the accidental hermit

Apologies for my bad blogging behavior! For the past couple of weeks I've been distracted because a) I quit my job helping people accessorize and b) began training to help people organize (The Container Store!), as well as c) started rehearsals for a musical in which I have a few lines AND get paid to perform! All of it is making me a little nervous, because it will be the busiest I have been in quite some time. I haven't had a schedule where school wasn't included since I was about 3 years old. I have to say, as much as I miss my friends and my full-time support system, I am relieved every day by the fact that there is no school work that needs to get done. Sometimes I forget and start scanning my brain for homework assignments, and then I suddenly realize: I. Don't. Have. Any. Except for one assignment, handed out by Professor Me: Find my motivation.

It's harder than it sounds. When you are the only one holding yourself accountable, becoming overwhelmed seems almost inevitable. At even the slightest inkling of becoming overwhelmed, I will begin my retreat into habits and behaviors that drive me, and I'm sure everyone around me, crazy. Sleeping excessively. Avoiding social outings. Letting messes pile up. Eating only fast food. Feeling sick when nothing is actually wrong. Putting off practice, or laundry, or grocery shopping, or even calling to check up on my friends.

Five years ago, I was diagnosed with high anxiety and depression. It was a relief to find an explanation for behaviors within myself that I hadn't understood for years. There were many things that lead up to this diagnosis, but after trying to overcome it on my own for x amount of years, the dam for the deep familiar sadness and panic was starting to give way. All of my energy went into making it seem like nothing was wrong. It was exhausting. The breaking point was my 18th birthday; the dam finally cracked, causing me to have the worst birthday in my recorded history, to break up with my then-boyfriend in a horrible and abrupt manner, and to make the decision to start seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist.

There is a societal stigma, even now, associated with seeing a therapist and / or a psychiatrist. For the record, it's a decision I have never regretted. At the very beginning of the process, I let myself feel ashamed and embarrassed. I thought I was weak for admitting that I had a serious problem. I wondered what these strangers could possibly tell me that I didn't already know myself. I came to realize that even if I "knew" what I "should" be doing or feeling to help myself, asking for and seeking out help was something to be proud of. I couldn't do it on my own, and THAT WAS OKAY. The two women I began to see saved my life in many ways, because they made me realize I was not alone and that I wasn't weak, or stupid, or silly for seeking their help. It's terrifying to ask for help. It is true surrender and an ongoing process. I expect that I will have to relearn how to ask for help many times in my life. And I've learned to be okay with that.

One part of this process is finding ways to become less overwhelmed socially. Even with friends I have had almost my entire life, I still retreat and become terrified that I am letting or will let them down at some point. On the flipside, I also reason that I am saving myself from being let down by pulling away. I put off talking to or catching up with people. I miss important events or moments because the urge to hide or pull away becomes greater than the need to be with them. I hate it. I don't understand why I do it. I know it's happening, but it's like I'm watching myself from across a room. I see the signs, but cannot always find a way around them yet. There are a lot of friends I miss and I am afraid I have lost because of this behavior. Through this post, I'm sending a message out into the universe that I want this to change. I work on it every day. I know I have a long way to go. As an introvert, I know that I need my alone time to recharge, refresh, and reflect. But I also know that sometimes I need to force myself out of my little cocoon. It is a cozy cocoon filled with books, tv shows and pillows, but I know it can't turn into my whole world all the time.

I DO love my tv shows though! I FINALLY AM CAUGHT UP TO BONES IN REAL TIME! Now I can watch and be surprised with the rest of the world! Which actually kind of sucks, because it means I have wait just like the rest of the world. So, maybe NOT a good move?

Shows I am currently watching which means you should be too: Modern Family, The Middle, Bones, Community, Glee, No Ordinary Family, The Event, Running Wilde, 30 Rock, The Office. What in God's name did I ever do before Hulu?! No, seriously. What did I do?

i am a carpenter

I have taken to building things on my own because I hate waiting for someone to help me. Thus, the new Wal-Mart bookshelf in my room. The box weighed 70 pounds. Somehow I managed to fanagle it onto the shopping cart's bottom rack and get it to the check out line. When I got out to my car, I tried to make it into a sort of bridge from the cart to the trunk, but the cart kept moving backwards, taking me with it. I think my pants were also having a seriously hard time staying up, for some reason or another, so everyone in the parking lot got a great look at my underwear (green with stars!). A lovely stranger came to my rescue with the words, "I'M COMING TO HELP YOU!" shouted in alarm as they ran over to me, probably witnessing one of the most pathetic scenes they'd ever seen (and in a Wal-Mart parking lot, no less)! When I got it back to my apartment, I had to carry it in piece by piece.

