Magic’s in the Makeup.

Can you tell I’m faking it?

Photographs have of a way of telling half a story. Just a tiny glimpse of what we want the world to see through perfectly strategic settings and beautifully flattering filters. Telling everyone what you want them to believe. It’s amazing to see life through other peoples perceptions of you. Yet you can’t help but wonder how many people really see the real you. How many people can tell the façade from the reality. A picture is worth a thousand words but how many of those words are the real thing?

Not at my best time but don't I look great. 2007 / 2008.

Not at my best time but don’t I look great. 2007 / 2008.

The past couple of months and in doing this blog, I have found myself faced with reality on numerous occasions. The countless lies I’ve told, the stories, and even going through the photographs of my past. What makes a photograph from when I was 23, different from the photograph of myself at 31? My reality and what I wanted you to believe.  I controlled the story I wanted to tell. I orchestrated the image of myself I wanted you to see. I did it. Because telling the lie was easier than telling the truth about my problems. Nobody asks any questions when you put your life out there for the world to see. It’s only what you don’t put forth in the world that gets people asking the questions. It’s easy to pretend to be someone else in a photograph. Someone better than who you really are. Finding the perfect angles, cropping your best features, and believing that you’re going to be okay. I believed that for years. This perfect image I put forth in the world was who I really was. I wasn’t okay.

Make-up’s all off. Who am I?

For six years I suffered with an eating disorder to the point of obsession. You don’t realize how much of a problem you have until it consumes you and controls every part of your life. I hid that from everyone. 6 years of photographs standing by countless people who didn’t have a clue about my life. Who didn’t know that every countless excuse I made to go home early was so I could throw up my food in the dark confides of my home. Counting the consumption of calories and calculating what I could throw up later in the time I had left. It became a sick twisted sport and I was fucking good at it. My gums bled and my teeth hurt and I didn’t care because an acceptance to be perfect was better than being ignored. I believed it.  I became obsessed with my abilities to hide my problem that it over powered my past problems. This became bigger than my depression, bigger than my cutting, it was a problem I could hide through the photographs. Nobody knew.

You want to believe that you have control of your problem. I wanted to believe that. For the days I threw up my food, I counted the days I didn’t. When my weight wasn’t matching up or the healthy alternative ways weren’t working, I went back to vomiting. I turned this problem on, I could very easily turn it off. For every bad day I had, I just binge ate then hid in the bathroom. I blamed food poisoning, cramps, the flu, everything except the problem at hand. I refused to believe I had a problem. I could control this problem, I could stop everything as soon as I was ready. I believed it. It started because of this need for acceptance, this belief that every photograph was closer to my true self. I knew it was wrong, I knew of the consequences and still I believed I could control this. The reality of it was I couldn’t control my problem. Every time I hid this problem the worse it got.

I believed I was okay. In some twisted fucked up way I had everything under control. I would go months without vomiting and then something would trigger it to happen again. I grew this fear of food, this obsession that everything I ate was a consequence for my mistakes. The love I once had for food became this hatred toward it. It was so easy to pretend this wasn’t a problem. I just couldn’t stop. Then comes a point in your life where you can’t do it anymore. Where the pure exhaustion of life just has you at your wits end. I reached my breaking point and after six years of hurting myself physically and emotionally, I couldn’t do it. It was bigger than anything I could ever imagine. I wish I could say that everything disappeared and I healed myself but every day is a struggle. I had to learn to love imperfections within myself. Watching my body change isn’t easy and as much as I want to resort to old ways, I couldn’t. It became my quest to get better. Another struggle that I told nobody about. While people poked fun at my weight gain, for the first time I didn’t cry. I started writing down everything I ate and with the miracle wonders of social media I started documenting every meal I ate. For every picture I took of my food, it was my silent trophy that I ate that and was okay with it.

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There’s always going to be a part of me that’s broken. A part of me that’s messy with imperfections but I have to be okay to live with that. I am always going to be my hardest critic but at the end of the day I have to be okay with not being perfect. No one’s perfect. It’s been two years since I have vomited my food. Two years since I let this sickness consume my life. I wish I could say that it has been an easy recovery, but it hasn’t been. Some days are easier and some days are harder. I am better than all this bullshit and you know what? I am doing the best I can.

My true essence. Photo Credit: Jazelle Prado.

My true essence. Photo Credit: Jazelle Prado.

We all self concious, I’m just the first to admit it.

Life has a funny way of turning you into the one thing you don’t want to be.

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Its funny.

It’s just easier to make a joke out of something then coming out and stating how you really feel. How you put yourself out into the world is how you want to feel on the inside. However it’s nothing close to how you’re feeling. It doesn’t even compare. For the sake of the story you make up the person you want to present to the world. You line up all your armor and you put it on, one by one. Hoping that nothing will stop you in your quest for perfection. This armor protects you from the outside world and keeps you safe from every sort of harm.  For a moment you believe that’s real. That everything you put forth to the world is exactly who you’ve always been and everything you hide, no one will ever see. You lie to everyone. Even the people who think they know you best, don’t know you at all. That has always been my problem. It was easy to pretend to be someone else then the person I really am.

We have this sick perception of what we believe to be perfect. What we believe to be beautiful. You become succumb to the notion that this is how everything is suppose to be. You spend every last dime, sacrifice so much of who you are to be exactly how everyone else wants you to be. The countless hours I spent in front of the mirror and never truly being satisfied with who I saw. You make a caricature of yourself and for years you play this part of someone you were never familiar with to begin with. The thicker your armor becomes the more or less you start disappearing inside. The make up, the clothes, the amount of money you spend to be someone completely different from the person you grew up with. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to realize the monster you have become. Other times you just come to terms with this is who you will be for the rest of your life. We forget that we were all once loved and had a thirst and hunger for life. New beginnings and clean slates were how we came to this world. Now we’re just a sad representation of a bad Xerox copy of everyone else.

The years pass and you find yourself hurting. The dents start showing in your armor. The more you think you’re fooling everyone, in reality you’re only fooling yourself. The countless times you believe its what you wanted was really what everyone else wanted. You become a punching bag to the worst people, your own worst enemy for rolling with the punches. The quest for perfection stopped being a quest and more of a nightmare of survival. The cutting, the bleeding, the starvation, the nights you tell yourself this is what they wanted and all you want is an out. The countless times you covered yourself up to hide how you felt inside. You realize how much you wanted a life of your own instead of the sad existence that you have before you. You can’t give up. You can’t fail. Instead you do what you do best, you hide how you feel. You fall, you get up and then you start all over again.

