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I initially intended for this post to go a different route, but I also like where it went. The title for this post and the first one of this title comes from Disney’s Shake It Up song, “Watch Me”. I’ll write and post the one I meant to in a few days…they kinda go together, anyway, so it works. :3
By now, it’s obvious I scratched Liz and Code. I’ve also scratched Zigative. Additionally, I stepped back from contributing to Crunchy Family, my cousin Charlise’s blog, and have been working on my own projects. It’s a slowish process, but I like to think I’m getting there. Last year, I focused a lot on Charlise’s blog, even more so after she went to jail, and this year, I continued to spend most of my bloggy time over on her blog, fixing random, unnoticeable-from-the-front things and making sure everything worked for her.
I know this is why I basically failed in my reply-to-all-comments stance, as well as my food blog projects. I start a lot of projects. It’s cool, but I also hate it about myself. I have a lot of cool ideas I really want to do, but I need to face reality and accept the fact that I can’t do them all. I definitely still want to be a professional dancer, and I still want to start a kitty shelter for abandoned, orphaned, etc. cats…I’m not sure if I blogged about this ever or just mentioned it offline to someone (I’m too lazy to search my blog for it), but it’s something I’m still interested in doing. I have a huge soft spot for cats, and I’ve seen them flood shelters way more than dogs do all too often. Shelters also don’t care for the cats as well, and that irks me. If nothing else, I’d love to raise money to donate to local shelters to help them become no-kill shelters.
However, having my own kitty shelter, I can grow to a point that allows for no cat to be turned away would help me not hate myself for being unable to take in my own abandoned cats now—ones I see and/or hear in parking lots with my grandmother, but cannot find an animal rescue place that actually gets off their asses and comes to the rescue, for example.
Now that I’ve gone and fallen off track, back to where I was going with this post: I start a lot of projects. Because of this, I either give the impression that I’ve all my shit together, or that I’m a lost cause.
In the process, I also overwhelm myself, which only leads to a lot of stress and frustration. I did have a lot of ideas for Zigative. My ultimate goal was for the community to be able to sponsor a kid or two on a regular basis—I actually found a program that would let us send the child letters and receive a letter in return. It was cool. But I overwhelmed myself, and that cool thing didn’t happen.
I’m not giving up in its worst form; I could create a similar community one day, but right now, it’s not in the cards.
I need to try to focus on myself, even though I always fail and try to focus on what isn’t myself, because I really need to be healthy again…whatever that means. I don’t know if I was ever “healthy”.
I spent 2015 focusing on self-love, and now I—as odd as it is—want to take care of myself. I want to try to eat less allergens and eat more allergen-friendly [to me] where possible. I actually care about my life and living it as fully as I can. I’ve never felt like or cared about this before, thus it’s an extremely odd feeling I can’t articulate. I don’t know how to explain how it feels to not actually want to hurt myself; it’s a weird feeling, but you try telling that to a family member without them freaking out and wondering why you’d ever want to harm yourself in the first place.
I’ve also accepted that I have a mother who has chosen not to love me. Sure, I still cry over it, but I can’t change how she feels about me. She hates me so much she wishes I was her current husband’s daughter, so I wouldn’t have my dad/his family to run to. She wants to keep me near. She wanted her current husband to adopt me. They tried to encourage it. The mothers in those Lifetime Movie Network movies who talk shit about their ex-husbands in front of their children and want their kids all to themselves is my former reality, and…I’ve just accepted it. I’ve hit that state of mind where I’m so ticked off I can no longer actually be mad. I know what to expect, thus I expect it. I like to think people can change, but I also know people only change if they themselves actually want to and put in the effort to do so.
It no longer shocks me, but I know certain family members are shocked when certain events occur. I just don’t care anymore. I’m so tired of making up excuses for everyone and having to explain everything to the people who could do something about a situation, but DON’T. I’m tired of being called crazy because I don’t want to follow the life plan created for me when I was a child. That life plan actually makes me feel like a failure, and I’m just really sick of it.
Gone is the angst. I’m tired of being upset. It’s not supposed to be seen as a good thing—it means I’m so fed up with the drama I’m constantly dragged into and the idea that I am someone who can still be controlled.
“I’m her friend on Facebook, and so far, I haven’t seen anything she’s posted that she shouldn’t have posted.”
“You know not to post stuff on Facebook, right?”
I’m sick of it. I’m twenty-four freaking years old. I post whatever the hell I want to post.
I’m just so freaking sick of it all. Yet, if I speak up, I’m treated as if I’m not allowed to be mad. I can’t win. I’m just sick of it.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m not good enough. I was asked what I would major in if I went to college, and I replied, “Either creative writing or dance.”
I was happy to have been asked what I wanted, but was then crushed with a head shake. “No, you don’t want that. You could get something else…what is that degree called when you learn a bit of everything?”
“Social sciences! That’s it! You’re really smart. You would do great in it. You could go far.”
Everyone thinks they know what is best for me; everyone makes up decisions based on what I want, and I hate it so much I’ve considered death as an only option, but I love myself too fucking much to be able to do it…and it sucks. It’s ridiculous how I feel as though death is the only way to escape this horrendous war between what I want and what other people want for me, in addition to the pity I receive—or even the assumption that pity is what I am wanting.
I’m just going to do me. I’m tired of having to explain myself to people. I’m just really sick and tired of it. I’m done with it consuming me and dragging me down into its bottomless pit.
I let it happen for several years, because I was taught to never say no. Living with Grandmama, however, has reversed that…I’m told I can exercise rejection and decline as I see fit and shouldn’t feel horrible about it. But people who are used to hearing yes from me no matter what don’t like being told no…
It’s going to take some time getting used to.
I’m tired of being the person so many people have conjured me up to be, because I’m really not that person. I despise taking routes because they’re “safe”; I quite like taking chances and getting messy. I’m a risk-taker. I enjoy trying new things, as surprising as that is to myself. I was always told I didn’t like to, so I thought I didn’t like to; but since I’ve been away from people telling me what I do and don’t like, I’ve come to realise I actually do enjoy trying new foods, exercising (especially running), and doing family-related activities.
When you take the drama out of things, they become more enjoyable.