Love

This is the preamble to a three-part series of posts - they are confessions:

I’m not exactly sure why I decided to be this candid in front of anyone who wants to read this, but I think it has something to do with a type of therapy.  If I write it down and share it I’m acknowledging that I’ve done something, I’m confessing, it’s a penance and something like a punishment - maybe it's just cathartic (not in the same way a T. Swift concert is, a friend gushed once that her concert was a very cathartic experience for him.)

I started out this blog at a really low point. I was writing it as part of my steps toward stability and it did help me recover some of my frail confidence. It continues to do that for the most part as I show the online world how vulnerable I am, my bad choices, flaws and things I’ve learned in attempts to change my frame of mind. 

This is all kind of funny because I just wrote a post about having a bright and shiny outlook, I’m sure I’ll get back there eventually. Right now, this is what I want to say.

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." ~ Ernest Hemingway

Love

I was told recently that I think about the past too much, that I dwell on my former relationships and the irreversible choices I’ve made. This is all true and something that I was already well aware of. Example: I discovered CDs in my car this weekend from two different exes. I don’t know when the last time I listened to them was and I’m not sure why they’re still in my glove box but there they are, one with nothing written on it and the other in Sharpie cursive. 

I’ve only had three exes, three people I wanted to be in a relationship with (if you count my middle school relationship that’s four but I’m not sure anyone does that when the most intimate thing you did was hold hands at the movies.) Two of them I called my boyfriend with a sense of satisfaction I didn’t know possible. In high school, I wouldn’t call my long-term relationship anything, I wouldn’t admit that it was a relationship. I had some nice half-baked "relationships" along the way but none that rivaled those three.  Maybe that’s why I linger so much thinking about them. Without going into any detail, just know all of them ended like a broken bone that you never had set. They bother you and don’t heal quite right and they cause a lot more pain than they ever should.

I can take the blame for the ongoing discomfort; always looking back has a way of tinting everything and making it seem perfect. Even the bad parts can be overlooked and forgotten when you feel like you’re suspended in midair all alone (I imagine it’s what astronauts feel like in zero gravity only emotionally.) It’s scary looking around and having nothing to cling to. So, I’d look back and try to hang onto them to keep me grounded. I’ve never been the type of girl that needed a man , I still don’t think of myself that way, but once I’ve opened myself up to having someone be mine and I theirs it’s like removing a piece of myself to let them go (I assume most of you know what I mean.) I’ve only felt this three times, don’t get confused, I’m not like this with everyone. One of them I couldn’t even say “I love you” to because I was afraid what I felt wasn’t love, I didn’t want to be lying, I wanted to make sure it meant something every time I said it.

There have been periods of time when no one was interested in me romantically at all. Times when I was the friend at the bar, the one that had to be entertained by the friends of a dude that wants to meet the girl friend I came with. This still happens relatively frequently. There were times when a few people liked me at once, where I’d go on one date with someone and decide I didn’t feel anything and that we should just be friends (that was a common occurrence in college.) There were other times when I really liked someone that “friend-zoned” me hardcore. More recently, I’ve had guys at the bar asking for my number. I’ll half-heartedly give it to them thinking I should just give it a chance, to then be so obviously lukewarm and evasive they get the hint and stop trying. Maybe I really am disillusioned with the whole dating thing.

I’ve kind of always thought of myself as a bit bitter, maybe too realistic. I used to say it was because some of my family members had such hurtful experiences involving relationships. I can’t blame it on them. Maybe it came from being told at about 14 by a scorned boy that I'll never get married, and then told again as a 23-year-old. I can't be sure, this is just an aspect of life I struggle with.

So here we are, I melted down recently. Not that I haven’t had mental breaks before, but I would say this one might be the worst (not in terms of depression by any means, just in pure personality-lapse, I didn't react as myself) and triggered my deviation from more amusing posts to, you know, whatever this is. The whole thing had to do with a person, and none of that matters, right now, honestly. I will say however that if I wrote the series of unfortunate events that came to pass I could probably write a pretty decent TV show that could rival The New Girl, The Mindy Project and Girls in awkwardness (and possibly humor, I like to think that in a few months this might be funny.)

Here’s how I explained what I’ve been up to recently in Facebook chat to my daughter that's still in college (pledge daughter that is):

“I've been going to the country bar to line dance, and *                    subsequently melted down mid last week, so I drank for 4 days, proceeded to probably make myself look super psycho, but I'm better now 

I also play soccer”

*Redacted to avoid revealing what happened because at this point it's irrelevant.

