These are a few of my favorite things

"God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

the courage to change the things I can;

and the wisdom to know the difference."

It's easy to get down on myself, taking on the mentality I have in some way failed. Truth be told, I am proud of myself for being brave and trying to change a situation I believed I could control. I'm proud that I could see past the potential for heartache and tried to do something I thought could make me happy. I wish I could say that I was successful and didn't end up in pain after all. But I guess, in wanting so badly, I forgot that things simply cannot be in my control when another party is involved. 

I tried my best, though, and I have to believe that counts for something. 

I would like to say I had a good day and, to an extent, I did. I laughed a lot and worked just hard enough to feel accomplished. But I still have lot on my emotional plate I have to move on from. There's still this undercurrent of melancholy inside threatening to drag me down. 

I need a pick-me-up. Let's see if Julie Andrews knew what she was talking about. In no particular order, things that I love and that I am grateful for:

• Coffee
• Conversation
• Laughing
• Singing
• My phone full of music
• Reading
• Harry Potter
• Drinking
• White wine
• Eating
• youTube
• T-Rexs 
• Sausage
• Sex
• Kissing
• Men's scruffy faces
• Cooking
• Baking
• Thunder storms
• Sex during thunder storms
• Shoes
• Magazines
• Gem stone jewelry
• Letters (real ones, not that e-mail shit.)
• Movies
• LOTR
• Mountains
• Kaslo
• Colors
• Red Velvet anything
• Photography
• Silver
• Organizing
• Sisters
• Men (when they're behaving.)
• Ladies (when they're nice to look at)
• Tits ('cause, hey, they're fun)
• Camping
• Swimming
• Pizza
• Pasta
• Dark Chocolate
• Art Galleries
• Concerts
• Road trips
• S'mores
• Peacock feathers
• Owls
• Tattoos
• Trees
• Gerber Daisies
• Pianos
• Lakes
• Swear words
• Graphic t-shirts
• Slumber parties
• Restful sleep

Striking a Balance (seems impossible, just saying.)

Something my therapist told me to consider was that I am way too hard on myself. I set expectations for myself and when I fail to achieve a goal it gets me down - like really down. I know she's right about this, but I have no idea where the habit came from and when.

To be frank, no one ever had expectations for me when I was growing up. Because my mother was at work for the bulk of my formative years and my father was completely out of the picture by the time I was 2, the responsibility of "raising" me fell onto a number of babysitters. I don't remember a lot about them, because there were just too many, but most of them were stay-at-home moms. I know there were a number of Newfies, and that one of them had dentures and it freaked the shit out of me when she whipped them out... I digress.

The problem with being raised by these babysitters is that all of them had their own children to pile their expectations onto. Sis and I were simply around for extra income, not to be parented.  I didn't know any one expected me to get a diploma, find a career, and/or make grand-babies for them one day. Looking back as an adult who set these expectations for herself, this actually sounds like bliss. 

I mean, yes, I knew one day I was going to have to fend for myself and I figured getting a diploma and not having to work at McDonald's was good idea. I scraped by with the bare minimum of actual academic courses but managed to graduate with 130 credits because of all the art electives. I even went to college (or a "mish-mash of bullshit lessons I will never use") for a while. I had a string of piddly jobs that payed my rent and supported my extra-curricular activities, but they were nothing to write home about. It's actually kind of a miracle I even got that far as I had virtually no encouragement to succeed or threat of punishment if I failed.

So where did this habit of setting not just goals, but pretty damn hard ones for myself come from? Why do I all of a sudden have an imaginary deadline to hammer out the details of my career so I can buy a house all while trying to find a suitable mate and pump out children before I turn 35 (because, for some unknowable reason, I am now aware that there are potential health risks when you have kids after a certain age)? Am I unconsciously competing with my peers, or are my hormones telling me this just what I need to do? 

