Hopeless Dreamer

Dear Teenage Self,

I’m not quite sure how to begin. There’s so much I want to tell you; so much has changed. Most of it for the better.

First, I know being a teenager is hard. It seems like people are always trying to under-rate the problems of being a teenager. But I remember: being a teenager is insanely difficult. Just know that things will get better, if you give them time.

I know you think you’re ugly. I know those bullying girls in middle school make you feel like you’re ugly. And I remember what you look like in middle school: long frizzy hair, braces, snobbish little gold-rimmed cat’s-eye glasses, tomboyish clothes. I remember that you cried the first time you heard “I’m Not That Girl” from Wicked. You pretended you were smarter and more arrogant than everybody else to hide the truth -- that you never felt like you fit in, that you doubted you’d ever find a boyfriend or fall in love.

Well, guess what? All those bullying girls in middle school? They’ll lose interest in you in high school. Your braces will come off. One day you’ll just decide to cut off all your hair, and it will feel incredibly liberating. You’ll get some new square plastic black-framed glasses. You’ll learn to make your tomboyish look work for you, with band T shirts and checkered open sweaters and long wool coats and skintight jeans.

And guess what else? Guys will call you pretty. So will girls. You’ll be asked out on dates. You’ll make new friends. College will free you from the confines of teenage hierarchy -- yes, you have to wait till college, and it will frustrate you because it seems like everyone else has it all figured out in high school. (They don’t. Trust me.) In fact, you’ll go to prom stag with a bunch of your girlfriends instead of with some immature teenage boy, and you’ll have the time of your life. You’ll rent a white limo and put on a lavender ball gown, and you’ll giggle and silly dance on top of a ship overlooking the sea sparkling in the night. And then, eventually, a year or two later in college, you’ll have the courage to ask somebody out and romance will happen for you.

But you’ll also learn not to let your beauty define you. I know you can’t even conceive of this right now, but you’ll get into a relationship, realize this guy’s not right for you, and you’ll have the courage to tell him “no.” He will validate this idea of the beauty you never thought you had, but he will not be the right person for you, and you will realize that it is okay. It is okay for him not to be the right person for you. You don’t owe anyone anything just because they called you pretty.

And it is okay not to have a boyfriend. Especially in high school. Ya got time, girl! Go easy on yourself!

Also know this: you still haven’t completely fallen in love. I think you’re probably one of those people who falls in love really intensely, but only once or twice a lifetime. And you’ve realized that’s okay too. You’ve kissed boys, held hands with them, even made out with them, but you have never given your virginity away to a guy who hasn’t earned it. And your inexperience? That doesn’t bother you as much as it used to. In fact, you’re a little proud of it. You go slow, and that’s okay -- your relationship experiences will be more rewarding that way. It’s okay to wait until the time is right.

You will try to force it. There will be a point in college when you try to force relationships that aren’t there, out of some misguided idea that you’re supposed to. And guess what? You’ll get over that, too. It’s a phase. You’ll grow out of it.

Don’t get me wrong. You’re not always the paragon of self confidence or anything. You still have your self conscious moments, but you’ve learned that those are okay. Progress can be imperfect and still be progress.

I know you have a lot of celebrity and book crushes right now. You’ll grow out of those, too. Don’t get me wrong, admiring sexy guys is awesome and so are idle daydreams, but the intense crushes on people you’ve never met? I’ve found those usually fade as you get older as well.

I also remember that those bullying girls used to call you a freak. Behind your back, which is worse. Even now, you still haven’t forgotten that girl who cheerfully told you, “I know everyone says you’re a freak, but I think you’re really nice! Oh, wait. You did know people call you a freak, right?”

You hadn’t.

Yeah. Ow.

That one still hurts a little.

But overall, you’ve come far. Time heals most wounds, and all those times you were socially humiliated in middle school? Those times don’t seem so important anymore. You can look back now and see those bullies for exactly who they really were: immature airheads. You can remember the memory, and be exasperated by it, and not feel pain.

And you know what? You ARE a freak. And you should be damn proud of that! The freaks are the best! They’re the originals, the daring ones, the ones who will change the whole fuckin’ world! Dare to be different! Live it up! Don’t let those assholes weigh you down!

And don’t give up on your childhood dreams. Remember when you wanted to be a novelist, a poet, a musician, an actress, but everyone told you that would be too hard and so you gave up? Don’t give up! You’ll get to a place where you’ll feel brave enough to start dreaming those things again.