I couldn’t really get out of the whole situation unscathed, I could have handled the whole thing better, but I try to handle everything without completely losing it (I'm not saying I don't fail at this sometimes, but in general I tend to not go too overboard.) I think it just wasn’t in me to do it this time. Everyone else gets to fall apart completely, they're usually forgiven. It's kind of like when you get screwed with enough and can't take it anymore you pull a Ralphie (OK so not exactly like that, but emotions are nothing to toy with.) So, it took me from Wednesday to Sunday to do this: 

And I've only kind of achieved the pulling myself together portion

I'm relatively certain the guys I've said "I love you" to have actually both stopped believing I ever meant it for various reasons. I did love them, however, despite my idiocy, poor choices and actions, despite everything they did to me and what I did to them. So, these are my confessions, a little less than a month before Valentine's Day, nearing my 24th birthday. Yes, the past holds me back, it holds a lot of people back because it will always be there. Yes, time heals wounds (kind of) and I know I'll be fine. Eventually, the embarrassment will subside, hopefully it's worse in my head than in real life (not so sure about that one though.) Yes, I am guilty of the typical Southern thinking that I am going to die alone because I can't seem to make this stuff work. Yes, I wish I could go back and react differently (like a lady as opposed to like... the opposite of that but crazy. I don't know what that would be.) Yes, I think I reacted on the side of dramatic and I wish I'd pulled an Audrey as opposed to a Britney, but what can you do. 

And if you think this is weakness you try writing your emotions out, how you're really feeling, try "bleeding" in front of other people. Anyway, no one can be strong all the time. 

Let's talk about me

Let’s talk about me for a second. I bet you’re thinking, isn’t that what you do on this blog you narcissistic boob. In my head a black and white cartoon character was saying that then promptly took off his white glove to slap me across the face with it. To that I would say, “Of course you know, this means war.” But to the non-animated folks I would counter with, “No, no it is not what I write about all the time.”

But as Toby Keith put it, “I want to talk about me, I want to talk about I, want to talk about No. 1,” just for right now.

 So, the other night I tweeted this:

Let's just talk about how much I hate myself right now. What the eff is wrong with me?
— Amanda Heisey (@AmandaHeisey) December 3, 2012

Being a closet emo high school kid is a hard habit to break even into adulthood apparently. Oh, and I used to do theater, I’m pretty positive drama just courses through your veins after that for the rest of your life.

And I know people are probably thinking, why is she complaining? She has a lot going for her; she has a good job, lives in a beautiful place, so on and so forth. Or you’re going, that’s not funny, there are people that really struggle with hating themselves. And to all of you I say, yes I totally understand all of that and am well aware. You have no idea how aware I am of all of those things. I’m aware times infinity.

This does not, however, dismiss the fact that the other night I was really angry with myself. Don’t tell me you are happy and content all the time with the choices and decisions you make. Actually, if you are a person that has somehow managed to not feel remorse or regret things, you should probably tell me how you accomplished that feat. Unless you are like a cold-blooded killer (There’s Dexter again. My bad.)

But I am still riding the struggle bus when it comes to making good or not so good decisions. I’m pretty sure this comes from the fact that I have no idea what I want out of life. Not that I think everything needs to be planned, but having some sort of direction isn’t a bad thing I would assume.  

This whole thing came to a head partly because I feel as though many of my other friends have their lives together with long-term relationships; engaged, married, one even had a child on purpose. ON PURPOSE I tell you. I want a cat right now, but I’m a little nervous about how that would go, and one of my friends has another human being depending on her.

See, this is why people think Disney movies are bad influences on children. Pocahontas didn’t know where her path led but she had a magic talking willow tree to help her out. Where’s my enchanted vegetation? I’d settle for a smarmy palm tree (being in Florida I feel like that’s more likely than Grandmother Willow.)

Part of my frustration lies, not only in the fact that I am pretty jealous of my friends with their shit together, but because I do feel like, little by little, I’m actually gaining some control over my life. It just isn't quite there yet. While I’m making so much progress it’s difficult to realize I continuously make the same mistakes over and over again while improving other aspects of my life. And even though I think I know what I need to do, it’s like impossible to do it. Not impossible just very, very hard.

I suppose I sound pretty weak then, huh? I wrote that I hate myself because it’s just so difficult to know what you probably should do and to mindfully make a questionable choice. Then you judgers may say, “Why didn’t you just do what you know is right?”

Because, my apparently moral friends, it’s effing hard. OK? There are all of those what-ifs and the thought that things could be different for me and not suck if I make the slightly more reckless decision.  But I am most likely the rule and not the exception to the rule. Alas. 

Here's to struggling with, you know, life. Cheers to everyone out there being equally as stupid as me. Next time we're out we can take a shot to celebrate our frustration, or to take out our frustration, whatever works. 

She's so heavy...

You know that Beatles song I Want You (She's So Heavy)? If you don't know what I'm talking about, here you go.

 
I do realize that this version is from the movie Across the Universe, but the actual 
recording wouldn't embed, so here you go. Enjoy.

