There's a million things to be, you know that there are

One of my Psych professors in college once stated that the uprise of anxiety and depression disorders in American culture over the last 50 years could be directly related to the rise in options we are presented with in our daily lives in our advanced industrialized society.

For example, in the 1940's the only cereals that were widely available were Grape Nuts, Shredded Wheat, Corn Flakes, Kix, and Captain Crunch.* There's your 5 options. Pick one.

But now when you go to the store there's an entire aisle dedicated to cereal. There's cereal in boxes, and in bags. Fruity, chocolatey, and marshmallow-y. There's rival brands' versions of the same cereal with different shapes, colors, and prices. Some are on sale, some never are, and some will be if you grab the coupon out of that little automatic coupon dispenser thing. There's corn or whole grain, there's sugar or sugar free, and it's all part of a balanced breakfast.

With all of the trials and stuggles the average adult has to deal with on a daily basis, now you have to spend like ten minutes figuring out what used to be a split second decision. Jesus. What the fuck DO I want for breakfast?

Judging by the way I've felt the last few years as a fully independent young woman, I have to agree with my Psych professor. With all of the other struggles with maintaining finances, relationships, health, work, home/car maintainence, plus trying to be productive with my time, planning my future, and trying not to make horrifying mistakes along the way, at the end of the day choosing my cereal could possibly drive me out of my goddamn mind.

I don't even know if I want to cut my hair or not.** I mean, it is summer and a short cut would be cute... I could dye it new funky colors and it would be all voluminous and super curly when it's short. I could even try out some bangs! But then... I really like the way it looks when I put it up while it's long. I can put it in a big curly pile on my head with a few tendrils hanging down, and it's really easy to style that way. If I ask other people's opinion I get 50% "Do it! Change is good!" and 50% "No, you'll miss your long hair!!" response. I mean, I shouldn't be too worried about this decision because it's just hair. It always grows back. But I can't help it. It's literally been weighing on my mind for weeks. I mean it's not ruining my life or anything, but it's just one more thing on top of everything else. Another aisle of cereal.

I can't deny that I've battled bouts and attacks of anxiety and depression throughout my entire life, from as young as I have memory of. This could be caused by chemicals, circumstances, my parent's fault, or just the way I'm wired. But I think it's only fair to recognise that I've never had an easy time making decisions. I see the pro's and con's to pretty much EVERYTHING, and I'm never entirely sure which option would suit me better. They're both good. They're both bad. But which one is more ME?

Well, that's impossible to know if you don't know "ME". If you're like me, and you live in a world of grey, where you accept that everything changes and almost nothing is as it seems, including "ME", you're back to square one. Always. When I was little, I was all about Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Then in high school it was Honey Bunches of Oats. Lately, I've been pretty into the Kashi Go Lean Crunch. But it won't last. In another couple months I'll find something new, and I'll probably tell Kashi to fuck off for awhile. Maybe for years. Maybe forever.
Or maybe not.

I'm OK with not knowing ME. Whenever I've tried to get a firm handle on "who I am", by the time I think I've figured it out I've already changed again. So... Fuck it. I'll be whoever I want to be, on any given day. My only focus is that who I'm being is GOOD. Meaning:
Not causing harm to self or others.
Not being destructive.
Appreciating what I have.
Making something better.

It doesn't make anything easier to accept this grey-way of life. But it makes things more fair. I'd rather be fair and admit that I don't know for sure than assume that I'm right all the time and limit myself as well as others on the path to understanding.
When you ASSUME, you make an ASS of U and ME. haha. Seriously though.
No one appreciates you seeing the tip of the iceberg once and then pretending you've been studying it for years.
When I was around 9 or 10 years old my dad used to say, "You're so open-minded that your brains are falling out of your head". I havn't noticed a trail of grey matter yet, but I have to concur that my degree of open-mindedness sets me apart from most people I know.

I can see every side to every story. I can take a step back from my emotions and opinions, and understand objectively why a person would do something seemingly crazy, or unusual, maybe even a little "sick". Aside from murderers, rapists, chi-mo's, etc., I can usually find a way to understand why a person is the way they are, and therefore cannot judge them for it, because they are just humans like me.

To pass judgement is to say "I know for a fact that I am smarter, faster, more capable, or otherwise BETTER than YOU". And even if you instinctively feel that way about someone, it doesn't make you RIGHT. You have extremely limited information that has formed your opinion about another individual. You don't know what it's like to be that person.
You don't know how their parents felt about them when they were born, or how much money they had.
You don't know how kids treated this person in school. You don't know if this person was just always the "duck, duck, duck", or if they were chosen to be "goose" frequently enough to feel important.
You don't know if this person had trouble reading, or whether they were an active member of their ASB, or if they were a drug addict for awhile, or if they lost their best friend.
You don't know if all their lives they felt loved, or if they've spent all their time on this earth feeling hated and misunderstood by all other human beings.