You’ll also get better at talking in front of people. You don’t just babble incoherently and shake like a leaf in a high wind when you get up in front of people anymore. You’ve learned to deal with crowds, parties, and yes, school presentations -- at least to a certain extent. They can even be kind of fun!

Don’t start drinking. Stick to your principles and instincts and don’t get caught up in that addictive cycle. It may separate you from your peers now, but you’ll be so grateful for it later. For the ability to have an occasional beer or glass of wine without feeling the need to get drunk.

Yes, you WILL find jobs. You'll volunteer at the local library for a year in your senior of high school, edit someone's book for publication for a fee, and you'll have a really cool virtual internship doing business writing for an environmental company. (Your major right now is Creative Writing, with a minor in Marketing -- this may surprise you because I know you were thinking Psychology. But really, budding young writer, is it such a surprise?)

Also, you know that girl you’re best friends with? The daring, original one who loves goth stuff and who you walk home with every afternoon so she can show you her anime collection? The one you really admire and envy for her sheer comfort in being different? The one who takes you to the cool rock concerts? The one you wear bandanas with because you want so badly to be her? Yeah, you’re not really friends with her anymore. Not because you had a big falling-out or anything, but just because you both went off to different colleges and she turned out not to be the kind of friend who wanted to keep in contact with people she didn’t see every day -- even though you DID turn out to be that kind of friend.

I’m not going to lie to you and say that won’t hurt. It will. It’ll hurt like hell. It’ll feel like a betrayal. But eventually, you’ll come to the realization of this: that girl you admired and envied? You ARE that girl now. You’re comfortable being yourself, and being different.

And maybe you’re not different in the same way she is. Maybe you don’t wear dark eye makeup and dye your hair twenty different colors. But that doesn’t make you any less special and unique. Guess what? She’ll admit to you one day that SHE always really admired YOU -- for your dedication to your creative endeavors, especially to your writing, a dedication and creativity she’s found she can’t quite match.

Another compliment you’ll get, from a completely different girl, at the end of high school? That you’re “mysterious” but “passionate about your music.” And here was you always thinking people don’t talk to you because you’re a dorky loser. They may actually have been intimidated by you!

Speaking of that girl you’re friends with, you actually did want to go to the same college she did. She got in. You didn’t. And guess what? She was fucking miserable there. You cried when you didn’t get in, and she didn’t even like the goddamn place. So you moved far away, to a college in a different state right in the downtown area of a big city. You explored different kinds of cuisine. You tried online dating. You got interested in politics. You became addicted to coffee. You found out that snotty private school kids can be cold, bitchy, judgmental, and mean.

What I’m saying is -- first, you’ll get into college. Don’t worry about that. But second, the college you first went to? That wasn’t even your final destination. You ended up transferring to a totally different college, a public one in a small, rural town, and meeting some absolutely incredible people there. You’ll move out on your own, share an apartment with your college-age sister. The two of you will become incredibly close. You will successfully become independent.

Somewhere in between the first college and the second, you’ll be diagnosed with bipolar disorder. That’s right, all your online research proved you right. And I know that right now you’re trying to convince other people that how you’re feeling is an illness, and they’re grownups so they’re trying to tell you it’s really just because you’re not doing THAT and THIS and THAT OTHER THING.

So I just wanted to validate you. You were right. And finally getting that diagnosis and starting on the path to recovery? It’ll feel like a huge relief.

That brings me to my central point. I know you’re feeling suicidal. I know your parents are angry with you because you withdraw and hide in your computer so much, but you’re just trying to get good grades in class (you feel a lot of pressure there) and ignore the feelings welling up inside you. And I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you -- it’ll get worse before it gets better. There are times when you’ll sob and scream. There are times when you’ll just want to fucking die. There are times when you’ll feel broken. You will lose people. You will be bullied and abused. You will act fucking insane. Horrible things will happen to you.

But I’ll let you in on a little secret: It. Gets. Better.

You will go see a psychiatrist and a therapist. You will find a medication regimen that works for you, and learn self management techniques to keep bad thoughts from controlling your life. You will also start being healthy -- going out walking regularly, eating more frequently and healthier, sleeping more (but not too much), and you’ll travel and find tons of new hobbies! (You’ll even feel brave enough to take night classes in swing dancing downtown above a really sketchy bar.) These might all sound cheesy in isolation, but put them together and you’ve got a great recovery strategy.

