Well Shit

Where do you go for help when you’re yourself when you’ve looked everywhere for help?

How do you find anyone on Earth to help you if you’ve asked everyone you know?

How do people make it through life lmao because wtf why did I raise myself with no guidance? I mean… Kudos me you did better than you realized you did. But you probably should’ve been placed up for adoption, and you know that lolz.

And if you bring this up to anyone who’s aware of your immediate family, they wouldn’t believe you because abusers don’t abuse in public and they don’t abuse everyone.

It’s blunt, and it’s not all terrible. But damn just want a smidgen of a break over here haha.

Best of luck to me!

Love,

Me of course!

What I’ve Learned throughout the Past Five Years of my Life: Quarter Life Crisis Style

Five years ago was actually my 20th birthday celebration. At the time, it felt like a celebration of my introduction to the end of my youth. I really thought I had learned all of the most important lessons there were to know, and I was preparing to plan my entry into the nearest nursing home because of that very serious old-age milestone I hit way out of the park. The feeling of finally making it into my twenties was simultaneously paradoxical, though, because I knew I also had more than plenty of room to grow.

This juxtaposition of my existential thoughts and my naivete was more cumbersome than I would like to admit. And I was not aware that not everyone was burdened with the same questions concerning their purpose as deeply as I was. Truth be told, I thought my way of thinking was the status quo. Therefore, “the plan” for the rest of my life… Yes really, the rest of my entire existence… That I had perfectly assembled to a T was, for all intents and purposes, going to pan out exactly as I had written it. By that, I mean everything I was working towards would come to fruition exactly as I had written it to be… Or frankly rewritten it until I allowed my perfectionism to accept the final draft of my whole life. It is making me laugh typing that out now because I really took that plan extremely seriously; I cannot underscore that enough.

I was working multiple jobs, volunteering at least fifteen-to-twenty hours a week, taking as many classes as I possibly could, and… Using that little old plan of mine to avoid the harder memories and feelings that I thought would magically disappear if my daily planner reflected my days in literally ten-minute increments.

It is very much safe to say that the whole running from my problems ordeal did not go well for me… At all. 

Even though my bank account, and truthfully my life in general at that time, looked outstanding on paper, my mental and physical health took the toll for it throughout the course of the next five years. Excessive nerve damage that branched into more serious problems ultimately leading to me having no choice other than to take time off from school and work.

It crushed me halfway through the past five years when everything hit its peak. The last few things I felt I had control were slipping through my fingers… Because they were. And I was not only so angry that my perfect life plan veered so far off track from my aspirations, but I was also filled with so much shame that I did not reach the goals I had set for myself. 

I mean, I am very literally still trying to figure out the instructions of my graduation date for my graduate school program. Graduation is tomorrow. That is not a joke.

However, it is now five years later, and my 25th birthday just passed last week. Thus, it is more than safe to say that the little life plan from my 20th birthday clearly did not make itself manifest… At all. It is also more than safe to say I am, yet again, so grateful it did not. Life is more than working yourself into the ground. Spending time with loved ones is the greatest gift of all. And most importantly, learning it is not only okay, but also necessary, to help others after I have taken the necessary steps to help myself has altered my perception of how I live my life completely.

So, if there is one word I have for my life right now it would be contronym. And I like it that way. I would not have guessed that at age 20-years-old. Mostly because contronym was not in my vocabulary repertoire then, yet contemporaneously because I wanted and felt that I needed others’ perceptions of me to be in my control. 

It is so much better than I could have imagined to relinquish that and just be. Authenticity is the payoff, and it truly does pay more than any job or perfect plan ever could. I am looking forward to what the next five years will look like for me. And what tomorrow brings my way… No really, I found out I have total aphantasia, and that word, aphantasia, means without an imagination. So I really mean it when I say I do not know what tomorrow has in store for me. I am choosing to look at that as a gift.

Okay So… Sorz I Change My Mind Again

I’ve decided I do believe in the idea of God. But like not in the Bible sort of way. I don’t know. Don’t really care to explain either. But I’m rereading some notes from people, and it has impacted me. I have MY opinion on what that means. And honestly, I don’t know the specifics yet.