I don't know when I started giving any fucks about these things, but it's confusing and frustrating. I am a creature of extremes, you see: toeing a line between any two things is damn near impossible for me to do. I'm really going to have to work hard to strike a balance between wanting these things and being OK if I don't get them when/how I want them, I guess.

... oh, God. Did I just set another impossible goal for myself?

Dammit.

Sobriety & Roommates (aka: Not So Sober Any More)

When I was all graduated from high school, I decided to loosen up a little. And by a little, I mean I went all-out party animal for 4 years. I thought I deserved it. I had been a good teenager, got good grades never got into trouble. So I started drinking (every other night), smoking up (all the time), experimenting with drugs (only on weekends) and sleeping around. 

This was all a lot of fun, and I have no regrets about the decisions I made. I think of them as life lessons in the art of letting go. That being said, the phase did not last long. The truth is it is exhausting spending that much energy on having fun. And it was toxic, bad for the body and soul (and short-term memory). But none of my friends were at that stage yet. Without really realizing what it would mean for my partying, I made the decision to move to another city where I had no friends and, more importantly, no hook-ups. 

That was over four years ago, and I never really regretted moving on from that part of my life. It's nice to come home to an empty apartment, do nothing but read and watch youTube videos. I like going to bed at 10 pm. I like that my idea of a fun night out is getting together my girl friends and grabbing a bite or maybe seeing a movie. Every now and again, I'll imbibe in a bottle of wine. It's calm and steady and perfect for me. 

I'd hoped all of my old friends would reach adulthood some day. And one of them has finally decided to make that step. He made a choice to move up here and try to get his life on track. And I, with my compulsive need to help every one, happily and enthusiastically opened my doors to him.

This was less than two weeks ago, an I am wondering if it was not the dumbest decision I have made all year (including sleeping with "D" on and off for about 10 months after we'd split, and professing my feelings to a dear friend and being shot down twice). 

Ugh, fuck it. Long story short: I am drinking a Solo Cup of cheap white wine by myself.

A little about me.

You'd think after 26 years, I'd know more about myself - but the truth is I have no idea who I am.

I don't remember much (probably by choice) about my childhood. And from the ages of 12-20 I was on Paxil to treat depression. Once I decided to say a big "fuck you" to the pharmaceutical industry, I spent years in varying states of inebriation, as well as smoking ludicrous amounts of pot and experimenting with other recreational drugs. After moving to a new town, I unwittingly sobered up and quickly became some one's long-time girlfriend. After being brutally dumped by this douche, I proceeded to throw myself into other peoples issues in hopes of helping them rather than dealing with my own problems. Do you see where I'm getting?

I can tell you I've played the role of "rebellious teenager", the "tree-hugging wastrel", the "significant other", and the "supportive mother-hen" - and I played them pretty damn well. But I've now come to a point in my life where I must be the "independent woman", and I have no fucking clue what that means.

I'm not sure if the major depressive episode I have slipped into is the cause of this identity crisis, or if it goes the other way around, but I can tell you it really blows one way or the other. And I can't help but think that, with no role to embody, is being "that depressed girl" who I am destined to be?

Ok. Here we go.

So let me start off by saying that this is not my first blog. Way back in the day, when I was 16 or so, I had a LiveJournal account. I visited that thing not too long ago, and decided never to go back. Reading over these posts about how exciting and funny, terrible and heartbreaking life seemed to be as a teenager... I mean, does any one really want to revisit what is arguably the most excruciating time in one's life?

Don't get me wrong, though. Ten years of experience tends to give one a lot of perspective, but life is still terrible and heartbreaking, exciting and funny, just in different ways...

I don't exactly know what I am hoping to accomplish by putting my life into words for the internet (or just me) to view. Part of me thinks it may be a way to reach out, to find others in my particular situation. Maybe it's just a way to keep track of  down-falls and successes. Or maybe I am crazy as I am starting to feel. But I'm here, and I have a lot to say.

Kay.