Recovering from depression and suicidal thoughts is the most incredible feeling on the planet. All of a sudden, you’re grateful for everything -- you’re so much wiser, and you take a whole new lease on life. Life is an incredible journey, and you’ll want every part of it.

And the realization will come to you, over and over and over again: That you made it. You survived. You’re a survivor. And that realization never stops coming. It’s the gift that never stops giving. You will feel that triumph again, and again, and again. Every time you learn something, every time something good happens to you or you get reflective, you will feel that triumph again.

Like today.

So congratulations, kid. You’ve hit your twenties. You made it.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

We got a weather warning saying winds should hit seventy miles per hour. Power lines and trees were expected to go down. We were told to "stay safe."

I immediately felt the first stirrings of anxiety.

I went outside and that made it worse. It seemed every sharp-blowing wind was about to knock me off my feet. The world seemed dark and scary. I had to hold my sister's hand all the way to the bus stop. I needed to go to class today; this class in particular I've been missing a lot lately.

I got to class, but about ten minutes in my heart started racing. I got dizzy, numb, and tingly, and I was having trouble breathing. I stumbled out of the classroom in the middle of someone reading one of their poems for a workshop, which I'm sure was incredibly rude. I sat outside for a couple of minutes, just breathing, and then I went back inside and whispered, breath ragged, next to my teacher's ear that I was having a panic attack and I needed to leave.

I was making anxious noises and squeezing my sister's hand all the way home.

So now I'm probably going to fail that class, I feel like shit, and the weather's awful. Great.

Yesterday was the anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, so today I'm going to talk about my memories of that time.

I was barely old enough to remember the 9/11 attacks -- just a little third grader, an eight year old girl. I went to a little alternative learning elementary school: three grades to a classroom, the classes focused on small sized lessons and kinesthetic and auditory learning, with a little garden outside. We could sit anywhere, around tables or on the floor or outside, and just as long as we finished our individual packets of work by the end of the week we were left alone.

Well, we had a janitor everyone called Mr Dan, a friendly man who listened to a portable radio attached to his hip as he worked. He heard what was going on that morning through the radio. He hurried into our classroom, pale. "Turn on the radio," he said to our teacher -- one of my favorites I've ever had, the woman who taught me how to love reading by walking me through books side by side with me.

Our teacher turned on the radio and started crying. Everyone looked at each other, silent. Not a single one of us knew what was going on.

We were sent home early that day, and for the next few days all anyone did was sit around the TV screen and watch what was happening in shock. My mother cried. My father called everybody he knew just to sit in silence with them over the phone and say over and over again, "Are you watching this? I can't believe this."

I remember certain images from the TV broadcasts. I remember the huge buildings falling in hails of fire. I remember a woman and her baby, freshly saved from the buildings by first responders. They were both covered in blood. The woman was clutching her baby, screaming. My mother saw my face and quickly turned the TV off, scolding my grandfather for letting the image run while I was sitting there. But maybe he thought I deserved to see it. I've certainly never forgotten it.

And I remember it just making me think: "How can people be so cruel to each other? There is no excuse for anyone doing this to anyone else -- none at all."

I was going to meet my friend today at the mall. My sister wanted to come, because she was new in town and wanted to meet what amounted to my closest friend here at university. We've been friends for over a year. We met during our time at the dorms, and she was one of the only good things to come out of any of my dorm experiences.

But we waited for over an hour at the mall today, and she never showed up. I tried texting her, calling her -- nothing. And I'd walked in the rain all the way to the mall to meet her on time.

Eventually, me and my sister just began shopping around the mall ourselves. It wasn't a complete waste -- we got cookies from the cookie stand, my sister got a new hair ribbon, and I got some air freshener for the apartment. But I was still kind of disappointed and annoyed.

In the end, I texted her this: "Well, I just went shopping with my sister instead and am about to head home. I hope everything's okay. I think this is kind of rude."

Understatement of the year.

It's always annoying and disappointing when you realize you're not as important to a friend as you thought you were. This girl used to be really cool. She was totally unafraid of what anyone thought of her, an artist who was on the school Quidditch team -- the nerdiest sport in all of history. She loved My Chemical Romance and iZombie. She had this boyfriend she'd been in love with since high school, and she was expressive and funny, nonjudgmental and very supportive.

We met once this year before school started, outside the student bookstore. And, she hugged me and said hello and everything, but I don't know. There was something different about her. I just couldn't put my finger on what it was.