Piece by piece, you take away the armor. Cut out the toxic people that made you miserable. Cut out the people that hurt you to believe that their perception of beauty was who you needed to be. You slowly start appreciating the good in impurities instead of finding perfection in everything. You grow up wanting more than just what everyone else wants. Little by little the armor comes off. You live. Your scars heal, your body changes and eventually it’s not a fight with yourself for happiness. You surround yourself with good people and in turn find the good in everybody again. The fears you once held eventually fade with time but only after you let go of the dark to make way for the light. It’s not easy. Its not something that changes you over night. Some nights are unbearable and some days its just a fight to feel okay.
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It’s not easy. You don’t just wake up and want to change. It takes a lifetime of dealing with bullshit people and their equally bullshit standards. In the end you just realize that it’s up to you to find your own happiness. Change the course of your life into something that will in turn make you who you truly want to be. Your past can’t hurt you, your past doesn’t define you. Your past is there to show you how you survived, and all you’ve accomplished. In the end that’s all that matters in life.

You are amazing.

You are beautiful.

One day, you’ll actually believe that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Diary of a Mad Single Woman.

Status: Single.
Current mood: Happy

People have a funny way of believing that Single = Lonely. That your life in solitude is because of the person you are and the choices you make in life. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but single doesn’t always mean lonely, just like being in a relationship doesn’t always guarantee happiness. Some of us just chose to be single. As hard as that is to grasp being single is often a choice that we make for ourselves. Not because there is anything wrong with us, because there isn’t. Sometimes we want more to life than just settling down and being everyone else.

I know, SHOCKER.

While I can’t speak for the whole single community, I can speak for myself. I choose to be single. I choose to be single not because of my emotional problems, not because I haven’t found the right person, but because I genuinely want to be single.

There I said it.

I want to be single.

Maybe I am a little selfish in my logic and I know that people go on to lead amazing lives in the family aspect. I’m just not ready to jump forward and make that big commitment. I know it may seem weird to my family and friends, but sometimes the things you want are bigger than what everyone expects you to do. By no means am I afraid of commitment. Just my commitments may not be the same standards as everyone else’s. There is so much that this world has to offer that I haven’t even made a dent in. I never want to get to a point in my life where I wished I had done things different. Where I wished I would have traveled more, wished I would have been to different places and wished I would have had more experiences. Life is too short to settle for what everyone else expects me to do. So instead I am just going to exactly want I want to do.

In the past 14 years since I have graduated high school, I have been fortunate enough to set out and do everything I loved. I have traveled the country following my favorite bands, seen a variety of different cities, failed, fell, then got back up again. Sure I may have spent more money then I should have. I may not have money to show for all the times I spent doing everything I loved, but that’s what life is about. Life is about making a big mess of things, growing up and trying again. At the end of the day looking back and smiling because you did all those great amazing things.

I know you can have your adventures with a significant other by your side. You can grow and figure things out along the way with someone that shares the same sentiments you do. I get that. Everyone is different with their dreams and if you find the person that shares the same dreams you have, that’s an amazing feeling. I just never saw my life in that light. I’ve spent so much of my life helping people clean up their mistakes that I never had time to clean my own life. I have lived in the shadows of everyone else that it was time to focus on the one important person in my life.

Myself.

I want to see the world. I want to see how people in different countries live and communicate. I want to pay off my debts and not give the burden of my debts to anyone other than myself. I want to be financially stable and still be able to enjoy my life. I want to own my own home and decorate it in the way I see pleasing. I want to be able to look at myself and say I put myself back together before anyone else had a chance too. I want to see the lights of Paris, the streets of Cuba, the culture of Argentina, all before changing diapers and having to ask for permission from someone other than myself. I want to be my own boss before anyone has a chance to tell me differently. I want to struggle, bleed, claw, and cry for my dreams and when everything comes together appreciate that everything was worth it. I want to live in a big city and get completely lost in it.  I want to fall back in love with food and not feel the guilty regret of my past. More importantly I want to do things for myself without having to ask for help. Make my own mistakes, fall down, and then get back up again. Enjoy the modern wonders of life and still appreciating its deep cultured background. All of these things are everything I could only ask of myself and never ask of anyone else. My dreams, my hopes, and my desires that I could only want to come true.

Life has a funny way of changing you into someone else. With each life experience a part of you grows and changes to the person you’re suppose to be. That’s the kind of life I want to lead for the moment. You can keep your OKCupid, Tinder, speed dating. You can keep all comments about my life to yourself because at the end of the day I live with the choices I make. When I am willing and ready to make the jump from single to relationship, it will be on my terms. Until then I will continue coming and going as I damn well please.

Honestly.

My life is dope and  I do dope shit.

*CLICK*

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s take this back to the start.

We all have to crawl before we can walk again.

I get it.

Most people consider relapsing failing. I just consider it a tiny little hiccup in the recovery. The recovery is just as hard as the rehab. Its putting ourselves in real life situations and seeing how well we transition in public. I will admit it’s hard. When everyone else is going a mile a minute, you’re trying desperately to catch up.

This is my white flag.

I surrender. Surrender to the past, the present and even the future. Surrender in knowing that while my past does not define me, it doesn’t help with trying to understand my present.

I have to admit failure in my actions to come to terms with my reactions. As much as I can say I am okay, I don’t necessarily feel okay. I have a hard time understanding that my present is no longer associated with my past. Things that have haunted my dreams can not shake my reality. There are times we are tested in our present that make us believe the past is coming back to haunt us. It’s not. It’s just showing us how far we have come from the people we used to be. Yet no matter how many times we tell ourselves that, we react differently.

I have such an anxiety for the present that it makes me think of the past. That at any given moment everything will change and all that I have worked for will disappear. Instead of being strong, I find myself going back to my old ways. To curb the hunger of anxiety I eat, to calm the shakes of my paranoia I spend. Just something to take the edge off and help me calm down my fears. Its only when I’m a few pounds heavier and my bank account is drained that I realize I have failed. I have failed my present with the problems of my past. Its no ones fault. As much as I want to blame outside forces, I can’t. I just have a problem with overcoming my obstacles because I’m so used to failure.

Why is it so easy to invest our time in failing?

Why are we so forgiving to failing and so fearful of succeeding?

Failing is whats excepted. Failing is what comes naturally. Now its just the expectation that happens. You put so much energy for things to go bad, you surprise yourself when it runs smoothly. It’s being unhappy, going back to old habits and trying to make sense of it all. You can’t help but sabotage your new journeys with the problems of your past. You think that just giving in a little isn’t going to matter in the long run. Then you wake up and are left with the regret. You tell yourself you couldn’t help yourself. when in reality you knew better. You always know better. You know fully well what’s going on but still you expect it. You wait for it. This negative being of failure that follows you around like a black fucking cloud.

I am sick of it.

Done.

You can’t expect a change when you do everything in your power to keep it from happening. You can only blame yourself for your own unhappiness. Again you start over and just like before go with the hopefulness that everything will be better. Tomorrow is just another day to change it all around. Failure is not a word in your vocabulary when you’re starting over. It’s just the fire that ignites the will to keep going when you’ve lost it all.

One more step.