The point is, you don't know the events that have taken place to create this person in front of you. All you are able to see is the result. And judging that result by your own standard is a natural human instinct; but BELIEVING, and VOICING that judgement as if YOU KNOW YOU'RE RIGHT, is ignorant, counter-productive, and probably the exact reason that this person became this result you so disapprove of.

Maybe instead of saying "I HATE", try adopting "I DON'T UNDERSTAND".

Then try to understand.

Instead of declaring "THAT'S WRONG", maybe drop it down to "I WOULDN'T MAKE THAT CHOICE".

That's fine. You don't have to.

Having a wide array of options, ideas, people, places, and things in your life may very well cause uprises anxiety and depression. I guess I'll be looking forward to early wrinkles, grey hairs, and extra tears, because I'd prefer premature ageing tied to a neverending emotional struggle rather than putting limitations on what I can learn and experience in this one life I get, just because I wanted to pretend I already knew everything. I'd rather spend my life knowing that I gave every cereal a chance than spend it eating cornflakes and telling myself and everyone else that it's clearly best choice, and if you don't choose cornflakes you're a moron.

If ignorance is bliss, I'd rather be miserable.






*There may have been a few others, I only did about 5 minutes of research on that. But you get the point.
**This post was a draft for awhile. I cut it yesterday. I like it. I look like Shirley Temple.

Me: You're an idiot. Me: I am not! You just don't understand me... Me: *sigh* I'm the only one who makes any sense around here.

I've been keeping journals since I was about 13. They're not necessarily like "diaries", I don't commit to writing in them every day or anything, and I don't just record what I've been up to. But I've found that writing helps me sort out and separate my thoughts and emotions. It's totally un-structured, sometimes rambling, weird little tidbits here and there that I try to match up with eachother to get legitimate thoughts out of my scrambled brain and onto linear, organized paper. Sometimes I use it to whine about things that are bumming me out or pissing me off or confusing me. Sometimes I use it to remind myself of things I should keep in mind when making important decisions or handling delicate matters. Like song lyrics...(journal entries in red)

"Do yourself a favor, become your own savior" - Daniel Johnston "It's in the hiding place she finds in preparation for the storm, and in the way she prays for hell, so at least she can be warm" - Jared Mees
or to-do lists that will surely lead to my eternal unwavering happiness,
Steps to not being so miserable:

Step 1. Learn to cook. It's a two-fer, because you'll eat healthier AND be proud of yourself for aquiring a domestic quality.

Step 2. Talk it out with Ivy, Icarus, or Earl. They love you as much as you love them (for suresies) and they always agree/sympathize/got your back.

Ivy Mae Icarus, a.k.a "Sticky Icky"
EARL THE MONSTER!!!....who smiles for pictures :)

As you can see, my journal is not a place which restricts irrational thinking. But it IS a place to grasp for straws to make myself feel happier or more balanced, or to vent or record ideas. Which is good enough for me. Plus, no one ever gets to read them; sometimes not even me. I just write it out, read it over, get what I get out of it, and move on. Sometimes I give myself some pretty good ideas this way, or resolve some negative feelings, or (most of the time) ramble on about what's going on in my head until I'm sick of writing about it, and therefore sick of thinking about it. Every now and then though, I do read back over what I thought about things a couple years ago, or last summer, or last Tuesday. While doing this, I've noticed a very strange pattern in communication with myself...

It's like there's been something hiding in my journal all along, that even I didn't know about. And the author of a journal is supposed to know about EVERYTHING that's going on in there, right? That's what I thought. Until I discovered....

*deep breath*

.

.

.

I have journal split personalities.

And I never noticed WHILE writing them.

Creepy?

Yes. Creepy indeed.

I have realistic, brutally honest, abrasive me, who talks like,

"You knew in the beginning where this would lead you, and now you're acting all surprized?"

and, "If you could just start paying attention to all the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, maybe you wouldn't make yourself look like such a goddamn fool all the time. Ever think of that?"

and, "Fuck you, you stupid fucking fucker."

I know. Harsh, right? What a bitch.

And it's all directed at bummed out, confused, but more eloquent me, who talks like,

"Is it better for me to have the experience and learn from it, even if the result could be horrifying?"

and, "Maybe I should just stop trying, that way at least whatever happens won't be my fault, which makes it not so bad"

and, "I wish sometimes that the immediate positive effects of a situation didn't make me blind to the should-be-obvious consequenses later..."