Anyway, I'm not too upset. I have my sister, and next week I start attending meetings for the feminist club and the international affairs club, where I should meet plenty of new people. It was just kind of disappointing that my old friends won't transfer over. I go into every new friendship hoping it'll last forever, just because that's the only way I know how to be. But sometimes I get let down. That happened with my goth friend, the one I went to Projekt Revolution with in high school, too. She just... stopped responding. And sometimes I'll think I'm becoming friends with someone, but then they'll ignore me -- that's happened too.

Honestly, I wish she'd have just told me she wasn't going to show up. I'd have preferred honesty.

Why do social lives have to be so complicated?

Anyway, now I'm back at home. I'm sipping some herbal tea, hiding from the rain and watching TV with my sister.

UPDATE: She texted back hours later and said she was sick. Do I believe her?

I don't like gossiping about people, but since this blog is so anonymous I feel like venting about someone in particular here.

I have a friend. She's a great person and we've been friends since we were six years old. She's kind, adventurous, artistic, and accepting. She's braved lots of illness and is very tough. She has tons of good qualities. She's a devout Christian and she has a two year degree, currently working as a bartender.

But she has some annoying qualities too.

I invited her to a movie today. She texted back and said that she had to ask her best friend if she wanted to come along first; only then would she come.

Two things about my friend:

- She can never just do something one on one. She always has to invite extra people.

- She always attaches herself to a more confident girl and does everything with said girl.

It's always been like that. It hasn't always been this one girl, but it's always been some girl.

When we were in elementary school, it was a different girl. Once, me and my friend and her current best friend were eating in the cafeteria. Me and my friend were done, so I suggested we go out to recess and leave her best friend to eat with another friend of hers. But my friend just HAD to stay with her bestie -- she was physically incapable of playing on the playground for ten minutes without her. Even after said bestie told her she could leave.

Another time, me and my friend were going to do a project together. At the last minute, her bestie asked her, so she copped out on me and went off with her bestie instead.

She's always been like that. It's kind of hard not to take it personally. It gets very frustrating. It's almost not worth hanging out with her sometimes. Someone once told me I've never been her bestie because I'm too independent and I don't guide her enough -- they said she wants someone who will decide what they'll do and dominate the conversation.

And they're right. That's not me.

It's raining so hard here, they've issued a flash flood warning.

All the pools have flooded over, and the ditch out back so resembles a river that you could probably go whitewater rafting on it. The water went into the garage and right up to the front and back of the house, before finally receding.

At least one small business we've heard of has already flooded right through and been completely ruined. Police and ambulance alarms are blaring up and down the road every five minutes, and there have been car accidents and mud slides. Some people are trapped inside their houses.

Dad says we should stand on the roof with a boat, a paddle, and a sign that says "Somewhere Else or Bust." He's only sort of kidding.

This isn't the first time I've lived through some alarming natural disaster. Once, when I was in high school, me and my family had to evacuate our house and sleep on our grandparents' house's floor because of a wildfire burning through hundreds of acres of territory near our place of residence.

We haven't lost anything important yet, but we'll have to see. We're somewhat afraid the shed out back is going to collapse because of poor, muddy foundations.

My heat rash is gone. I put hydrocortisone on it and kept it covered for a couple of days.

The dorms waived my 35 dollar fee. They replied to our formal complaint with an apology and a wish for the best for my next year of college. It's amazing how far formal complaints can get you in official institutions -- they literally are required to respond to you.

So far, life is going well. :)

I am here to complain about dorm living. Oddly enough, I'm not going to be complaining about roommate problems at all. I've already covered those, as can be seen in this post:

https://grimrose-eilwynn.dreamwidth.org/470.html

But wait, there's more!

I lived for a year in the dorms at my current college. It was pretty awful.

Let's start with the cafeteria. The minute you walked in, an awful smell wafted through your nostrils, coming from the dirty dishes piled up near the door. The food ranged from okay to subpar to downright dreadful. A lot of it was cold, or soggy, or lumpy, or had almost no flavor whatsoever. Some of it actually made me gag.

As a classmate of mine once put it, "Well, the food there will keep you alive."

Then there were all the things that didn't work. The shower head didn't wash all the soap off of you, and the spray came down so hard it irritated your eyes. The bathroom door slide didn't work. Neither did the light switch. I got head lice while staying there.

