As I sit down to write this, I know I am writing it out of necessity. I would rather be doing one hundred other things than writing this blog post. I'm not putting it off because I'm being lazy. I'm not putting it off because I'm busy. I just don't want to deal with it.
I'll start off by saying, I'm not a sunshine and butterflies person. If you think I am, then you don't know me very well. Not to say that I'm not a happy person, but I am a bit of a private person. There's a lot I don't tell people about. I don't want them to know.
I've been thinking a lot about body image lately. When I say I've been thinking, what I really mean is that I've been staring at a mirror and obsessing over what I consider flaws. I stare at my body and wonder why I don't look like a girl from the cover of a magazine. I do twenty-five leg lifts and think that afterwards I will consider myself beautiful.
I think about all of the people around me and how much skinnier, prettier, and smarter they are than I consider myself. I think of all the things I cannot be and try to figure out a way to work them into myself. I think, if only I were thinner, if only I read more, if only I worked harder, if only I didn't whine so much.
I want to be supernatural. And when I say that, I mean more than natural. I want to be one-hundred things at once.
I want to be as thin as a super model, as chic as a Parisian, as well read as a 70 year old poetry teacher who has traveled the world, as composed as an open heart surgeon. I think I've barely left room for me to be myself.
I let myself forget meals. I let myself forget hungry. I push myself to go without. I push myself to ignore my body's protest because in my mind, I'm just being a whiny little bitch.
I wish my complexion was even.
I wish I wasn't so hard on myself. I know there are things I love about me. Like my eyes. The first thing I ever loved about myself is how light blue they are. I love how pale I am, and I will defend my creamy skin until death. I love how edgy I look with my near china red lipstick, dark black hair, pale skin, blue eyes. I look like a doll or rather I have the color palette of one.
I know there are things I love about myself. It's just so hard to remember them when I stand in front of the mirror and see the things I consider flaws.
But then, I'll always see these things. I used to be a size two, I was working on a size zero, and I still saw that same spot on my stomach. I still saw myself as fat.
A year ago, I was a size 2. I was so proud of that number. Yet, I still felt compelled to push myself. I look back now and know that I wouldn't ever be thin enough to make myself happy. It's not about the numbers. It's not about how I look in a pair of skinny jeans. It's about loving me. It's about appreciating that I am not and will not ever be insect thin. No matter how hard I push myself, losing weight won't make me happy. I have to choose to be happy with myself. And that's the hardest thing of all.
I don't want to accept that I am only human. To me that is giving up. I have to be better than that and better than everything. Stronger, faster, and flawless.
But I don't. I just have to be Amanda. I just have to live and love myself.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
The Calm Before the Storm
It is a severe understatement to say that I am nervous about studying abroad.
I have a hundred questions on my mind, but, most of all, I am so excited. I'm awaiting hear back whether or not I've been accepted for the financial aid or something like that. It's a terrifying and wonderful thing to think of going to another country.
On another note, this week is a particularly painful one.
Four years ago this Sunday, my best friend died.
I can't help but remember her at this time of year. I swear some days that I'd be okay with the month of February dropping off of the calendar altogether.
I miss Jessie. She was such a warm and loving person. It is so unfair that she's gone.
I want to write more on the subject, but maybe now isn't the time.
I'm late on writing this post, but it's only 12:18 am, Saturday. I think I'll let myself slide on this one. I've felt really stuck lately. There's this strange need to do absolutely nothing that keeps trying to envelope my mind. I just want to curl up in my bed and do nothing, which would be disastrous.
I've avoided sending myself into a full-blown meltdown about my lack of interest in life. I just keep remembering to breathe deeply.
"This too shall pass"
I want to get it tattooed on my body. Well, that and one hundred other things. I want a tattoo in England. I want words from Sylvia Plath, J.K. Rowling, a mermaid and an astronaut, and a faceless pocket watch.
I want to paint again. I can feel this overflow of creative energy. Once the world quiets, my mind awakens. Which is strange, because I'm typically an early morning writer. Who needs sleep? Carpe Noctem!
Ahhhhh. There's the feeling I was looking for. The glow. I feel like I can breathe again, knowing that I'm creating something.
"That's why you're a writer." "This isn't permanent." "You go hard everyday, give yourself some time to rest." "Try to forget English, try to learn the language like a child." "it's always ourselves we find in the sea."
I've received some very good advice in the last week.
I'm very thankful for the people in my life. They keep me going when the storm dumps down it's furious rain and thunder and lightning. I just have to remember the magic of words. I just have to breathe. I just have to move.