Back to the start. Rewind. Eventually everything in it’s right place.

 

 

 

City of Angels.

I’ve never been good with letting go.

The whole nostalgia of the past to let go in the present. Things weren’t always so bad and miserable. Sometimes they were pretty great. Dreams fade and you’re left with the dust of a harsh reality. Maybe I just like to make believe that everything was once perfect. Just go back to the 4 year old that put her hands in Marilyn Monroe’s handprints, dreaming that one day that would be her reality. The flashing lights never stop shining brightly when you’re a dreamer. The people of your past change and you become a different person when you’re older. Some how in your memories everyone remains the same. Just freeze framed into people that held the same dreams you did at one point. Every day was one big new beginning and every experience was a life changing event.

Some words to live by  Flickr - Photo Sharing! - Internet Explorer 692014 91159 PM.bmp

L.A. had always been a huge impact of my life. It was where my Dad came to call his adolescence home. Where no matter how crazy the drive was, it was always bigger, brighter, shinier than any city I had ever been to growing up. After a while the trips became less frequent and yet I still loved it. I yearned for a city, I knew nothing about and dreamed every day to return to it. I found myself telling everyone that “one day, I am going to move there and everything will happen for me”. That’s the thing with dreams, we dream so vividly we forget to gasp for air. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, I just knew I had to be somewhere that things happened. Where people from all walks of life migrated for just one tiny beckon of hope of a new beginning. Maybe that’s what I had always wanted. A new beginning. Anything better than the 4 years of being someone I didn’t like or the 5 years after processing a lifetime of heartbreak. Somewhere inside you knew that there was a place where you can start over and everything would be okay.

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The countless times I fled to LA were always magical. Whether waiting countless hours in front a venue to see a band or sitting directly in front of the latest crush of the moment, I knew things were happening. The countless nights I toasted to dreams with my friends or the days I dreamed knowing that every moment this was my best choice. Every time I made a mistake, it didn’t matter because tomorrow was just another day to turn it all around. I loved it. I loved being surrounded by dreamers that all wanted the same dreams I did. They wanted to be better and brighter than their past, no matter how much they struggled they knew one day it would all be different. You continued dreaming and continued to have hope for a better beginning. It was just the magically mysticism of  a city that made you believe that everything was possible. That everything you dreamed of will one day come true and everything else that happened in the past was just one sick twisted memory.

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The reality of dreams is that one day reality comes crashing down. One day the dreams you held so closely eventually disappear when you wake up. Maybe LA will always be my Neverland, where I will forever be stuck in the mistakes of my youth. We were all just lost boys and girls looking for a way to keep the dreams of our youth alive. While I have seen my life change drastically through the years, its always that memory of being in love with a city so magical that I’ve never forgotten. The only city that I’ve ever wanted to run away to, that helped me grow up in ways I never understood at the time.

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Its wrong to say I don’t miss it. Every night I catch myself missing it more than usual. I know in my heart that reality makes for a challenging adulthood and eventually our childish ways have to grow up. Just sometimes I can’t help but dream about the streets, the lights, and the sounds. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I still believe I’m back there. Back in my youth where everything was possible. Where dreams would one day become reality and every struggle was worth it.

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Now that I’m older my dreams have changed. Yet I find myself saying sorry that I let you down LA but sometimes we have to break before we can become whole again. I had to leave you to realize that I could love myself before I could love you again. You were the city that was there for me when I needed you most and sometimes I forget that. I will forever be grateful to you. Grateful to the city of dreamers who all wanted exactly what I once did. Your beauty, your history, and the light of hope that never once let me down.

I love you, LA. Always have, always will. <3

Everybody comes to Hollywood..

Bright lights, shooting stars and all that.

I can’t even remember what the grand appeal was to live in LA. Maybe it was the sense that it was far enough from home without leaving the state. It was a large enough city to get completely lost in while a 6 hour car ride back to reality. A majority of my childhood was spent dreaming of LA. While there were endless trips to the Bay Area, it was LA that was always the most glamorous city. Needless to say every dream I ever had was to pack all of my belongings and make it big under the big marquees and the shiny lights of Hollywood. When you’re a dreamer, you spend your nights just waiting for that chance to pick up everything and walk out with nothing. That’s exactly what I did.

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Its weird how vividly I remember that move. The sights, the sounds, and most of all just finally packing everything to let my life go. For so long I believed that what I was doing was making a new start. I was picking up the broken pieces and finding a new place to put them back together. Up until the day that I moved I was constantly going back and forth telling myself that this was the right choice. I had been heartbroken for so long and it was time to finally be happy. There’s always that part inside of me that thinks maybe all of this is a bad idea. Regardless of doubts and negative influences, I left. Maybe I could finally let go of everything I was feeling and maybe for once I would finally feel better. It had been a year since I was dumped, a year since I had started my stage of never ending self destruction and here I was opening the doors to a new beginning. I needed this, I wanted this change. More importantly I needed this to work. My first weeks in LA were complete blur. A majority of them just adjusting to a new lifestyle, a new life, and moving in with someone other than my parents. Sure I had lived with a roommate before but this was different. I was finally at an age that I could be a REAL adult. However, being a REAL adult meant a majority of different factors I never really grasped the concept of. Sure I paid every one of my bills on time, but I hadn’t lived on my own in a long time. Not to mention the money I had saved for the move was slowly becoming non-existent with in the first weeks of moving in.

Was I being financially irresponsible? Of course I was.

Life moves rather fast in a bigger city. LA was no exception. Instead of being responsible for my lack of income I had coming in, I spent it. ALL OF IT. This is where I could blame a lot of factors. I will still hooking up with a guy that was in a relationship (the same guy that dumped me), I was still going back to my old destructive ways and more importantly I just felt really alone. When I moved, I didn’t tell anybody. In the span of a year after my break-up, I told 5 people I was moving. I was exceptionally dramatic, I just wanted to disappear and see how many people would actually notice. I said my final goodbyes and packed up all my belongings and left. Not before hooking up with the person who dumped me out of revenge for the whole situation. At that point, I just didn’t care. I was leaving and everyone else was staying behind while I was moving forward.

Under the Urban Lights. One of the few things I miss about my time in LA

Under the Urban Lights. One of the few things I miss about my time in LA

When you move you always have to factor in these different scenarios:

Will I find work right away?

Do I have a place to stay?

How much money, do I need to support myself?

Can I honestly afford to move out?

That right there. The above. “Can I honestly afford to move out?”.  That should have been the question I asked myself over and over, instead I took my last check of work and never looked back.