At that point, I thought the worst was over. But I would soon find out just how wrong I was.

The box said it should take one hour for one person to piece together the bookshelf. It took me 6 hours (with a short dinner break) and the walls of my room acting as another person to get the damn thing built. A new tool kit, 40 nails, countless swear words, a pile of screws that didn't QUITE fit in the holes, and a tearful phone call to my sister later, I FINALLY HAD A BOOKSHELF.

I bet Jesus himself would be extremely pissed at the shoddy craftsmanship of a Wal-Mart bookshelf. I said his name enough times that he at least had to know what was going on in this little corner of the world.

But on the PLUS side, I am a carpenter!!!!

being a grown up

Yes, I have indeed been a Neglectful Nancy to my blog this past week. My closest friends know that I sometimes stray off into my own little world, or "hermit", if you will. That's definitely been happening lately, as much as my random insularness annoys even me. I am also (deep breath!) taking a half-sketched leap into adulthood next weekend when I move into my first real rent-paying apartment and start my new job. Yay! Exciting! The problem? I'm scared. As you can see, this entry isn't really laughter-inducing, but I don't laugh when I'm scared, only when I'm nervous. Like, "on a date" nervous, not "going onstage in 30 seconds" nervous. That usually makes me nauseous. Not important to this conversation (soliloquy?), but still true. The point is: I've lived in this house my entire life. My room is exactly how I want it. I know where everything is. I have my cat. My parents and I live in symbiosis. My dad might disagree with that statement, but don't let him tell you I'm all parasite, okay?! Anyway. I know that it is time to move on, but that's never made it easier for me. I will never live across the hall from my sister again and head to her room at 3am when I've finished Harry Potter 6 and I need a hug. Look for my cat every morning in his bag and follow him around everywhere. Hear my dad snoring in the middle of the night. Or my mom (now she will probably kill me), and know that they are always down the hall when I need them. I understand that that's the way it is supposed to be. I'm excited for the future. But letting things go has never been a strong point of mine.

A couple of nights ago I ran into my first "boyfriend" (and giver of my first kiss at Tracy Forschler's pool party! Ah, 6th grade. What a time!) and his now wife outside of Portillos. They got married in January, and told me that they are expecting their first child! I couldn't believe it. It's like none of us has aged a day, and here they are, having a BABY. I have a letter in my old diary from this boy. He told me, in 6th grade, that I was pretty, that I was special because I looked past what other people thought of him, and that he loved me. In 6TH GRADE. He was, and is, a very special guy. Even then I remember thinking to myself that he would be a great father someday. I'm so happy for them. For some reason, when they told me they were expecting, it made me cry. Why would I cry? I'm not sure why that might make me so emotional. They're starting their lives. It's wonderful. I hope to be as happy as they are someday. But I get scared, and when I get scared I tend to push people away. If my fear had its way, it'd probably kidnap me and keep me in a room with a comfy couch, widescreen tv, and all the movies I could possibly wish for. I don't want to be content with that.

stop looking at me

A bug on the wall above my shower can ruin my entire shower experience, because first off, it's like it's watching me, and second off, lest it feel the urge to take a flying leap onto my shampooed hair, I must vigilantly keep one eye on it at all times. Which is hard because sometimes to rinse I HAVE to close both eyes, and there are a couple of seconds where ANYTHING can happen. I rinse as quickly as possible, snap my eyes back open, and zero in on Mr. Bug's last recorded location. And there he is, staring at me, PROBABLY with a mischievous gleam in his eye(s). What an ass. Yeah, sure, he may have had an epic, triumphant, peril-filled journey around the walls of the bathroom to get where he is, but why couldn't he have his adventure in someone else's bathroom?!

UPDATE: The bug who inspired this post is no longer with us. I'm not saying I'm a murderer. ...Okay, yeah, that's what I'm saying.