However, I do know I believe in something. Otherwise, I don’t find the point. I’ll figure it out. My mind on this changes a lot. I think that’s good though. You don’t want to be so set on your opinion that it impacts your ability to consider new information.

SOOOOO… ya that’s a good thing for me right now.

And if you go back and forth… AS YOU SHOULD!!!!!!!!! New information should always be considered… duh bishez.

woo for moiiiiiiii

Alright… toodles mofoz.

Make It Stop Please

I’m just so hurt by the fact I am treated so poorly by professionals. Especially the ones I’m paying. I cannot make it stop, and I do not know how to unless I am mute. I already was situationally mute for quite some time during my youngest years. It didn’t work. I already caused scenes. It didn’t work.

But to have a literal expert that you’re paying tell you to “memorize the answers” or “do what everyone else is doing and find friends to study with” in order to improve your grade is so humilating. I feel like I don’t have a choice at this point other than to continue doing whatever it even is that I am doing to be perceived like I am so incredibly unintelligent.

It goes back to the same question.

Why do you feel the need to treat me so poorly?

Like I’m actually struggling to understand how I am “being a know it all” while simultaneously having “answers that have nothing to do with the questions”.

Do people just not think I’m capable of feeling emotions?

Because I am so emotional it is disruptive to my daily life.

So the disconnect just fucking hurts.

Think before you respond to someone coming to you for help.

Oh, or just think about how you’d talk to a disabled child in the same situation.

I don’t know.

It’s hard.

On the Bright Side, Though

I am rereading some of the papers I wrote throughout my time during undergrad, and I admire my willingness to write about the exact opposite of what some professors wanted just to see what they’d do. Rereading my U.S. history paper is making me laugh SO hard right now because WHY would I argue that side???

Like bruh… I’m not stupid I know women weren’t treated well back then. But get over it already because they should have been. My argument will make you reconsider because I already thought through ever counterargument you have. And it probably did because it was a quality paper.

“You won’t get an A if you choose that perspective.”

Literally did I ever mention to you I cared about this class? I don’t thinkkkkkk so because I didn’t. Like please was I even there on the days attendance wasn’t required? If not, I didn’t care. And I wasn’t, so I didn’t.

SOOOOOOO I’m still choosing that side even if I don’t believe a word I’m writing. And I did. #lolZ

He wasn’t flexing though. I didn’t get an A on that paper that honestly deserved at least an A-.

I Have Been Making Art Again

I have been making art again, and it feels like I never stopped.

And I don’t mean I have been making some little quick sketches during class or when I am waiting for my appointments to start in businesses’ lobbies. I mean I have been really making art again. In the comfort of my humble apartment that’s actually not humble whatsoever.

And I hate that I stopped.

Fortunately, the almighty question of Why did I stop? isn’t lingering in my brain. I’m not desparately trying to analyze this decision of mine while I go through the motions of my everydays. I already know the answer. It’s an answer that is so prideful it even hurts my own feelings, but I think maybe, just maybe, these prideful answers in my life make manifest the areas in which I need to self-reflect. And God knows that list is long, so adding to it never hurts. If anything, that list reminds me I never have to be bored, for there is always work for me to be completing.

You can guess the reason. It’s not that hard to decipher.

There is something about making art that is so catharthic; it’s indescribable. You don’t have to say anything to try to be understood. You just sit back and let your creation do the talking. You sit back and watch other people try to analyze what your work means, and you’re finally in the driver’s seat. You get to watch them react and respond. And you don’t have to provide any feedback on whether their interpretations match your intentions. They’re finally the ones with the unclear understanding of communication. I find it beautiful in a twisted way. I find their interpretations to be absolutely stupid the majority of the time, but I like to stand there and listen to them explain away pieces that don’t need any explanations. It’s a cruel pastime, but it’s one I’ll keep in my back pocket despite the negative connotation; sue me, please. I would recommend it to a friend in need of a positivity boost for sure.

Of course, there are the many other reasons art is the thread I hold onto during times that make existential questions erupt in my brain like lava spewing from a volcano over every square inch of land as far as the eye can see. But mostly, hearing the elites’ and the genuises’ takes on pieces of art that need no takes is music to my ears.

I’m just the kindest girl in the world, aren’t I?

