In a lot of ways, I’ve hit it. I’m scraping at gravel, and I’m really glad I’ve got some good friends to pull me back up. Remaining positive is a challenge, but being challenged is better than being bored.

Q: What do you do when you’ve invested your personal time and money to something that refuses to acknowledge you exist?

A: ?

When you’ve gone through a breakup, what do you do with your ex’s stuff? Do you give it back? Hide it from yourself? Burn it? How do you avoid constant reminders of a former life?

We’re part of a generation that is digitally fucked. Everything is copied and repeated and bounced off of satellites. It’s everywhere. Tiny little unavoidable pixels.

I can go through and detag every photo of me and my ex in existance, sure, but there still out there. How annoying. It’s like a telemarketer who just doesn’t stop calling.

Someone needs to invent a digital fireplace.

I’m really thankful for what I’ve got. Really.

There’s just something inside me that wants more.

“I’m here for you no matter what.”
“You can come to me with anything.”
“I’ll always listen when you need somebody.”

Either everyone is a liar, or these statements are unintentionally false. Lately, I have found that it is rare that I can go to “anyone” with “anything” without feeling like I’m in it for a lecture. I am often told that I am over-reacting, or in not so many words, being absolutely out of my fucking mind, but it’s there, in the reactions and the responses.

It occurred to me that, yes, I am a high stress person, and yes, I am more anxious than I have been in the past. I don’t think anyone understands how I function (no more than I understand most people) and I’ve always felt it was unfair to put my friends in the “therapist” position. I know better, and I’ve made huge strides towards banishing that habit. I keep many more things to myself as I used to, and don’t let as many people in as close. I think the best part of it all is that nobody knows the difference.

I think I am just frustrated. I am tired, nervous, and anxious, and everyone seems to think I’m overreacting… again. I don’t think it ever occurred to anyone that maybe they’re under-reacting? That, yes, my problems aren’t your problem, so why should you begin empathize with my level of stress? There are few people I know that have experienced TRUE anxiety and know the weight that it is to carry around with you. At times it is unbearable and paralyzing, and it is a worse burden to be unacknowledged in this state. Writing it off as “over reacting” is almost insulting. Strike that, it is insulting.

I suppose these are things I needed to get off my chest and I’ll probably get the expected “I’m always here for you” comment/email/facebook message/text/twitter etc. “No seriously, I know how you feel and I’m here for you.” Please spare me. Just today. Nah, not just today. I can’t really take anyone seriously when they say that anymore.

I am a rock. I am an island.

Life ain’t so bad, kids.

Ever since I started subscribing to the church of Rev Run, I’ve been living by his “no risk, no reward” policy. Even my therapist endorsed it, as I am not much of a risk taker, and in plainer terms, a wuss. So I’ve been pushing myself further. I’ve honestly taken more risks in the last year than in my entire life. These last six months, since hearing the holy words of the Rev, have been particularly risky.

Those closest to me will say I have grabbed the bull by the horns, instead of the typical “there’s nothing I can do about this” attitude that I used to take. I’ve almost pulled a 180 – going from “helpless” to “overcontrolling.” But there is a middle ground, a sucessful one at that. And the risks that I have taken – the choices I have made to determine my own path – have proven sucessful so far. The only one that has failed (probably the most important one) is my risks in my employment. While I do not talk about my specific work in this forum, I will say that I have taken risk in my decision to not settle for a job that makes me unhappy or making HUGE networking risks in an attempt to find something out there that is inspiring for me. The job market is particularly horrid at the moment, and I’m still the little duckling that hasn’t just jumped into the water (believe me, I’m completely aware how fortunate that makes me) but a certain part of me has earned this time to figure it out.

I’m throwing myself to the wolves, guys. I’m trying to put my best foot forward and throw myself at any potential I can see sparkling from miles away… While a part of me just wants to quit and give up, the other is still cheering me on… weakly, like tried to start a slow clap and failed, but is cheering nonetheless.

I may threaten, but when I QUIT, when I really quit all of it, you’ll know.

I’ve been stressed out lately. It’s not for any reason in particular, just that fate doesn’t seem to have me in mind this week. I had a pretty serious blow to my ego the other day and I’ve got a lot on my plate socially (when all I want to do is crawl under my comforter and stay there forever), For someone who seriously lacks in the self-confidence department, having this one blow up in my face was quite a devastating event… there are few things I am confident in, and this generally was not one of them, but in this case, I felt as if I had done well, and I was looking forward to a positive result.

Instead I got silence. And that, to me, reeks of failure.

There that whole “no news is good news” scenario, but not hearing back after an important interview can’t be good news. I feel as if I’ve lost a bit of my balance and direction, and no amount of social distraction is apparently going to compensate for that. Wallowing alone in my room doesn’t seem to help either (I’ve been playing Plants v. Zombies in a serious attempt to forget that I live in the real world) and I seem to have fallen out of the loop with a lot of people – friends whom I consider to be closest with have gotten bogged down in their own worlds with their own social engagements and their own professional endeavors. I am still feeling like I’m the only one that has no idea what I’m doing.

Everyone is doing their best to cheer me up. Even the people that don’t understand how my brain works the way it does. A slap to the face is a slap to the face. If you want to help, just make me laugh. Or hide me in a really dark room with a comforter; I’ve fallen asleep (sober!) on a hardwood floor before and I’ll do it again. I don’t want to emotionally eat. I’m not in the mood to be coddled. I would just liked to be distracted or secluded. I’m itchyscratchy.