I've had a lot of writing due this week and I've noticed my need for poetry slipping into it. It's such a pleasing thing to see these lines. To feel their crisp cut lines and balance in my mind. e.e. cummings has kept me in good company this week. It's time to read again. It's time to write again. It's time to live again.
This is messy writing. I'm okay with that. I might come back and edit this later. I might not.
I have a hundred questions on my mind, but, most of all, I am so excited. I'm awaiting hear back whether or not I've been accepted for the financial aid or something like that. It's a terrifying and wonderful thing to think of going to another country.
On another note, this week is a particularly painful one.
Four years ago this Sunday, my best friend died.
I can't help but remember her at this time of year. I swear some days that I'd be okay with the month of February dropping off of the calendar altogether.
I miss Jessie. She was such a warm and loving person. It is so unfair that she's gone.
I want to write more on the subject, but maybe now isn't the time.
I'm late on writing this post, but it's only 12:18 am, Saturday. I think I'll let myself slide on this one. I've felt really stuck lately. There's this strange need to do absolutely nothing that keeps trying to envelope my mind. I just want to curl up in my bed and do nothing, which would be disastrous.
I've avoided sending myself into a full-blown meltdown about my lack of interest in life. I just keep remembering to breathe deeply.
"This too shall pass"
I want to get it tattooed on my body. Well, that and one hundred other things. I want a tattoo in England. I want words from Sylvia Plath, J.K. Rowling, a mermaid and an astronaut, and a faceless pocket watch.
I want to paint again. I can feel this overflow of creative energy. Once the world quiets, my mind awakens. Which is strange, because I'm typically an early morning writer. Who needs sleep? Carpe Noctem!
Ahhhhh. There's the feeling I was looking for. The glow. I feel like I can breathe again, knowing that I'm creating something.
"That's why you're a writer." "This isn't permanent." "You go hard everyday, give yourself some time to rest." "Try to forget English, try to learn the language like a child." "it's always ourselves we find in the sea."
I've received some very good advice in the last week.
I'm very thankful for the people in my life. They keep me going when the storm dumps down it's furious rain and thunder and lightning. I just have to remember the magic of words. I just have to breathe. I just have to move.
I've had a lot of writing due this week and I've noticed my need for poetry slipping into it. It's such a pleasing thing to see these lines. To feel their crisp cut lines and balance in my mind. e.e. cummings has kept me in good company this week. It's time to read again. It's time to write again. It's time to live again.
This is messy writing. I'm okay with that. I might come back and edit this later. I might not.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Blog Fridays
Okay. Deep breath. I must say, I'm pretty thankful to have the friends I do. They're the best support system I could ask for.
Prioritize. I worked out today. I think I figured out a way to add working out into my daily routine. Which I know will improve my moods drastically. Now, if I could only get my homework done on time and not forget what's due.
The list of things I need to do is a towering one:
Practice Spanish
Write more
Write more poetry
Write any poetry
Keep up on my dream journal
Figure out ideas for the cover of M&S
Figure out how to stimulate the writers on campus
Do my theory readings
Do my theory hw
Start my midterm projects
Inter-library loan novels that I'm too poor to buy
Get a job
Keep said job
Master said job
Run more
Work out every day
Read everyone else's blog posts
...
I could keep going forever. I feel lazy. Apparently there's this thing called relaxing. I'm not at all familiar with the concept. I've spent the day watching movies with my cat and can say that I feel a bit like lard. Unmotivated.
The phrase that comes to mind is, "When it rains, it pours." I think I'm a pretty positive person, but there's only so much that I can take before I go all doom and gloom and just want to not do life anymore. Looking back on the last two weeks makes me just want to shut myself in a room and never come out again. I just watched Spirited Away and I'm pretty sure that Kohaku was talking to me when he said, "Don't look back."
Oh awesome. The screen on my laptop is flickering. Don't even think about it laptop. Ain't nobody got time for that.
On a positive note, yesterday was my first Valentine's Day alone in 6 years. It wasn't nearly as scary as I thought it'd be. Remus (my cat) is the best date.
This post is sub par. Oh well. Here's a picture of my cat. And some snow.
I'm trying to keep my new blog deadline of posting my thoughts on Fridays.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
"Your love life will soon be happy and harmonious"
"Your love life will soon be happy and harmonious"
It's a fortune. I have it taped up on my mirror, but only for the irony of it all. I got this fortune two months ago. I'm starting to lose hope in its false magic.
In the last two weeks my life has exploded. In quick succession, I found myself a group of friends, my mother was in an accident, I had an entire relationship end in its foundling era and I lost my job. I wonder how I'm still standing.