It didn’t take too long to adjust to the LA lifestyle. The moving, the shaking and the great deal of partying. I was partying for a life I couldn’t afford before I even had a job. In some ways I was partying all of my feelings, my doubts, and even all of my own personal demons all for the sake of a good time. I knew the party couldn’t last forever and within weeks the party stopped. My roommate always told me she would be a huge advocate of helping me find a good job. A good paying job, like the one she was accustom to having. While I am not one to wait for everything, I started job hunting and found a job working as a receptionist in a Lending Company. It wasn’t ideal. I wasn’t making much money but at least it was a steady income to get my life on track. Within weeks of working and trying to adjust to life, the guy I was hooking up with dumped me for second time. If it wasn’t bad the first time, it was ten times worst the second. I just couldn’t catch a break. Right around the time I was adjusting to my new life, my brother moved in. After that it became a never ending cycle of bullshit. Everyone knows I don’t get a long with my sibling. To even saying his name makes me boil with anger. I was never like that before. Sure he annoyed me as all siblings do, but the day that he moved in to the apartment on the pretense of moving in with his friends changed everything. Right around the time that I was given the boot from my “relationship”, my brother was heartbroken about a relationship of his own.  Where I saw an out with my roommate, my brother saw an out with me. While he swore he was only going to stay for a handful of weeks until his friends moved to LA, I believed him. It wasn’t that I was being selfish but I had my own life to lead. I had my own life, struggles and demons to conquer, moving to LA was my dream and here I was playing babysitter to someone else’s. Things changed rather quickly once my brother moved in. I couldn’t necessarily talk freely about any of my problems, I couldn’t even bring my problems up. I was hiding every ounce of emotion I felt and that ended up being my downfall amongst other things.

No matter how many hours I’ve worked, how many times I thought I was making it. I wasn’t doing shit. The true honest factor where I thought I was finally coming together with something, something else would fall apart. I couldn’t afford rent. I couldn’t afford to live in LA. My new life was slowly becoming a harsh reality. I wasn’t paying rent because I wasn’t making any sort of money and therefore my roommate took the blunt end of the spectrum. I should have been more financially responsible but the truth was something inside of me snapped. Of course I want to blame every factor of my feelings but reality was I wasn’t being much of an adult. Instead of calling home and asking for money, I continued to spend whatever money I had. Every week I had 100 dollars to my name and every weekend I spent everything. How my roommate didn’t kick me out within the first few weeks, I’ll never understand. Instead she was too busy being the adult. Helping my brother get work (the same work she promised she would help me find), helping out with the finances, and importantly being the sister to my brother that I couldn’t be. Did that bother me? Absolutely. When I absolutely lost it was around the time I tried to be civil with my brother. He had lived in the apartment well over his few weeks mark and still wasn’t saying much to me. He would bicker about everything, argue about bullshit and more importantly just be so ungrateful about everything. I GET IT, he was having a hard time. WHAT ABOUT ME? Wasn’t I not dumped a few weeks prior? Did I know nothing about heartbreak? If my roommate invited him out, he would go. If I invited him out, he was busy or tired. I didn’t think it was fair. Here I was doing him a favor and he wouldn’t speak to me. It wasn’t until he told me that my roommate just understood him. “She’s going through a lot of heartbreak, she understands where I am coming from?”.

WOW.

Really?

I begin to wonder what was I actually doing in LA anymore. I couldn’t afford to live there. I couldn’t even pay rent. More importantly I wasn’t communicating with anyone.  What in the fuck was I doing?

Once again the cycle of destruction started all over again. When you harbor all of that negativity inside, its so easy to attract the darkness. Week after week it was another thing. First it was breaking my hand after being dumped (one $150 visit to Urgent care, then to County ER $75 a visit later), then needing an emergency root canal ($1500 plus procedure). It was one thing after another. I missed work because of these problems and lost money because I was missing work.

What did I do? I drank, smoked and shopped.

How did I feel? Absolutely miserable.

It was just one unlucky break after another. I was miserable and most of all I was extremely lonely. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I always confided in my roommate with my problems but she was too busy confiding in my brother. Every one else lived too far and any one that lived close didn’t understand. I felt alone because I was alone, I started doing everything to make the sadness disappear but it only made things worse.

The Rent breakdown

$1050 /a month for Rent (RENT $2100)
$450 /a month for utilities (mind you this is roughly an estimate)
$300 /a month for extra expenses

TOTAL: $1800 a month.

My Income

$1170 /a month ($12 an hour, paid weekly)

My expenses
$100 / a week groceries
$65 / a month (phone bill)
$75 / a month credit card bill Wells Fargo
$75 /a month credit card bill B of A
$75/ medical expense
$129/ dental expense
$40 / GAS

TOTAL $759

Miscellaneous Expenses

$411 / a month on bullshit (drinking, dining, shopping, etc)

Monthly earnings

$0

I absolutely just couldn’t catch a break. More importantly this new beginning was an absolute nightmare. I fought all the time with my roommate. I hated the cards that were dealt before me. Once again I continued to get the shit end of the stick and everyone was okay with that. When you’re broken you will do anything to continue to be in the darkness. I did just that. However on the other side my brother was doing great. He was making good money, he was excelling at work, and while he was still heartbroken, his life was coming together. Of course I was jealous of that. That was suppose to be me. That was suppose to be my life. I was the one that was suppose to be going somewhere. Instead I was stuck. He was being praised left and right and I was just a silly sob story. My parents constantly told me that if it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t be excelling. All I could think about was, why hadn’t anyone else done the same for me? Why didn’t anyone ask me how the fuck I was doing? Once again I was the savior in someone else’s life, but they only used me as a tiny blurb in their story.

Again the cycle continued. The drinking, the partying, the spending, the fighting, until one day it all stopped.

My roommate just about couldn’t take it anymore. Honestly I don’t blame her. I was a horrible person. Where I was once so hopeful for a new life, I became vile, vindictive and down right rotten. The only person I had to blame was myself. Honestly would you want to live with a person like that? There are so many things that went on in that apartment, all of which I don’t care to discuss anymore. When my roommate asked me to leave, I lost it. Not because I failed but because I was exactly how I felt. I was a loser. I was doing no better than if I stayed in my hometown.  She had every right to ask me to leave. I see that now, however at the time I was so angry and heartbroken I blamed her for everything. More importantly where I thought I had an ally in my brother, he took my roommate’s side in everything. After all she got him the job in his new life, she allowed him to continue living with her. And while I left with my usual dramatics, my brother took my place. To this day I have never forgiven my brother for that. Even though I can say I am over it, I am not. He took a life that wasn’t his to begin with. Where I continued to struggle in all aspects of my life, once again he had a hand out to make his life better. Every day I asked myself why. Why it was so easy for people like him that everyone made things happen for?  I wish I had the answer for everything.

