I'm going to break this bad boy up into two posts because it's a long one...and yes my life is personal, and yes some things should be kept that way, but for some reason I felt inclined to share this. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed, and I think it speaks volumes about who I am today.
Sometimes I question whether I am secure with myself or not. I tend to think I am an upbeat, confident person, but then I wonder if that is just on the outside, and if I am putting on a front, even for myself.
I know in high school I was not confident. The 10th grade me would strongly disagree, but she’s wrong, and I’m right. I didn’t like the way I looked, the way I talked, the way I spoke out of turn and the most random shit that came out of my mouth. I wasn’t confident in my relationship, even though I had the most supportive, polite, and caring boyfriend. I had parents who lifted me up, yet I don’t think I really ever felt truly “comfortable”.
In college I definitely learned more about myself. I still babbled on about the stupidest shit. I have a dry sense of humor and more often than not it left me feeling embarrassed or misunderstood. I definitely took the opportunity to change myself a bit, since this was a chance to start fresh where very few people knew me. I became ridiculously organized and anxious. I wouldn't hang out with friends on Friday until my homework was done. I had straight up panic attacks if my dresser drawers were not organized, if my underwear were not neatly folded and held upright in a shoe box (never mind the fact that they were all some pattern or color of Victoria Secret cotton underwear). I reorganized my room monthly and overhauled the entire arrangment of the place. I stressed about every little thing, and I had very little trust. I went home on weekends, and proceeded to bring items from home to college, and vice versa, so I could create the perfect space to live comfortably. And I spent my weekends at home generally cleaning and organizing my bedroom there, and spending time with my boyfriend and family.
During this time, my grandma lived in the cities, and I never wanted to waste a day at home driving in. I wanted to be home, where I felt the most comfortable, and not wasting my time away from there.
During high school and college, I kept journals. They were my therapy. My place to digress and let it all out. Yet I was so effing blinded by some ridiculous lie that I never even shared my true feelings in my journal. I just sugar coated the shit out of that too. Sure I had the annoying little sister that would read my journal when I was younger. But that’s not why I did it. I honestly have no clue but sometimes when I go through my old stuff and come across some of my journals, I start reading them and quickly get sick to my stomach. Because I am taken back to that time of uneasiness, of distrust. That time where I felt I had to paint flowers and daisies for a journal I kept for myself.
I honestly don’t know where any of these feelings derived from. I can chalk it up to pure lack of understanding. Or just the simple fact that I was young and didn’t know myself. I loved my childhood. I have so many fond memories, and I experienced so much. I was lucky and blessed, and that is a truth. I have two parents who love me and two wonderful siblings. I have a great family, immediate and extended. While there have been dark times and uncertain moments, there have been more times of joy and support. I truly have an awesome support system.
I also know that I was lucky to experience depression when I was 20 years old. It changed my life, and while it sucked huge ass balls, it made me who I am today, and I would take that over who I was back then any day.
And if anyone were to ever say depression is not real, I can’t force them to think it is, but I can share my story, and know deep down that it is. And yet, I completely understand them and the point they make. I used to be just like them. I had family members who were depressed, and I didn’t believe it exsisted. I think I sometimes felt they were having a little pity party, even though the individuals in my life who suffered from depression kept it very private and I knew little about what they were going through. I didn’t understand how a trip to Target, a walk in the park, or dinner with friends didn’t instantly bring them happiness. I 100% believed they were making something out of nothing.
Until August of 2006…