No more morning shots

I’m feeling sick to my stomach again. It could be the over consumption of junk food I’ve been munching down or the cigarette smoking used to avoid my thoughts, but it’s definitely more than just that. I’m starting to realize that I haven’t been myself lately. That’s when you start to get most uncomfortable, when you realize the life you’re living isn’t for you. It’s when you realize that you have to start making changes again.

I spent some time chasing after a guy who took me on stage at clubs and drank whiskey at 9 in the morning. I evolved myself so much in the lifestyle, that when I wasn’t around him I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was this on again off again thing and I’m not talking about the relationship with him. I’m talking about the one I had with myself. It was a battle of following my heart and pushing myself into a world that I did not belong in versus going back into the world I did.

Now that this guy is out of my life, I’ve come to the realization that I have to start rebuilding it. I’ve done this too many times. Left the life I know I’m supposed to live in order to be with a guy I have feelings for. I want to learn how to stop doing that. If I’m going to be with someone, I need them to understand that my life isn’t going to suddenly change for them. I’m going to want to keep writing at my same coffee shop every morning, not take shots of whiskey. I also like sleeping, preferably not just a drunken half sleep that causes me to wake up with a headache in the morning.

So, no more jumping into other people’s lives. It only causes me to come back to this empty feeling, like I lost myself while trying to find someone else. It’s just not going to work for me. I need to stay committed to my own life, at least until I build a foundation strong enough to where it doesn’t collapse as soon as my heart starts beating for a new love.



I want to talk about growing up. I type this out as I lay on my bed feeling sand in between my toes, sprinkled all over my sheets from the other night I went to the beach and was too lazy to take a shower before face planting into my pillow.

Being in your 20s is such a weird feeling, but a good one. I think back to when I was a teenager and remember how much it sucked. Feeling so confused about your social life, boyfriends, high school, who you were going to be, but young enough to find ways to avoid such feelings.

In your 20s you’re actually somewhat forced to figure that all out, if you’re lucky. You’re forced into deciding what is right for you. The people, where you live, academics, your job, finances and a way of life. It all suddenly becomes detrimental to your overall happiness. It’s not as easy to get by with skipping classes to go steal a bottle from the nearest grocery store and get drunk with you best friend at a park while chain smoking cigarettes. Yes, that was my life in high school. Booze, stealing whatever the hell I wanted, smoking til I coughed up my lungs and hanging around people who had the same bad habits as I did. Now it’s like whatever I do actually has some kind of purpose.

I hope everyone has this realization eventually. That what we decide to do with our lives actually matters. Despite us being only individuals, a single person probably making a very tiny, limited impact to the world around us–we still manage to have a purpose.I’m just starting to find my own. I’m starting to cultivate reasons for my existence and that’s what becoming an adult is. It isn’t about paying bills, finding a job or starting a family. It’s so much more than that. It’s creating yourself. You get this amazing opportunity to make yourself into whoever you want to be.

Being young is fun. It’s so freeing to be able to not care. To not give a shit what other people think or what your future may entail. But, being able to try, to care, to give in and finally give a damn about where you may end up gives you so much strength. So, even though I still manage to act like a child every so often by jumping into the ocean one night only to find myself covered in sand and with a full face of makeup when I wake up in the morning, I still want to grow. I want to grow up. I want to give into the pressures of society, while still managing to create myself into someone greater than I could’ve ever imagined when I was 16.

I want to write again

I’m not going to talk much about myself. I don’t think I’m that interesting to be honest. I wouldn’t want to read about someone’s daily life, so why would I write about mine? I write stories. Made up scenarios that involve impossible romances, troubled teens who make their way out of hell and drama filled happenings that never actually happen. This makes it impossible for me to find ordinary life as interesting when I have an aggressive imagination that forces me to pull out my laptop and type out a story. I’m a day dreamer. I constantly manipulate situations in my head so that I can later make it a part of a future novel that might not ever get published, or even finished. I like it this way. So no, I won’t write about my day to day life.

I do however, like writing about life in general. Not mine. I like writing about any findings I have discovered that may help out another fellow human being to survive whatever hardship they may be facing. Life is fucking hard, especially when the one you make up in your head is far greater than the one you experience in reality. So I manage to search for anything and everything that might help me make it through my boring day-to-day activities and potentially help others do the same.

So, I’m going to start writing more. Not about me. Maybe about the people I meet that I find interesting, only because another person’s psychology and day-to-day activities aren’t completely exposed. It gives room for my imagination to take control. I’ll write about emotions, feelings, what it means to be human, stories, questions, God, spiritual well-being and hardships I may confront that others can relate to.

I’m going to start writing again. Every day. Maybe I’ll have days where my mind is so blank that I have to go on about the almond milk latte I drank this morning being too hot or the hiking trip I have planned for tomorrow. For now, I’m going to try to commit this blog to things that matter though. Because no one really cares if I burn my tongue while sipping coffee or if I’ve managed to get in a daily work out.


I hardly remember what you look like anymore.

Isn’t that strange? How you can be around someone, be in love with them, be their best friend for six years and after only a few months you can’t seem to remember where your favorite freckle was on their face.

Shit, I see something now. Your fair skinned back, the broad width of your shoulders covered in them. Freckles. That’s all I see. You hated them, remember? I loved them. Every spot on you. Even your blemishes looked like tiny little masterpieces to me, or just components of the masterpiece that was you. Built with freckles, stubbornness, honesty and a huge heart. If someone needed the tools to create you, those would be them. I can’t forget that smile either and that one darkened tooth. The one that almost got knocked out by your best friend after he mistakenly hit you in a fight. The one I always stared at and laughed to myself about, thinking how stupid your friends were– thinking how stupid we all were.