I moved back home heartbroken, defeated and worst of all more broken the first time I left. I failed and instead of picking up the pieces, I left them piling up on the floor. I was angry and worst of all I was angry that my brother continued to live in MY apartment and taking over MY life. My brother and I don’t speak anymore. It took a year after I left for me to get the courage to even be civil to him. I was so angry with everything that went on in that apartment that I was still blaming him for everything. It’s been years since I’ve spoken to my roommate. It’s been years since a lot of things. I put all my eggs in the basket of living in LA, that I never once wondered the consequences. LA was suppose to be my new everything. What I failed to see was that LA was my complete downfall. I bit off more than I could chew and I was choking to death. Moving to LA just opened a new wave of bullshit. Instead of seeing my problems for what they were, I was running away from them. When you run away from your problems, they eventually catch up to you when you least expect them to. That’s exactly what happened with me. Maybe it was my Karma back for everything in my past. The lying, the secrecy, the dramatics, everything came back to haunt me. I was driving myself absolutely insane with my internal problems that I refused to see what I was doing to myself. I wasn’t myself when I was in LA, I was just another empty hollow shell. I drank too much, I threw up all my food, I took too many pills, I smoked too much, and every day it was the same thing. It didn’t matter what I did to hide my problems, they were always there staring back at me. I was no different than an addict, I was no different than a junkie, I  was just better at hiding everything I felt.  The only people I should be ashamed of is myself. I should have asked for help instead of crying for it but I didn’t. Instead I blamed everyone for all of my misfortunes.

This photo pretty much portrays my time in LA. Completely empty and hollow.

This photo pretty much portrays my time in LA. Completely empty and hollow.

It’s been 6 years since I’ve lived in LA. Every year I unravel a new revelation about that time period. I knew better. I wasn’t ready to move without fully being okay with my own personal demons. Never should I have left without being financially responsible for myself. I should have never offered a hand to help when I needed help to begin with. I also should never have moved into an apartment that was way beyond my means. So on, so forth. The point of growing up is finally coming to terms with the past. My life in LA was never going to work out, I know that now. While the appeal and allure of the shiny façade of LA will always intrigue me, it was never for me. I can play a million “what if” scenarios but the truth of the matter was, I wasn’t cut out for that life. A lot can happen in a year or two but after 6 years of analyzing I realized I have to stop looking back. Everything had a reason for happening and everything had to fall apart in order to find a place in my life. I didn’t understand it then but as the years progress, I start to understand it a little more. I am still not on speaking terms with my brother and who knows if I ever will be. Until I can fully put that whole time period behind me, only then I can truly heal that relationship. If there is anyone that I have to truly apologize for being so horrible is to my roommate because honestly she didn’t deserve any of that. While I may not have agreed with the tactics that happened after I left the apartment, I was never ungrateful for anything she did for me. At the end of the day she made life possible for my brother in ways I couldn’t. While she may have considered me a lost cause because of all of my problems at least she could help someone else. In a way she wasn’t the enemy, I just wished things had worked out different. Maybe in another life. Who knows.

I know things are not where I want them to be now, but one day everything will change for the better. It has to right?

Everything in it’s right place.

 

 

 

Best Friends means…

photo (7)

Someone once told me that in the course of your life you become friends with 4 people. Out of those 4 people, only 3 of them are your good friends. Out of those 3,  only 2 of them become your best friends. Out of those 2, only 1 of them you can honestly trust. That one person you can trust is yourself. Trust no one and no one will let you down. Of course the first time I heard that I thought it was complete horse shit. What does this person know about friendships? My friends are everything to me, what does this person know about friendship that I don’t already know.  When you’re young, you believe that everyone is your friend. Everyone is just like you, understands all your problems. They’re the family that you choose that you’re not born into. They’re the only people in the world that will have your back when the rest of the world shuns you out.

What a pipe dream.

You wind up becoming friends with a diverse rotating wheel of characters. Some do withstand the testament of time, while others don’t become so lucky. The point of growing up is finding yourself. Finding yourself, discovering who you are and what you’re about. When you’re young, you would do anything for your friends. You would even sacrifice you’re own happiness if that meant you could keep the party going. Keep the motion of staying young forever and live in a time snapshot of all your golden accomplishments with your friends. What you don’t realize when you’re younger is that you grow up eventually. Some of your friends grow up, wise up, and build foundations of their owns. While others dim silently in their plastic red solo cup struggling to adjust to life after the after party. Everyone is different. Every has different aspirations in life. We’re all just one huge hustle after the next. We grow up and hang on to whatever dream we thought we had throughout youth. Most of the time the dreams we hold so close to ourselves are the friendships we base solely on these notions. We’re young, we’re going to live forever, and holding on to those 2am nights were strangers become the only people that understand your deepest darkest secrets.

Of course. I was one of those people.

In the course of my life, I had the privilege of being friends with a wide diversity of people.  Obviously it’s no surprise that in my quest of reinvention that I had a tendency to befriend the wrong types of people. I understand that no one is perfect. Hell, I’ve written post after post of my imperfections. I just find a tendency to find the broken people. The people so done with life that they’d live in a constant state of euphoria and I find myself clinging to that notion. Maybe because I was broken, and finding comfort in the same people just gave me a sense of belonging. We were a set of misfit toys and nobody understood us. It’s funny to look back now because from the time I was 20 to the time I turned 28, it was the same type of people. The faces may have changed but they were all so similar. With their insecurities, their bad habits and all of their bad intentions. It’s funny how much I defended them. To the point that I honestly believed deep down somewhere we were all friends. The reality was I was just a broken chump and they saw that. They saw through my vulnerabilities and broken parts. Instead of being a group of a good friends, I became just another person they manipulated to get everything they wanted.

People have always asked me why I stay so guarded. Even opening up to my own “best” friends was hard. The moment I told my true vulnerabilities was the same moment that my “friends” used those things against me. They did. No matter how many times I heard “I would always have your back”, in every argument I was screamed at the very vulnerabilities I confided in them. It was the never ending cycle of taking their bullshit in because I was too tired to defend myself. Friendships were always one sided with one person always there for the taking, and the other always their metaphorical punching bag (and at times their own personal punching bag). I can be honest and say that at certain times I wasn’t the best person. I lied, cheated, schemed and even manipulated people to get my way. They say that karma happens when you least expect it. It always tends to come back to you with a familiar face of a friend. I couldn’t help myself. In the midst of my own social awkwardness and psychological bullshit, I was blinded to believe people were actually my friends. In 4 years I lost 15 of my allegedly close friends. 15 people that stated they would always be there for me. Always have my back. 10 of them were my good friends, 4 of them were my close friends, and 1 was my best friend. It’s amazing how things and people change in the course of a few years. I went from having countless people call me to complete silence on my phone. Somewhere inside I believed that those people were my friends. That those people that saw me for who I was actually gave a shit about me. Truth was I just their friend. I was there to pick up their broken pieces to lift them up out of a jam. I was the one with the wallet that would take care of everything. Once the party ended, and the money was gone, I was left with the sober reality of complete nothing. You learn a lot about yourself when you start drinking, but you learn more about people once you stop. Once I stopped wanting to make everything a party and living my life for people was the moment everyone became so vile and malicious. I started saying more “NO” than “Yes” and everyone made me out to be the bad guy. Because I stopped being a personal chauffer and stopped paying for things, I was the villain? Once I started asking for money back or wanting to do things by myself, I was the bad guy? Before I knew it the same people that “would take  bullet for me” were creating lies about me. I was difficult. I was a snob. I was the person who was better than everyone.