Let's focus on the relationship for a minute. It's hard to love someone. It's hard to know that you need someone, especially for me. I've never needed anyone in my life. I seem warm and like I am close to a lot of people, but in reality, very few people know me completely. I spent my entire childhood moving around, I know how not to lay down roots. Suddenly, I wanted to plant roses during this Indian summer.
I could see growing old with someone. I fully trusted this person. Our relationship existed in cycles. This was the good part of the cycle and like a manic who hasn't taken her pills, I didn't believe the down cycle would come.
It did. It came in the form of a phone call. I'm still a little enraged by the fact that he didn't have the balls to say it to my face. He didn't have the balls to look me in the eyes as he went back on everything he had said only four days ago.
I listened as he hid behind excuses. I've spent more than enough time with this person to know when he's lying. I can feel it. I don't need to see him to know what's true and what's not. Besides, he admitted all of the things he's now taking back.
I'm alone, crying in my car. I always cry in my car. She's the only thing in the world I own. I realize as the conversation comes to a close that there is an earth quake underneath my skin. Things are moving, changing. I tell him later that I don't want him to talk to me.
There's a small and angry part of me that wants to bring him to his knees. I want him to feel like I do. I want him to ache and burn at the words coming out of my mouth. I bury that urge. It's not ladylike or fair.
I think back to that fortune cookie and laugh. It's so ironic to me. I guess it didn't give a timeline for how long happy and harmonious would last. Do fortune cookies have a 12 hour limit?
Once the continents stopped moving, a new me was formed. I realized that these feelings, this hurt, it was an energy. I could channel it into other things. I do. I push against this anger, this hurt. I sing to myself, I write, I draw, I channel all of this into bettering myself. I start jogging again.
Oh nothing feels better than ten straight minutes of pounding feet and remembering the words that cut the most. If I feel myself slowing down or wanting to quit, I think of those things. Then I run harder. I run faster. After twenty minutes, I feel so much better.
I think of making myself a goals poster. Something to remind myself of what I'm working for. Being publish in undergrad. Studying abroad. A 3.8 GPA this semester. These concrete goals remind me that there are things other than a happy and harmonious love life to worry about.
It's a fortune. I have it taped up on my mirror, but only for the irony of it all. I got this fortune two months ago. I'm starting to lose hope in its false magic.
In the last two weeks my life has exploded. In quick succession, I found myself a group of friends, my mother was in an accident, I had an entire relationship end in its foundling era and I lost my job. I wonder how I'm still standing.
Let's focus on the relationship for a minute. It's hard to love someone. It's hard to know that you need someone, especially for me. I've never needed anyone in my life. I seem warm and like I am close to a lot of people, but in reality, very few people know me completely. I spent my entire childhood moving around, I know how not to lay down roots. Suddenly, I wanted to plant roses during this Indian summer.
I could see growing old with someone. I fully trusted this person. Our relationship existed in cycles. This was the good part of the cycle and like a manic who hasn't taken her pills, I didn't believe the down cycle would come.
It did. It came in the form of a phone call. I'm still a little enraged by the fact that he didn't have the balls to say it to my face. He didn't have the balls to look me in the eyes as he went back on everything he had said only four days ago.
I listened as he hid behind excuses. I've spent more than enough time with this person to know when he's lying. I can feel it. I don't need to see him to know what's true and what's not. Besides, he admitted all of the things he's now taking back.
I'm alone, crying in my car. I always cry in my car. She's the only thing in the world I own. I realize as the conversation comes to a close that there is an earth quake underneath my skin. Things are moving, changing. I tell him later that I don't want him to talk to me.
There's a small and angry part of me that wants to bring him to his knees. I want him to feel like I do. I want him to ache and burn at the words coming out of my mouth. I bury that urge. It's not ladylike or fair.
I think back to that fortune cookie and laugh. It's so ironic to me. I guess it didn't give a timeline for how long happy and harmonious would last. Do fortune cookies have a 12 hour limit?
Once the continents stopped moving, a new me was formed. I realized that these feelings, this hurt, it was an energy. I could channel it into other things. I do. I push against this anger, this hurt. I sing to myself, I write, I draw, I channel all of this into bettering myself. I start jogging again.
Oh nothing feels better than ten straight minutes of pounding feet and remembering the words that cut the most. If I feel myself slowing down or wanting to quit, I think of those things. Then I run harder. I run faster. After twenty minutes, I feel so much better.
I think of making myself a goals poster. Something to remind myself of what I'm working for. Being publish in undergrad. Studying abroad. A 3.8 GPA this semester. These concrete goals remind me that there are things other than a happy and harmonious love life to worry about.
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