Not Your American Average.

How the fuck did I get here? To this place where I feel so lost: nothing is familiar, everything is the same but nothing feels the same. I'm not who I was and I changed so fast that my head is still spinning. Five months ago, I ended a six year relationship with the only person who had ever stayed in my life that long. He saved me after I was raped and helped me glue the pieces back together. Yet, he also did irreparable damage. He took some of my whole pieces, things that hadn't been broken before and he changed them, altered them so they were no longer me, who I was then, but have now become me, who I am here and now. I used to crave a relationship, anyone who would say they were my boyfriend just so I wasn't alone but I'm now I'm scared of that. I'm scared to commit to anyone or anything because what if they hurt me too? What if I spend six years of my life putting my heart and soul into someone who doesn't do the same? What if they only use me? I wanted to be with my Ex forever. I wanted to marry him. I changed who I was, or I stayed who I was even though I don't think that's who I ever really was. I let him ignore me, hurt me, blame me, push me away just because I thought that's what love was: unconditional. And it is, but ours wasn't. I left him, I decided I couldn't stay with someone who wasn't going to put their time into being with me, into making laughs and smiles and memories. I wanted to create a life with him and he never gave a hint that he wanted the same thing. I decided that I was done being punished, being made to feel like I didn't deserve someone who would love me whole heartedly, who would want to do things with me, who would listen to my every hope, dream, every fear, paranoia, and accept who I was. So, I left and I didn't look back. He called and called, sent text after text and I ignored them because I needed to take care of myself, I needed to put myself first for once in my Goddamn life. And then he tried to kill himself and addressed the suicide letter to me, telling me how he wanted me to finish college, get a job, travel the world, fall in love, get married and have children and he would watch me from Paradise to make sure that I would never get hurt. Fortunately, he was caught before he had killed himself but he resented me. He hated me for not answering those text messages and phone calls, saying I could have prevented it. But I wasn't going to feel guilty for his actions because he made that choice.

After that, I decided that maybe I would just date around, try and figure out what I wanted. The second time my ex and I broke up(we broke up three times, the last time was the third), it had taken me a year to be able to think about him without crying and we got back together. So this time I knew that it would take a while and that it was healthy to grieve. But I also decided that I wanted to step out of my comfort zone. So, drum roll because that's when I first downloaded Tinder which is stupid I know but hey, if you want to meet people for casual sex this was the place to go because that's what I wanted: sex, no strings attached, just the pleasure of being with another person wether it was for an hour or the whole night. So, I did, in three days I had three different guys and I realized that sex could just be sex and there was nothing wrong with it. I continued with college until I had to make a life changing decision based on my health: to withdraw from school.

In high school, I just wanted to get out of my bullshit town and find a place where I would fit in, where I could find people to talk to and share ideas, because in high school I never had very many of those people. So, when I went to college, I did fit in, I found friends, I joined a sorority and I was excited to begin creating a life for me. I had been dying to get away from my fucking hometown and my dumbass family and I thought I had escaped, but my illness chained me to my home, to my mother who was my sole parent who would take care of me, to the doctor's.

I was half way through my sophomore year of college and I was suddenly so sick that I couldn't get out of bed without vomiting; the nausea was so intense I couldn't hold down any food, sometimes not even water, and I was so weak I couldn't stand. I couldn't attend class, I couldn't do anything and the only thing that made me feel better was weed and I smoked a lot of it. Sometimes as much as three times a day. But I couldn't stay at school and keep failing, watching my grandparents spend their hard earned money on me just so I could fail. So, I withdrew on a Thursday and by Sunday, I was gone. I had left what I thought was home, family, and a path to the future. But now, here I am, typing away at this blog, sitting on the pull out couch my mom bought last summer so I would be able to stay with her and my brother on breaks. Most of my belongings are at my grandparents house. I don't have a job just yet because I'm waiting to figure out what's wrong because what's the point in getting a job if I have to call in sick or run to the bathroom every ten minutes to vomit?

I realized when I left college that I had never wanted to be there in the first place, or at least the person deep inside of me who really was me, the person who had been waiting to be freed and allowed to live. I had gone to college, or decided to go to college, because I wanted to be who my mom wanted me to be. To be better than her and this family, to go away and make something out of myself. I'm smart and I know that but college, college I wasn't cut out for. I remember staring out the window as I studied, hating everything because I just wanted to GO! I wanted to travel or move and explore, I wanted to find something, someone. I wanted to live my life, not sit there behind a desk letting it waste away. So, leaving college wasn't the only thing for me but it killed me to leave because I thought i had found home. I had found people who were only too eager to throw me away, people who couldn't care if I was there with them or not, and that realization sent me into a downward spiral.

I realized that i had spent so much time just trying to be someone who could have an easy life. Someone who would become the American Average. I wanted to fall in love and get married. But this, who I really am: the girl who has casual sex and is terrified of commitment, the girl who has flaws to count and a temper as quick as a flame fed gasoline, the girl who hopes to leave this town one day, the girl who wants to BELONG somewhere, not just squeezes herself to fit in. I enjoy sex and lots of it. I enjoy scary movies and long romantic novels. I speak mediocre French and like to trip on acid. I don't mind the idea of working as a stripper, in fact I'm excited to learn how to pole dance. And I guess the reason I'm writing all of this, even if no one ever reads this, is to figure out where to go from here. Where do I find the strength to keep living even though I feel no hope? And I've decided that no God or Angel is going to save me, no one is going to give me purpose or let me have my life. I have to get up every day and decide that I want it. Life was given to me and until now, I never realized how much of a gift it was. Now, tomorrow I might wake up and feel like shit. I might want to cry and scream and cut my arm open but every time I fight it, I win. Every time I make a decision to do what will make ME happy, I win. Every time I find something that makes my inner fire burn brighter, I win. And sure, I'll keep living a very unorthodox life, I'll keep having random sex and keep tripping acid, and I may run away from relationships several hundred more times, but if I can just make it through today, then one day it'll get easier and I'll feel like me again. I'll find a place where I belong because this world is pretty damn big and it's filled with people, places, and things.

So, all I want you to know is that you just have to keep fighting because life will run you over. But if you can get the upper hand, keep it and never stop punching life in the face.