It’s laughable now. Now that I can see through the bullshit it’s funny. These same people that couldn’t cross the street without holding someone’s hand. Those same people that still cry and complain about their personal relationships to anyone who would listen. The broken people who always believe their problems are bigger than everyone else’s instead of showing an ounce of compassion for another person. They were so vile to point out my flaws but never once realized that the one finger they so violently pointed at me, they had 3 more pointing at themselves. I was done the moment the rumors started and people started turning away. I was done the moment my texts were ignored and they were too chicken shit to tell me the real demise of our friendship. I was through the moment a chunk of my hair was removed from my head and the photo of my hair was posted on social media sites. Here I thought we were all united by our flaws but reality of it all was these friends were just bullies. We weren’t friends because that isn’t friendship. The same honesty they threw at me, they never liked to hear about themselves. I was constantly the villain and their were always the victims. Because I was so fucked up, I believed them. I was naïve to think the number of friends you have meant something. The number of friends I had were nothing more than another debt I had to pay off and pretend to smile through.

When you finally grow up and let go is when you realize the reality of it all. None of those people were my friends. Even the people I considered my best friends, our friendship was  held on by some false illusion of a past that was never great to begin with. Its so easy to say words and convince a person to believe them. That’s the thing with people. Anyone can say words to you, and everyone is a great master manipulator. I just grew tired of words and would rather see actions. You can scream to the rooftops how sorry you are but I won’t believe you. You can tell a person how you can change but people never do. The best thing you can do is give a person a shot at a second chance and if nothing changes just let go. If they’re out of second chances, let them go. If you’re holding on to friendships because of the years you have known each other, that’s not a friendship. If the number of times you have been there for a person out numbers the times they have been there for you, LET THEM GO. The people who are worth it will always show you, and the people who are not always disappear. It sucks and it’s heartbreaking, sometimes friendship breakups hurt more than actual breakups. We all go through them. It hurts to miss them, it hurts to remember, but you grow because of them. They make you realize and appreciate the friendship that you do keep. They teach you that while your trust has been broken eventually you find people that will never hurt you like those people did. While those people weren’t the greatest friend to you, hopefully they find someone that they can be friends with. Learn from their mistakes.

Everyone needs their chance to grow.  When you grow up, you truly realize who your friends are. They’re the people that stay behind you when the rest of the world shuts you out. That’s just another perk of growing up. You live, you learn and eventually you move on. Just have to always remember that the friendship you have within yourself is the only friendship you should always work on. Its through that friendship that you learn to trust others again.

 

 

I’ve got an itch, that I just can’t scratch.

Addiction: the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming,  to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.

 

They say it takes 21 days to form a habit. 21 days to form a habit that will either change the course of your life or break you. Needless to say that if you’ve been reading my posts you know that a majority of my “habits” have indeed broke me. My problem wasn’t in forming the habit, the problem was in believing that I was in control of what I was doing. I truly did believe that. Once you start believing you’re in control of your addictions is when you realize the addiction has taken over your life. That was always my problem. I could lie to everyone about how I was feeling, what I was doing, but I couldn’t lie to myself. In the course of 20 years I’ve managed to form these addictions with out anyone knowing. When I mean anyone, I truly mean everyone. I’ve always been so self consumed in helping everyone else but I never took a focus to any of my own. Maybe that’s why all of this is hard to say. Hard to show people that this was who I was hiding from the world. My addictions did nothing but leave me heartbroken, alone, and completely miserable. One day you snap and just can’t hold it in anymore. The point of these posts isn’t to gain any sort of sympathy. This is just my way of truly being brutally honest with my feelings and showing people that no matter how many times I said I was “OK”, I wasn’t.

It’s weird to say that. I’m an addict. An addict. Addiction is a funny word and everyone is an expert. People expect you to wake up one day needing help. It’s not easy admitting you have a problem. Somewhere inside you believe you have everything under control.  This grand notion of getting help and once you finally admit you have a problem and everything will be okay. Everything you feel will automatically turn off and you’ll be everyone’s perception of “okay”. I wish it were that easy. Just some huge on/off switch that can turn off everything you’re feeling. It doesn’t work that way. Every day is another struggle and only people who have dealt with addiction can truly understand that. My flaw in my genetic makeup is being unable to tell people I am hurting. Somewhere in my mind believing if I told people what I was doing was showing a form of weakness. I knew everything I was doing was wrong for me. Everything was bad and hurting everything inside of me, I just couldn’t stop. I had everything under control, I knew the consequences for my actions but I just couldn’t stop myself. These addictions I had were the only things in my life I had control over.

For most of my life I’ve had a problem with food. It sounds silly to even say that. Of course any one can have problems with food, I just knew my problems were different from most. My weight has always been a problem in my life. As much as I want to say I have never obsessed over my weight, I have. I’m human. I’m female, I’ve always obsessed over my weight. It wasn’t until I started truly obsessing over food was when I realized I had a problem. Food was my escape. Eating was my only way of truly expressing how I felt. The more food I ate, the less I dealt with my emotions. If I wanted to scream out my frustrations, I ate. If I wanted to suppress my sadness, I ate. I was eating my way through every single human emotions because it was better than saying how I truly felt. I was unhappy with my surroundings, my social circle of friends were rotten and instead of changing it, I ate. When my weight ballooned drastically, I became more unhappy with myself. Instead of anyone asking what was wrong; I was mocked, ridiculed and continuously bullied about my weight. When you’re hurting you tend to build a shell around yourself and expect everything to go away. I made up this strong façade and continuously showed people that I didn’t care. It was all just one big huge joke and I again allowed myself to be the punching bag for stupid jokes. I didn’t know any better. I was young, I was stupid, and because  of it I just grew more upset. Everything I was doing was wrong and I was absolutely more miserable than before. When you feel rotten you will do just about anything to make yourself feel anything. I was miserable. Absolutely miserable. All I could do was become more self destructive. When I started cutting, I told myself it was a one time thing. Just to take the pressure off of how I felt. I was dealing with so much bullshit because of work, school, friends and my only escape was to cut. It started just a few small slices on my wrist and progressed to running up and down my forearms. I didn’t hide them. I knew people could see them and no one said anything. People assume because you cut, you want to die. I didn’t want to die, cutting was just the only thing in my life I could control. I didn’t cut every day  just every time I felt pressure or suffocated, I’d cut myself.  So much went on in that time period of my life that I truly believed I wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was my only escape from the harsh realities of my life. Once again I truly believed I was fine.