Let's skip over all of the wanting someone so bad part. This is not an unrequited love/Taylor Swift song type post. It's the "she's so heavy" part I want you to direct your attention to. When Lennon wrote this song I'm sure he wasn't thinking EXACTLY about heavy like emotionally but I'm sure that is in there somewhere. 

A friend of mine described me as heavy once, as in everything just means so much to me and is such a big deal. She clarified this by saying that wasn't a bad thing. I wasn't even mad, I kind of know what she means. And everyone can be "heavy" about certain aspects of life. I suppose workaholics are heavy about their professional lives, people in gangs are heavy about their reps....that was a weird example because I don't know anything about being in a gang...

Or do I?

No I really don't, but hopefully that comparison makes sense. 

I am heavy about my social life. I kind of thought this came about after the relationship I had in college which kind of tore me up. I was SO wrong. Just, completely and entirely incorrect. Way off the mark...you could probably add more cliches about being wrong in there too, just for good measure, that's how wrong I was. 

Sure, major events that impact your life can cause you to change your emotional or mental state or something, but I've been like this since forever apparently. Over this Thanksgiving week I watched some home movies with my parents on VHS (they actually brought the extra VCR from Kansas City and left it with me here in Florida. So, who wants to watch some vintage VHSes?). There was one family reunion tape where I was a cute baby, unable to make a fool of myself or appear like a brat, which is the downfall of having home movies. Then there was this one where I think I was in middle school.

It is a well documented fact that middle school is by far the most awkward point in basically everyone's lives. Also, we start to act like little assholes which lasts through high school. In this home movie I am playing croquet (seriously) and I am totally sucking at it and I am just like the most lanky, awkward girl in the whole world. This was before I got my braces (my front teeth looked huge) before I embraced my glasses (in my defense that didn't happen until after I had graduated from college) and nothing I wore seemed to fit as well as it probably should have if I hadn't been so ungainly (CONFESSION: I just looked up another word for awkward in the thesaurus because I was using it too much. You're welcome.)   

Other than how gawky (thank you thesaurus) I was, I also was super sarcastic with my mom. I actually wanted to slap little me, I was so annoyed with myself. Apparently, the sarcasm didn't just develop after  four years of college, oops. 

Back to the heavy thing. My friend recently located her DeviantArt account. I also had one but I totally forgot about it until I was looking through her's and located it (the username is just so nerd-a-rific it's unreal.) I guess I had posted some of the poems I wrote when I was in high school and dear Lord, they are so emo and dark and HEAVY. So, so heavy. I'll post one, if you want to read the other ones you have to ask very nicely and maybe give me some beer or something. Be kind.  

The element of love--
Yes, it is an element all it's own.
Correction: It is all the elements on it's own.
The air you cannot breath when you see her,
The ice-water that forms whirlpools in you stomach when you see him,
The fire that glares whenever you're near him,
The earth that remains lodged beneath your finger nails after that game
Of football you played to impress her.

My name means “worthy of love.”
I was born two days before Valentine's Day.
I chose Latin, from which all romance languages stem from.
I have never been in love.
It's a curse triggered by the many love allusions that are hidden in my life,
A curse placed upon me by Aphrodite herself, forcing me to wear a halo--
More of a barrier, against romantic advances.
I wish
Then I would have an excuse.
I don't
I don't have the ability to fall gracefully after being hit by Cupid's arrow,
Instead I am wounded by it,
It aches forever and I am unable to ease the dull, nagging pang.
I continue to pick at the scab it leaves,
Ripping the sore apart.
I do not have dirt beneath my nails,
I have the remains of my dried blood under them.
When it heals I know I've lost, I am left with a scar,
I just couldn't let myself
Fall, trip, dive into love--
Now it's gone.

Holy hell, right?!  I wrote this in high school! At least now I try not to take everything as seriously. It's kind of funny because I read this now and I see this theme of me being afraid I'm going to end up alone and never get married. Welp, old habits (read: neurotic worries) die hard. 

There's this part in Bridesmaids where Annie and Helen are discussing how people change, it goes like this:  

[referring to Lillian not joining them to play tennis]
Annie: Well, you know, she's not really that into sports. Even when we were little she didn't like anything that was too competitive.
Helen: Oh, she certainly enjoys playing tennis now. It's funny how people change, isn't it?
Annie: Yeah. I mean, I don't know. Do people really change?
Helen: Mmm. I think they do.
Annie: Yeah. But I mean like, still stay who they are, pretty much.
Helen: I think we change all the time.
Annie: I think we stay the same, but grow I guess, a little bit.
Helen: I think if you're growing, then you're changing.
Annie: But I mean we're changing from who we are, which we always stay as.
Helen: Not really. I don't think so.
Annie: I think so.
Helen: I don't.

I DO believe people can change, thank God, or everyone would suck. I also believe there are parts of us that apparently don't despite our best intentions.