Me and you both. We were pretty stupid huh? I say that as I think about your name tattooed on the lower part of my stomach, now covered with flowers. You can still see your name though. I don’t try to hide it any more. I tell people. “It’s my ex-boyfriend’s name” and for some reason I’m not ashamed anymore.

It is a part of me, just as you were. Just as you still are. Although it’s a part that only remains in my memories, in my heart, my soul and not in my physical reality– you still exist. You always will. The name on my stomach doesn’t mean shit compared to the scars you had left on my insides. The heart breaks you put me through and the ones that I put you through. Those will last longer than my skin. I will be buried, decomposing into the dirt. My flesh, blood and skin decaying into nothingness and still the memory of you will be lifted with my spirit, flowing in the wind.

I won’t remember your face. I may not remember how your hands feel against my skin anymore or the smell of your cologne. I do remember, however, the feelings you gave me. I remember how your presence felt. If I see you in another lifetime, with a different face and hair and attitude and clothes and gender and reality, I will still feel you. Just as I had the first time I saw you in this life.

Your freckles may fade baby, but you never will.

Facing Fear

I’m afraid. I’m afraid of facing my fears. I run away from research papers as if they’re chasing me through a dark hallway in the midst of a bad horror movie. I’m that white girl who runs away and hides, thinking the monster will just go into another room– thinking I’ll be safe until the credits start rolling, only to turn around and find the monster to be right behind me.

I don’t know if it’s the failure that really terrifies me or if it’s simply my imperfection. My inability to focus, to work hard. I have created this wall within my mind that prevents me from actually learning- from actually trying. Even as I type this out I’m afraid. I don’t want to confront my shortcomings. I gave up this quarter. I reached the end and I threw down my fucking cards before I even had the chance to see what the other players had been dealt. I folded. Like the way I fold myself underneath the covers in my bed to hide from my next assignment.

It’s hard to determine when it started being this way. I remember the English paper I had to write for 1B in community college. I waited last minute, as I do with everything else in my life. It was 11:50 pm and I had ten minutes to finish up my last body paragraph and conclusion. I was crying hysterically. I was reading through my paper, swearing at myself for the mess I had created on the screen in front of me, a bunch of jumbled words forced out of my head and down through my fingers so that I can finally just get it over with. I finally wrote the last word and turned it in, right at 12. I put my head down in shame. I knew it wasn’t my best work. I knew I could’ve done better. I also knew I wasn’t enjoying college anymore. I started to fucking hate it, just as I do now.

Then I see a person’s eyes light up when I tell them I go to UCLA. Like it’s a fucking badge of honor and maybe it should be, but I don’t wear it. I throw it in the corner of my closet with the clothes I don’t take the time to fold after wearing them. I don’t feel deserving. It’s my mindset. I know it is. I know I need to work harder, try harder, do better, be stronger. But, as I tell myself to do this and that, I still find that I fall back into that same pattern. Giving into my fears and folding.

I don’t know what I need to do. I really don’t. I tell myself I’ll do better next time. I promise the people who are counting on me that I will eventually do better, but I fail to do so. It’s funny because when I fail, it’s almost a relief. What I have failed at is over and done with, so I can be happy once again. Too bad, failing means that you have not achieved. It means that this goal that has been destined for you to accomplish, is still sitting there waiting for you. It’s lurking in the shadows. It’s coming up behind you, despite the belief that you are safe. It comes back again. What I have to do is learn how to face it. Take it head on. Turn around and look that monster straight in its eyes and attack it until it’s on the floor, dead in front of me. I need to face it. I can’t keep turning my back anymore. I’m tired of hiding.

Power of Positivity

I feel like I’ve been trying really hard to achieve my goals that the reason behind the reason I started fighting for them disappeared. I wanted to go to college so that I could educate myself, learn something about my life and the world around me so that maybe I can get answers to the overbearing questions that pop up in my head. Now I see myself crying over bad grades or missed opportunities to stand out in a classroom. It gets so bad that I don’t even want to go to lectures… I’ll think “I could always just listen to the podcast” or I’ll literally tell myself that I don’t care. I don’t care if I miss a lecture filled with information that I’m paying thousands of dollars for- scratch that- my parents are paying thousands of dollars for.

I’ve also been struggling with my pursuit into a healthier lifestyle. I started off so positively, running because I enjoyed the adrenaline rush and eating healthier foods because they actually made me feel better physically. All of a sudden I’m counting calories, restricting myself, and forcing myself to do things that I just don’t want to do. It’s all been way out of hand for me. I’ve been struggling and yesterday I had somewhat of an epiphany.

I was singing on the car ride home with my sister and mom, realizing for once I wasn’t solely focused on my body or how inadequate I was. I was happy, in the moment. Positivity. That’s what I’ve been missing throughout my journey to becoming a better person. I’ve been fighting so hard to achieve my goals, but it’s all been revolved around negative emotions. I’ve been working through fear, depression and hate. No wonder I haven’t gotten anywhere. I’ve been stuck for so damn long, trying so many different ways to escape this on-going cycle and I’ve finally realized what I need to do to get out of it.

The work I do in school is all benefiting my future, my education and me as a person. I love learning. That’s why I am there. This struggle with being healthy and having a nice body isn’t a form of punishment. It’s a reward for myself. I deserve to be healthy, just like anybody else.