make up for my lack of posts this month! In the mean time, my challenge to you (if you aren’t doing the 30 Days of Truth challenge) is to try to do something that makes you happy every day for the rest of this month.

Lots of love,

Ana