你真可愛ㄧㄝ

[lncrediblysad]

three years later

Wow, it’s been three years since I last posted. A lot has happened since then. I came back from my medical leave. I graduated! college, I believed I found what I want to do in life forever, and my boyfriend and I are still together. It’s kind of crazy, and I don’t know why but I just realised I’m smiling right now. Like yeah, I survived. Three whole years. 

A lot has changed, but there’s still an old piece of me inside. For a bit I found passion in life. I thought, I think... maybe it’s hospitality, maybe it’s hotels, maybe my ultimate dream is to open up a huge restaurant with a whole nightlife scene like Tao or Hakkasan. And I tell everyone that’s my dream by the way, after prefacing it with, “I know it might not happen, but...” 

I work at this giant hotel now for a giant hotel company, and I thought it was my dream. And maybe it still is, but the hotel I work at now makes me absolutely miserable. Oh, and since those three years have passed, I worked 6 different jobs/positions. I counted on my LinkedIn. I was a server, then also did operations, and also did some brand ambassador-ing at the same time, then I worked at a hotel in Seattle for the summer, then I worked as an HR manager, then I worked as a server at a legit restaurant, and now... I’m here. 

They were kind of right when they said that adult life is scarier and more stressful than college life. I mean, no, I remember how stressful and exhausting being a college student was, and in a way, it’s more exhausting, and it’s a different kind of stress that makes it more stressful. Adult life is more stressful in that you kind of realise that, well, if you’re like me... if you hate your job, you’re stuck. You can hate school because it’ll be over, but if you hate your job, you realise you just wasted 5 whole years (in my case) and over $250,000 to land a job that makes you absolutely, horrifically miserable. 

I’m ranting now and saying so much because it’s been so long since I last really shared my true feelings and put it down somewhere. I don’t feel like I have anyone to really talk to, other than my boyfriend, and I just kind of need someone, like a friend to just say everything to. And I’ve been away from my friends, I just am too exhausted and I don’t feel like I really have friends again. I definitely do, but I feel again that absence of reality and that feeling of loneliness, especially since it’s getting a lot colder again and it’s getting dark again. 

Maybe I have to see a therapist again, but I hate that idea. I got rejected from my life insurance recently, and I’m trying to apply again, and I know it’s because of my PTSD. The agent says he thinks they were scared I just cut off therapy and medication, that I might not really be OK, and it’s not OK for me to just self medicate and think I can survive without therapy. I don’t know. I just hate therapy, I hate it. I feel weird talking about things that make me upset and cry and when I say the things that make me do that out loud, it sounds so stupid. And I don’t want to see a therapist again when I’m applying for life insurance again and for them to think I was lying about being OK. 

It’s a Sunday for me (it’s a Wednesday for everyone else). Since I was a kid, I hated Sundays. I hated Sunday nights, because I knew there was school the next day. I always wanted to do something Sunday nights with my mom and sister. So we always went to Borders at the mall and got a really warm and soft snickerdoodle cookie with some hot chocolate and coffee (at night) and read and read until the bookstore closed. Then we finally drove home, and I wished I could go back in time and not have it be Monday just yet. 

[bandtshirt]

DOGS THAT ATE BEES i’m cryign

[lncrediblysad]

I'm back again, and by "back" I mean all this sadness and this helplessness is back again, and it's never been so real. 

I withdrew from last academic semester. Everything I did last semester is gone, like it never happened. But my mom still paid that $32,000. What a waste. Now I'm on medical leave. I'm not allowed to take any classes at my university, and I'm supposed to see a psychologist that will evaluate me and give me permission to go back to school when she believes I'm ready.

But I'm so, so, so lost. I don't know why I feel this way. I don't know why I'm sad, why I have lost the motivation, why I don't have any passion or drive in life anymore. So I haven't been seeing that psychologist because I don't know what to talk about, and I'm afraid I'm just never going to see one and I will never go back to school.

I was diagnosed with major depression, which I expected, and PTSD. That shocked me. What started my withdrawing from the semester was that I had sleeping problems - I was always tired, I couldn't focus in school. My grades dropped. I still have trouble falling asleep, it's scary at night. I think about bad things at night and sometimes I'll cry for hours and I can never sleep and it's horrible because I'm so, so tired. And I'll have nightmares at night. Sometimes the kind that will make me sit up in bed and cry so hard. A lot of times I'm so used to having nightmares that I tell myself to wake up in the nightmare before it gets too bad, and it works. 

What confuses me about these nightmares is that there's SO much anger in them. So much anger and violence. I get raped in my nightmares a lot, and I don't know why. I kill people a lot, and I don't know why. 