–

Last night I figured out that I changed but you stayed the same. It’s refreshing to know that maybe it wasn’t me who couldn’t grow up.

Something I’ve noticed recently is the large number of young couples with babies in Williamsburg. Twenty-somethings pushing strollers with babies wearing ear-flapped brightly colored knit hats and rocking nike high tops or moccasins that cost more than my breakfast, lunch, and dinner combined. Hipster babies. Marshmallow babies. Babies with better wardrobes than mine, and most of the people I know. Who are these parents, and why are they pumping out chillins so young?

I’ve always acted older than I am. I’ve always associated with people older than myself and have found that I relate to them better than say, people younger or my own age. You would think that in living in that mindset that my biological clock would be all fucked up as well. Surprise. It’s not… right? Are my expectations for when I should be married and start a family unrealistic? Am I looking to the new “Williamsburg Dream” of pumping out a family of graphic designers, journalists, and fashion interns?

The one man in my life I ever saw myself having children with saw eye to eye with me on when we would have children. It was a frightening conversation we had actually had… discussed. As odd as it was, I had come to the conclusion that I wanted children before 30. I wanted to have them at an age so that when they were set free I could still really enjoy them… keep up with them. Possibly relate to them more because I will remember where I was at their age.

But that man isn’t around anymore. That boy isn’t around anymore. And that idea floats lifelessly around a lack of love letters and photographs… a life that almost didn’t exist because there is no physical evidence. I’m not sure if who I was then is the same person I am now.

What if I’m supposed to be on an adventure? What if I’m not supposed to have children at all? Let’s face it, I lack patience for most children. I was never a baby sitter, camp counselor… I was an older sister, but man, I didn’t really begin to have a relationship with my brother until he was in high school… until we were living in different states, different worlds with a common theme. I’ve come to terms with the fact that maybe I’m not meant to have children. Maybe I’m one of those random people that was mean to have a cat and maybe a true love; one that I would never love my children more than. Maybe I’m not supposed to have any of it at all. I feel like I lost what sort of life I wanted to design for myself, if I had the power to design it at all. Lately, I question if I know what’s best for myself.

Last night, I met an amazing woman. She’s the type of woman I wish I could be: confident (like TRUELY confident), interesting, funny, caring… sure, I possess some of those qualities, but I by no means hold them to the level that she did. I asked her about her children, specifically her older daughter, who happened to go to high school with a close friend of mine from college.
“She’s amazing.” She gushed. She told me what a complete person she was. How everything she did was just full of magic and life. I remember saying to my friend “I hope my mother talks about me like that.” And it occurred to me, yeah, she probably does.

I’m living this extreme life – flying by the seat of my pants in New York City… young, adventurous, and unwilling to fail. The way people talk to me after hearing about me from her kind of says it – they listen in awe as I spill juicy details of life in the big city. What a lucky, amazing life I lead. That’s what my mother always says: You have a pretty great life.

And I do. I really do. I am so fortunate to have what I do and the opportunities that I get. And sometimes I forget that I should be living in this moment, thinking less about what or where I’m supposed to be in my life, because maybe I’m not meant for any of it at all. Maybe I’m going to die in some horrific subway accident and it will all be over before I get a chance to live out anything I’ve ever thought I’d have. I discard this assumption I’ve made about my future, and demand that I live right now, without expectation and without fear that I won’t be where I want to be.

Yet, regardless of what I thought there may or may not be, there’s a tiny tiny TINY voice inside my head that says “I can’t wait to tell people how amazing my daughter is one day.”

I’m in a weird mood these days. A state somewhere between pure elation and a incapacitating stress-case that crawls in one ear and out the other. It makes me itchy – to sit still – to try to watch the blinking lights on a switch board and make lists of all the things I should be doing with my time.

You’ve got to…
You’ve got to…
You’ve got to…
Over and over. I cant stand the sight of an unchecked checklist. Just like I can’t handle having unread emails in my inbox, or looking at lonely produce in the fridge that I know I’ll never eat.

And everyone is telling me not to stress. Not to worry about all the things I feel I need to do. “You can do them next week,” they say, and sure, I can do them next week, but that means I look, I visualize an unchecked list. I could go on and on about why I think that I’m the way I am – needing to get things done immediately – call it grooming, conditioning, if you will. I create a serious level of expectation for myself in terms of performance, and I strive to live up to it. If I can’t reach my short term goals quickly, how will I ever get around to the long term ones?

Yaaaaaah. What a mess. I’ve got so much to do and so little time.

In happier news:
I figured out the way to keep myself from scratching the mosquito bites on my hands is by covering them in bandaids. With all of the bandages on my right hand, it looks like I kind of got in a fight with a pair of shredders or scissors or something.

Been working at Partizan this week. It’s been kind of fun to be back… this place is so familiar, but so foreign – like I know where they keep the pens and file folders, but it’s been forever since I’ve filled out a purchase order or balanced petty cash.

I’ve got a cool job interview Thursday that if offered, I’m not sure if I’ll take, but the opportunity sounds really cool. I feel like kind of an idiot walking into it, but I’m gonna put my best foot forward and give em the ol “Natalie owns the room” trick, through a webcam, because believe it or not, I’m having an interview in New York with the New York AND London office, via webcam. HOW CRAZY IS THAT? I love it. Fun. Scary. Oh GOD I’m a bit terrified.

Back to work. I think I need a cookie and some theraflu.

I am so nervous, I could vomit.

And I’ve got until next Thursday to feel like this.

Everybody please distract me in the meantime, and, if possible, speak to me in French only.

Merci beaucoup. Je serai mort.