I know. Pathetic, right? Poor sad emo kid.

THE POINT: Notice the difference in how I address myself?

When I'm being mean to me, I yell at myself like I was someone else, and I'm all sarcastic and nasty.

When I'm defending/explaining/whining/making excuses for myself, I refer to myself in the first person. And I almost never swear.

But wait.

It gets creepier.

I have actual conversations with MYSELF as TWO PEOPLE.

For example:

"You just need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your lazy ass in gear to do the things you know you need to do. No one cares about all this bullshit you're worried about, and neither should you. I mean, it's not like I can't see how I got here, and how to get away from here, but when I'm confused and uncomfortable with everything, it's so difficult to be right in the middle of it and try to make a move. But if you weren't so busy sitting around being a crybaby all day, maybe you'd have time to take care of all the things that are upsetting you in the first place, one by one, and the situation wouldn't seem as difficult and huge as you're making it in your batshit crazy head. I try to be positive, and I know this is just another chapter that is bound to end, but I'm torn between riding it out and waiting for it to solve itself or taking action and risking making things worse. And it's like come on, are you really so stupid you don't even realize you're digging yourself a hole, and so pathetic that you're crying because you're holding a shovel and your clothes are all dirty?"

See how smooth the transitions between my selves are? I guess because I always just spew out whatever comes to mind without any filter I never noticed whether I was refering to myself as "I" or "you" while I was writing it.

I know what you're thinking.

"This bitch has serious mental health issues that should be addressed promptly."

And I am not offended by your thought, because I thought the very same thing. Because it gets even worse. Beacuse ACTUAL me kind of hates both of those other me's.

They're like the extreme polar opposites of my personality having a neverending slap-fight over who has better ideas.

They're like Daria vs. Eeyore.

They're like that hipster fucker at the used record store and the timid girl who never looks you in the eyes at the vintage clothing store.

They're like moods I get into, but fully represented as personalities.

I like the actual everyday me much better. The actual me is realistic, but cuts me some slack, too. Not overly negative, not too sappy. But for some reason, actual me doesn't play a big part in my journal. Actual me hangs out in my head. The me in my head is like,

"Chill out, girl. Everythings gonna be OK. Go for a walk, get some coffee, listen to your ipod, and people watch for awhile."

Now that is helpful advice. That makes me feel better. There's nothing INSANE about that.

But wait.

Does that make three of me, total?

Yes it does.

Crazy people can do simple math, too.

Making the Best of What's Around

*BURSTS INTO ROOM OUT OF BREATH*

Fucking A! Moving is a bitch, no matter how much help you have. I'm usually a very easy-going, low stress, no complaints kind of girl, but packing everything I own up in 2 days, scrubbing a whole house clean Cinderella-style, and moving into new apartment that is nowhere near done being remodeled (never sign a lease and fork over $1000 a month in advance if theres no floor, no stove, no kitchen counters, no running water -no sinks/toilet/shower/washer/dryer/etc.- and only a pinky-promise that the only things left to work on by your move-in date will be light fixtures. Unless you like feeling like a naive dumb bitch who wishes she hadn't gotten a case of the giggles in such a seemingly important situation, that is) has turned me into a stressed-out bitch monster lately. Even Melissa commented that she'd never seen me like this before, and offered to buy me a coffee, or a cookie, or anything that might make me feel better. But Melissa doesn't know any Ketamine dealers, so it was a no-go.

So we (Melissa and I) moved in and had everything we owned piled into a mountain in the living room because that was the only area in the house not still under construction. We were told it would be all finished up in a few days, and the landlord took a week off of our rent for this month. So I was kind of OK with that. Only because I've been so broke that the extra week of rent was a somewhat pleasant exchange for having to walk to the QFC at the end of the block to use the toilet or wash my face. And it's kinda nice to hit up a happy hour in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday because it's not like you can really unpack yet anyway... haha.

Plus, it's all just a silly experience in young independent female life, right? Like when someone comes in to the QFC bathroom to use the toilet, and Melissa and I are chatting away with noxzema all over our faces, and as soon as we hear that someone start to pee we cant help but get all quiet, and when that someone wont stop peeing, and the stream is just going on FOREVER, and then we think it's stopping, but NOPE! this lady's been holding it for awhile, she keeps stopping and going a little more...

stopping...

going...

stop.

trickle...

stop.

streeeeaaaaaammmmm.....

stop.

trickle...

and the look on Melissa's face is so damn funny I'm trying my hardest to not be the immature freak who laughs out loud at the sound of URINE in a PUBLIC RESTROOM. But Melissa's facial expressions are so dramatic, and this lady can definitely hear my irregular gasps of air from my attempted muffled laughter and I can practically hear her thinking "Oh, fuck this white-creamed face pajama clad redheaded transient looking whore! I HAD TO PEE!!"