Around the time that I moved back from my countless attempts of being away from home I started being proactive about my “wellbeing”. I had heard about these miracle diet pills and decided I was going to start being proactive about my weight. You always hear about these success stories of over weight people taking a pill a day and magically all their weight disappears in the manner of weeks. Of course desperate to lose this massive weight gain, I bought every pill you can think of. Hydroxycut? Tried it. Xenical? Done it. Alli? Done it. Green tea extract, Raspberry Ketones, trust me I’ve done it. It wasn’t until I started taking a metabolism booster pill that I started to really notice I was losing weight. Within a few weeks I dropped 10 pounds. I was being active, eating better and before I knew it I lost another 15 pounds. Its amazing how much attention you get once you start losing weight. People were so focused on my weight loss that they didn’t bother asking me how I was feeling. It became just another thing to talk about. This grand weight loss was showing people that I was okay. Once I started getting attention for my weight loss I became obsessed with it. I started counting calories, eating less and if I over ate, I skipped a meal. The pills helped curb the appetite so it was easy to skip meals when I needed to. When I lost my job the second time, it was hard to afford the pills that were helping me lose the weight. Like all great things these miracle pills were anything but a miracle. I was grouchy, light headed, and once I stopped taking the miracle pills I started gaining the weight. Everyone that applauded me for the weight loss were the same people to point out my weight gain. I grew paranoid and started another series of self destruction. Because I couldn’t afford my miracle pills I started taking laxatives to take off the bloat. On top of everything I started all over again with the self mutilation. I was so upset about gaining the weight that I punished myself for letting myself go.  It’s amazing what your mind does when it wants something bad enough. Before I knew it, it was one big obsession.  When I started vomiting my food it was my secret. It was just something I did when I felt I was overeating too much. Before I knew it I stopped needing the miracle pills. Vomiting helped elevate my weight. It didn’t help me lose any weight it just control my body to the weight I had at the moment. When I say it was an obsession, it truly was an obsession. Before I knew it I was leaving places earlier to go home to vomit. Leaving parties early not because I was tired but because I didn’t want anyone to knew I was throwing up my food. I became obsessed with people noticing my weightless that I didn’t care about how I went about it. I stopped cutting because it became too much to handle and it was no longer something that I found comfort in. The days I would eat I would throw up everything. It was this never ending cycle that just continued to get worse.

The saddest part about all of this was I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Honestly I didn’t want to. I was fine. I was in complete control of everything. No matter what I was doing, I knew every single detail of what I was doing to myself. I did everything in my power to hide what was going on. Nobody knew, honestly to this day up until this moment I never told anyone.  Sure I made a few jokes at the expense of my emotions but nobody knew anything about what was going on. I kept this cycle of self destruction for years until my insides bled and my arms grew sore. It wasn’t anyone’s business but my own. As I was once told “one day people aren’t going to be there for you”, so I kept everything to myself.  When you feel alone, you act alone. So I kept quiet dealing with everything that went on because it was no one’s business but my own. It stayed that way until I knew I needed help. It wasn’t until I found myself in the parking garage of my apartment complex completely broken down that I knew I needed help. I was ruining my relationships with everyone all for the sake of being someone else’s perception of perfection. I was hungry, miserable, and worst of all I felt alone. For years I was in constant fear of food. The food that I once considered comfort from every emotion soon became my enemy. I didn’t know any better than what I was doing, I just knew that the longer I hid my problems the worse it would get. I refused to see the light on so many occasions. I refused to believe that I had a problems, that things I was doing was obsessive and that I was truly hurting myself. Worst of all my relationships with people suffered. It wasn’t until I was alone crying in a parking lot that I knew something had to change. It was then I finally realized that I wasn’t okay. I was lying to everyone and I couldn’t do that anymore.

Recovery is a tricky thing. What they don’t show you is how many times you fall until you can truly heal. For years I struggled with my addictions because they were just that MY addictions. It wasn’t anyone’s business but my own. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own. The reality of it all was this cycle continued because no matter how many times people tell you they will be there for you, they will constantly let you down. For years I kept my struggles silent because time again the wrong people allowed me to believe that everything in my life was wrong. So I stayed stuck in this cycle of self destruction because that was my cards that were dealt for me. That was my karma returning for the countless years I was a bad person.

I was wrong.

You know they say that when you finally grow up, you’re able to heal from your old ways. That’s just what I did. I wish I could say that I woke up and everything disappeared. That I could hold meals down and I wasn’t obsessed with this notion of being perfect. Its not easy. It’s hard and some days are harder than most. That’s just the thing, I get up, face the world and know that I am better than all this bullshit. Better than my past, better than my failures and maybe one day I’ll be better than my addictions. Just right now I have to be honest. Honest with people, honest with my peers and honest with myself. It’s only when I’m truly brutally honest that I can finally be ok. It’s been a hard couple of years but I know like all great comeback stories, I have the ability to bounce back from this. I will eventually rise from the ashes and feel okay again. I may not know when but I knew eventually I will feel better, I will feel whole. Every day is just another day to turn my life around. Good or bad, I have to accept that I will never be everyone’s perception of perfection. I just have to be able to be proud of the person I am and who I will become. Only then will I ever truly be happy.

In a way this is me saying, I’m going to be OK.

 

The struggle is real.

Let me be honest.

Okay, seriously. All I am doing is being honest.

Saving money, paying off debts, you know BEING RESPONSIBLE is not the business. Sure being responsible is all about your ability to function as an adult. Sometimes being a responsible adult is not all it’s cracked up to be. All you want to really do is be reckless and spend money. Those new kicks, you want them. Rolex watch, you want one. Alexander McQueen scarf, you want 2 of them. Trip to the south of France, you want to go to there. The truth is everything that requires having fun costs money. As much as every single media outlet can say you don’t need money to have a good time, most of the time they are lying. Who wants to go outside and chill at the park? Be outside, be one with nature? Please…. I have allergies and find great joy in the confides of my indoor spaces.

Why is it whenever there’s things that I enjoy or want to do, everything costs money? Baseball games, movies, shopping, food… everything costs money! Everything is taunting me and everything is asking for me to have a good time. For every dollar I save, there’s a sale at my favorite store. For every day that I don’t get coffee, I am 1 star away from a free drink. How is any of this fair? It’s not fair! It’s fair to the people who have the money saved and can afford to splurge. However to the millions of us in debt, it’s nothing more than a huge temptation that we can’t help but dive into. For the past couple of months I have cut my spending in half. I stopped buying clothes, accessories, and focused on everything I really needed. I literally went through my closet and pulled out everything with price tags and anything I haven’t worn in over a year. Just my way of truly cleansing my life. HOWEVER just because I cut expenses doesn’t mean I stop spending. The misconception of  budgeting is sometimes you spend money before you can truly save money. While I have cut a majority of my spending, I still find myself reliving my old vices which causes me to spend money.