I want to have fun and go out with friends, but I haven't been at all. When I think about it, it feels like a chore. It feels so forced, I feel so tired when I think about it. I'm scared I'll be lonely forever like this. I see my coworkers at work and how sociable they are, they have friends that visit them, they talk to each other as if they've been friends forever. And everything to me feels like small talk, I have to mention things that are unimportant just to get a conversation started. I don't know how people do it anymore, I'm really confused on how I became this way. 

I'm thankful for my boyfriend, but he's not much support. He's not very emotional, and I feel like he's the "suck it up" kind of guy. I keep him up with my crying at night, especially when he has work in the morning, and so I can't ask him to comfort me. I'm happy with him. But I'm not, at the same time. I feel so insecure, for some reason. I think about his ex all the time, I keep getting reminded that he betrayed me with her in the past and I don't know why but I always think about that... I always worry that he doesn't love me, and I don't know why I don't know WHY because he says he does and I know he does but at the same time i don't really know if he does and it makes me go crazy. I'm going crazy right now. 

[ravensandrocks-deactivated20200]

[lovequotesrus]

The End by Michael Faudet

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[chromeus]

[chromeus]

[lncrediblysad]

do you go to tas?

no

[lncrediblysad]

Why?

Because she was familiar, nostalgic.

[glitch-evcore]

[absentions]

It hurt, but I still stayed.

Six Word Story #23  (via finger3)

[lncrediblysad]

Today: Two strangers sitting next to each other at the library and he speaks up and asks me what book I’m reading. “The Conformist,” I say. We look at each other for so long I eventually hold out my hand. “I’m Hailey.” “John,” he says back, which immediately sparks something, and both our eyes widen and we both say at the same time: “John - the quarterback from high school!” “Hailey - I asked you out...” I laugh as the memory from years ago comes back into my mind. “To prom,” I finish for him. “And instead you asked someone else...” He continues. “Yes, because I was going through a hipster stage and I didn’t want to say yes to the quarterback.” 

There’s something comforting when we do that, pretending that we’re not ourselves and starting all over again and seeing what it would be like if we met each other but not exactly each other. I sometimes wonder if it’s childish that we do that, but I always do wonder what it would be like if I was someone else and I had met him, or what it would be like to go back and relive February all over again and meeting him again for the first time, but this time knowing how it would all turn out. I ask him the same things a lot: “Do you remember the first day we met when...” 

...When he thought my name was Hailey, when he bought me a drink but I was too afraid to drink it, when I wouldn’t let him kiss me on the lips but would let him kiss my neck, when he kept squeezing my arms tightly when we danced, when he almost got in a fight with a guy who was harassing my friend, when he carried me down Third Avenue because my feet hurt. At the end of the night we ate at St. Marks together, just me and him, although we had went to the club with our own separate group of friends, me with smeared eyeliner in a tight black dress tights and heels, and him in a dark blue button-up and nice pants, and we explored each other's lives through questions and I attempted to analyze him with the very little information I had about him through his answers and the way he interacted with me and others. 

It was such a curious encounter to me, everything about it, now that I know how things turned out in the end. Isn’t it interesting how your idea of someone at first is almost never completely right? I had thought he was confident - he had approached me, he had pursued me although I told him I had a boyfriend, and there was no hint of shyness when he agreed to eat breakfast with me, a stranger, after dancing the entire night. Breakfast, such a normal meal, at such a normal restaurant, not grabbing even more drinks at a dark bar where everyone masks themselves with alcohol and makeup so they can hide their insecurities and true selves. People would shout out some nickname throughout that night at the club, and he would say hi back, and I mentally noted that he was probably somewhat popular. I had thought that he was mysterious and hard to get at first; after that, I felt as if it was always me contacting him to see him again, and I could never be quite sure if he had that much of an interest in me as I did in him. I felt like I could never truly get to know him, that there was a large part of himself that he was hiding, and I tried to analyze him even further and further but not entirely sure what I was analyzing at all. 

It’s interesting to look back and see the journey of him eventually opening up to me and being willing to be vulnerable to me - to fall in love, the most vulnerable choice of all, to tell me things he would never dare to tell his closest friends to, to embarrass himself and love it because I was there laughing with him and not at him. He wasn’t as confident and cool as I thought he would be. He was mysterious, however, and it was always hard to get too-personal information about his past from him, but all of this was because of his fear of being vulnerable, and I had finally achieved that trust from him. All of this I admired of him, including the parts of him I was right about that night - polite, respectful, and (mostly) trustworthy. 

The journey for any sort of relationship is always a wonder to look back at. To remember that day one, we were having such polite small talk, to day 42, how I couldn’t fall asleep because I wasn’t used to him sleeping next to me in such a small bed, to 20 days later, he would start to tell me something along the lines of him being afraid of falling for me or that day I thought I had heard wrong, to now, waking up to each other’s morning breath. It is curious. The journey to being vulnerable to another person. 

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Alfred & Margaux on Flickr.

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How The Face Changes With Shifting A Light Source

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