But I did the best I could. I mean, put yourself in my shoes. What would you do in this situation if your best friend was looking at the stall and then back at you with this look on their face?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

So when the woman came out of the stall giving me this look,

I did my best to seem apologetic while trying to wipe my smile and tears off of my cream covered face.

Ah, see? Memories in the making. I can now be glass-half-full about this whole remodeling fiasco.

I love living with Melissa. Maybe too much. Sometimes my mom or other friends and especially new friends seem to be a little confused by our bond. The best way I've found to describe our friendship is "just like a relationship, but the best relationship ever-minus the sex." We get the lesbian jokes all the time, but we've learned to chalk almost every one of those quips up to either jealousy or fantasy, or just a lame un-original sense of humor on the joker's part. So who's laughing now, funny man? Your ass kicking butch bitch friends, THAT'S who! And you'd better wipe that silly assed grin off your face before Melissa busts out her gat and does it FOR you!

Yeah, you wouldn't think Melissa's packin', but she is. Always. Actually, I had to drop Melissa off at the airport yesterday because she's taking a week-long vacation in Hawaii with her friend Eunice (see? If she was my girlfriend I probably wouldn't let her go on a romantic vacation with some other woman. Plus, I mean, Eunice is 85, so if she WERE to cheat I doubt it would be with an older woman like that. Not that I've ever thought about this... ahem... anywho....). I had been stressing out over this vacation more than I thought I would over the last couple days, just because it's lonely at home without your house-mate, and because Melissa takes on such a motherly role in our duo, I suddenly felt... I dunno... Not abandoned... or scared, necessarily... but like... a rolling stone? Yeah. On my own, like a rolling stone. Thanks, Bob.

It's just that Melissa makes life so easy for me in all those motherly ways. She helps me make all my decisions, like what I'm wearing, and what I should have for lunch. Plus she always plans all this fun stuff for us to do so I'm never bored, and... Ya know. Offers to get me coffee and a cookie when I'm freaking out a little.

She keeps me from smoking and drinking too much, wakes me up early for morning walks, tells me when I look pretty and when she's proud of me. She makes a fool of anyone who treats me badly, 9 times out of 10 she agrees to be the designated driver, and she gets me a nice card and hot cocoa when I'm sad. She tells me that I'm great and that no guy deserves me, tells me I'm talented and amazing at everything I try, and when I turn all crazy/anxious/depressed Kristina, she explains to me exactly how and why everything is gonna be OK, in a way that makes me believe her.

She's the BEST best friend EVER!

I'm sure you can see how I've gotten so attatched to all these comforts she provides. Because while other people have to deal with their lives going through a living hell sometimes, my Melissa makes sure my life is a living HEAVEN at all times. It's a little sick and cliche, but it's also very true.

So as I was driving away from the airport yesterday, I was getting all choked up about her being gone. It's not even the time apart, it's that she's so far away! For some reason I feel like the further the distance between us the more likely something terrible will happen to one of us. This isn't a rational belief, just another crazy bullshit feeling. It's not like I'm really afraid of being bored or lonely, I've already jam-packed the week with plans to prevent that from happening. But as I was driving, I kept thinking "What'll I do if ____ happens, and Melissa isn't there to help me?" But then the worst I could come up with was if I cut myself cooking or sewing and I couldn't quite get the band-aid on right.

Melissa always gets the band-aid on right.

She washes the cut, puts neosporin on, puts the band-aid on straight, and tells me not to touch it or get it dirty. Then she checks on it later on in the day to see how it's healing, or if I need a new neosporin filled band-aid. Before Melissa, I would always just stick my bloody finger in my mouth and let it heal on its own, no band-aid or nothin'. I'd never used neosporin in my life. But now that I've been spoiled for so long, I can't just neosporin myself!!

But then I said "Dammit Kristina, pull yourself together! You made it the first 15 years of your life without Melissa, and you can make it one week without her now!"

So I'm feeling good about it. I'm glad she gets to go have fun in the sun with Eunie, and I'm just gonna embrace being my own best friend for the week. It's actually kind of nice to be forced to appreciate all that someone does for you. Now that she's gone, I'm not so stressed and worried about all the ridiculous shit that could possibly go wrong. I just miss her, that's all. Yeah, I said I dropped her off yesterday, what of it? I miss her!! Fuck you..... :)

"It's not having what you want, it's wanting what you've got"