This problem goes back to emotional spending. The spending of money because I’m having a moment. It doesn’t really matter the moment, good or bad the spending happens. Instead of going to the store and buying myself something nice, I’ll buy myself a nice lunch. Sometimes even splurge and get my nails done. Something. Anything that will curb that need to over spend. How ever what I am not thinking about is that everything adds up. The whole point of budgeting is to cut costs on unnecessary items. In the course of the past couple of months I have managed to save over $800 dollars by cutting costs on everything. However in those same past couple of months I have also managed to blow through the $800 dollars I have saved. Whether it be psychological or emotional or just someone voodooing me, I just cannot save money. For every $100 dollars I manage to save, I find 100 different ways to spend it. For every $250 dollars I put toward my debt, I find a way to spend the money. I am not sure whether its the notion that I think I am not spending any money but reality is I am still being careless with my spending.

My problem is I have a problem saying NO. Its easy to say No to things I don’t care for, things I don’t want to do. Yet how do I say No to the things I want to do. If a friend invites me out and it’s something I want to do, how do I say NO to that? How do I say No to Life? <-Okay that’s my problem. That right there. I don’t have the money to live the life. Which in turn makes the struggle real. Of course I want to do the things I love. However I don’t have the money to spend to live the life I am accustomed too. Honestly I never could afford to live the life I am accustomed to which is the reason I am in debt. NO BRAINER. I get it.

The Breakdown of my spending goes as follows:

I make roughly $16/hr. Which makes my paycheck around $530 (after taxes).

A breakdown of my current weekly expenses:

Gas: $50-$60
Mom (paying off debts guys!!): $100
WellsFargo: $150
Savings: $100
TOTAL:  $400 a week

A breakdown of unnecessary expenses:

Lunch: $10 a day (5 times a week)
Coffee: $5 a day (6 days a week)
Random Dinners: $25 (at least once a week)
TOTAL: $105 (a week)

Breakdown Totals:

$400 expenses
$104 unnecessary expenses
TOTAL:  $503 (a week)

Grand Totals:

$530 Check
-$503 Expenses
TOTAL Left over:  $27       <-This is why I can’t have nice things

Somewhere in my warped mind, I believe that food is not an expense. Food to me is a necessity, we need it to survive. Yes, I need that $5 dollar coffee to live my life. I also need the $2 dollar croissant, that’s made with real butter as well.   Seeing that my food is there a minute and gone the next (since I have no self control and tend to scarf my meals down), I don’t consider it an expense. While the only thing to even showcase the evidence of my food spending is the countless napkins lining the passenger side of my car (I should really work on that).  Not to mention my bank account drained because of my lack of self control. The main problem of my spending and not being able to save money is for every $100 I put toward a debt, I spend it. The $5 dollar coffee that I consider a necessity, adds up.  For every $100 dollars I save, I use my card for my expenses. Every time I use my card, I’m spending more than my fair share of money on that card. Since I spend the money on that card, I put what I have in savings toward that card. Which in turn drains my savings and therefore, I’m right back where I have started from.

No money, still problems.

Truth of the matter is all of that is an unnecessary expense. Do I really need to be eating out everyday? Do I really need a coffee every day and it’s delicious buttery croissant? Of course not. I don’t need it. I want it, but I don’t need it. If I could be really honest, I am just lazy. Lazy to make a lunch every day, lazy to make a coffee every day, lazy to function. My laziness is making me broke. My laziness is why I am in this mess in the first place. While I do applaud myself for finding alternative methods to deal with emotion, I’m still finding ways to spend money. The point of not spending money is to do just that. DON’T SPEND MONEY. I understand that’s the whole point of being an adult is being responsible for your well being. Seeing your mistakes and growing from them. Just on some occasions being an adult doesn’t really cut it, you grow restless and become reckless. I get it. I’ve done it. Now I’m just at the point where, “Man I’d just like to see my money”. Its like everyone says, we all gotta start somewhere. Shoot even Brian McKnight started “Back at one” right? So these are my pitfalls, reasons, and honest accounts of why I do not have money. This is also the reason why I can’t hang. Budgeting money is not easy. Being responsible is also not easy nor is it any fun. However to come up on top, you gotta struggle, you gotta fall, and then eventually everything will work out in the end. Everything in it’s right place.

But for real though this struggle is as real as you and me.

*SOBS*

 

Honesty.

honesty

For most of my adult life I had never been truly honest about the past. It’s the past that always comes back to haunt you and manifests itself into demons you can’t hide. When I came back from Mexico I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My failures of the past were manifesting themselves into failures of my present. From the countless failed friendships, relationships, and even failed attempts of careers, I realized the one thing that was holding my life back was the need to be honest. I have absolutely no problem telling anyone how it is or how I feel, but when it comes to the things of my past, I couldn’t do it. In this experiment I wanted to show myself that the debt in my life is an effort to keep the demons at bay. Suppressing them just enough to keep satisfied until I had another meltdown. Another failure and I would continue my downward spiral of over spending, over indulging and of course beating myself up about it.

The purpose of this blog is to talk about my struggles, my passions, and my failures, which has caused me to seek comfort in spending. In no way am I trying to publicly bash the things that have happened in my life. Life is about being honest with yourself and learning countless lessons, Life isn’t made to be easy. I’ve fallen on hard times, I’ve hit rock bottom and as I’ve always said I have gotten myself back up again. I know what it’s like to lose everything, and I know what it’s like to have everything. These are my struggles, these are my stories, as exaggerated as they may read they truly did happen. I’ve sugar coated so much of my life that people have a hard time believing these things have actually happened.  You just get to the point in your life where you’re so emotionally exhausted. That’s what I am. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted with hiding how I feel about the past that the only way I can truly heal is talking about it. To the people that I have written about I am in no way, shape or form, publically bashing you. If anything I am just truly showing you what it felt like to walk in my shoes. A small glimpse of the lifetime of mistreatment, I felt being associated with the same caliber people.

People will never truly understand you, until they have walked a mile in your shoes. In some way I am showing you word for word how I’ve felt all those years. The years I continued to accept apologies and continued to be mistreated, bad mouthed, and hurt by the same people. For once people will understand why I am the way that I am. Where I no longer have the heart for juvenile bullshit.  I’ve reached that point in my life where I no longer expect apologizes. Honestly I don’t even have the energy anymore to fight. I hope that in reading my stories, people would find the compassion to not make the same mistakes from the past. Grow from the bullshit and learn from it. That’s exactly what I intend to do. This is my attempts of growing with love and finding the happiness I know that I truly deserve. I can’t keep holding on, protecting and rewarding the bad behavior of others. I can’t keep hiding in the shadows waiting for it to be okay to talk about my feelings. This is how I feel, this is how it went, and honestly people should be afraid of what I’m going to do next.

With that stated I will hope that if anything people will truly understand where I am coming from. That my exposed vulnerabilities will finally bring out all the dark and truly bring forth the light.