Writing Scholarship Essays Like I’m Not So Sick I’m Taking the Semester Off & Crying About It

I have applied to 21 scholarships today. TWENTY-ONE. Not TWENTY-FUN. I am not turning the legal age to drink in America. I am literaLLY dying out here trying to save every spare penny a bi$h can. LITERALLY. And I am using literally correctly so COME AT ME. Or probably don’t; I have no good comebacks up my sleeve at the moment. That is because my sleeve is filled with my salty AF tears.

WHY?

I am so freakkkkking sick and tired of a life in solitude with my poodle. No offense, Tucker, but it is just not the same as being in class. I am just over it. That is why I had to buy Snoop Dog’s wine today from target. I had to because there was no other option for me.

That is ALSO why I had to put it in a portable container before I head out for my nightly walk with Tuck Tuck Goose.

I just cannot even believe this catastrophe of my social and academic career. I NEEEEEEEEEED someone to cut me a break and either get me a book deal or a reality show deal. Preferably the book deal. But I won’t mind some Kim K. action either.

Alright toodles. My Snoop wine awaits me. Can’t wait to walk my dog, drink this wine, and cry HAHAHHA.

K bye bishezzzz,

MOI

Tell all the truth but tell it slant by Emily Dickinson

Adrian Matejka on Twitter: "I'm welcoming #NationalPoetryMonth with Emily  Dickinson, who is one of the first poets I read & whose work continues to  inspire me to “Tell all the truth but
Here it is.

Sarah, I lied. This post is not for you. The next one will be (#lolZZZ).

I just have always loved this poem since I read it in high school.

I resonate with the title more than the poem because I think the title itself is genius, especially when followed by words explaining its meaning… **chef’s kiss**; it is a literary masterpiece… And I never told anyone this when I was in high school. I never added to the Emily Dickinson Conversation when we reviewed some of her most famous works. I never said or did anything other than expound upon what Google said her works meant… More truthfully, what Spark Notes and Cliff Notes said her works meant.

And that is because I was telling all the truth but telling it slant.

And it, Tell all the truth but tell it slant, received no credit, or rather poor Emily received no credit for her writing and her ability to feel so deeply, until after she died. And my high school self and this wretched account are dead, so this post, if even viewed by anyone at all, will receive no credit until then. Or I suppose now depending on when this is published, too.

Poor and clearly pompous me, for feeling like I am on the same level of writing and feeling as Emily Dickinson, and even personifying her feelings to her corpse. Poor and clearly pompous me, for even thinking a dead body would be feeling betrayed or disappointed or hurt or anything at all by this entire ordeal of her fame and love only after her, what seems as though, never-ending suffering.

What a shame that those who are trying their absolute hardest to communicate their desire for human connection and understanding and love do not receive any of it until they’re dead.

And that previous sentence, the one literally before this one presently being read, is me following Emily’s advice: that is me telling all the truth but telling it slant.

The Truth, when not told slant, is that I feel like the insurmountable vexation that progresses from having a mind like hers… one that makes her able to think and write this profoundly… is oddly enough the juxtaposition of the crux of progressive deterioration of that very same mind. I feel like it is oddly enough the juxtaposition of the crux of her, as aren’t the body and mind one and the same? Isn’t that what makes a person a person, as consciousness is too perplexing for even the world’s most intelligent psychologists and neuroscientists to “figure out” and explain?

Yet consciousness makes us human. It makes us different than the rest of living “things”. And isn’t that a good thing?

We are not animals but we are at top of the animal kingdom.

We are not unintelligent but we are destroying the one planet that keeps us all alive.

Make it make sense? Make the but make sense. Because I just simply cannot.

And that is what I find to be so profound about this entire poem. It’s the but in the title. That’s it… when I’m not telling it slant.

The Truth is I do not fucking understand the point of life.

I do not fucking understand the point of life.

I do not get it.

And no one can explain it to me.

That is the all the truth when I do not tell it slant.

However, if you do not tell it slant, that truth, or rather The Truth, is “too much” truth. It is misinterpreted as feeling emotions I do not feel. It is misinterpreted as me lying when I say those misinterpreted feelings are not felt. It is a whole bunch of an intertwined mess between me, “professionals”, and what is.

Therefore, I will just say what I said at the beginning of this entry:

I just have always loved this poem since I read it in high school.