Roommates could be sprung on you with little notice. Once, I got an email at five o'clock on a Friday afternoon. "You will be getting a new roommate," it said. Everyone in the housing office had by that point already gone home for the afternoon, so there was no one I could talk to. At nine o'clock at night on that same Friday, a new roommate showed up to move in with me.

I signed up for dorm living for the next year, before deciding partway through the year that I was going to look for an apartment instead. I told housing, four months ahead of time, that I'd changed my mind and would not be moving in next year. They still kept ninety dollars worth of the deposit money.

So I get to the end of the year, and find out I have a final on Friday of finals week. I then find out the dorm requires me to be moved out by noon on Saturday. I ask if I can get a one day time extension -- they refuse.

So in less than twenty-four hours, I have to:

- Pack up all my things

- Get some of it to a storage warehouse

- Get the rest into a suitcase

- Catch a bus to the airport

- Take a plane back home

I get back home and find out I forgot to return my mail key. Which, by the way, my RA never reminded me about. I offer to give the key back to the school; they refuse and fine me thirty-five more dollars.

I am just so fucking done with dorm living. My parents and I sent in a formal letter of complaint and I am very, very ready to have my own apartment next year. It'll be my first time living completely on my own -- I'm nervous, but excited!

I was bullied, in different ways, throughout most of my childhood.

When I was a little girl, in preschool or kindergarten, I remember a girl named Taylor. Everyone liked Taylor; she brought her Mommy's makeup to school with her and let everybody try it. One day, a group of girls were gathered around her as usual under the jungle gym at recess, partaking in her makeup. I decided I wanted to join.

I walked up to Taylor shyly and smiled, saying, "Can I join your group?"

Taylor sneered. "No," she said. "You can go make your own group over THERE." She pointed across the playground.

One of my friends, Savannah, was sitting in the group. I turned to her, silently asking her to come with me. Savannah looked down in shame, and didn't move. She wanted to be friends with the popular girl far more than she wanted to be friends with me.

I sat in the corner by myself, drawing a circle in the wood chips and watching the other girls play together. I let just a few tears leak out.

Taylor didn't like me, it turned out, because I got better grades than she did. She got all the other kids in our class to avoid me, so no one would work or play with me anymore.

Later, in middle school, lots of people made fun of me. I wasn't like the other kids -- I didn't act popular enough. I had frizzy hair, glasses, and braces. I didn't wear makeup. I wore jeans. I didn't want to date anyone. I was quiet, shy, and retiring. I was nice to my teachers. Sometimes I got in trouble for reading during boring lectures. I didn't fit their ideal image of what a young girl should be.

Science class was hell. I was surrounded by popular people at my lab table. They would demand help with their homework, all the while making fun of things like my appearance and my lack of interest in dating. They let me know that no one would ever want to date me anyway. The teacher never even noticed.

Once, in history class, a girl started making fun of my appearance right in front of the mostly silent classroom. My face turned to one of flame. The teacher said nothing, but he did pat me on the shoulder as he went by in a way I'm sure was meant to be comforting.

Another time, on my way to the cafeteria, two boys started laughing loudly at my hair, making fun of me.

And another time, a girl was talking to me at lunch and she said brightly, "You know, people call you a freak, but I don't think you're a freak at all!" I pretended I knew people called me a freak behind my back -- I hadn't.

So that was me in middle school. I was the Ugly Freak.

The laughter continued into high school, but by then it had faded, gotten quieter. I never reacted to the bullying, I had friends and was fairly well adjusted. I grew slowly out of my awkwardness, physically and otherwise. I wasn't a very interesting target.

I wish I could say I had some magic answer to the problem of bullying, but I don't. I don't think asking the two kids to "talk it out" would have done a single damn thing to waylay any of the bullies I encountered. I also know that just because you stand up to a bully doesn't necessarily mean that they will go away. Bullies usually come in the form of people who have a very set idea of how the world works and take to mocking people who disrupt that worldview for them.

And I don't really know how to fix that.

Fun fact: I have panic attacks!

So today, my aunt offered to take me out to some local lavender fields. Lavender is supposed to be soothing and she wanted to buy me a few things from the lavender farm's gift shop.

Now, here's a little background on my aunt -- she's a complete flake. Half the time you invite her she doesn't even show up, and the other half of the time she shows up two hours late and only stays for an hour. She has little to no capacity for rational forethought, wears really bright floaty clothes, has an alarming capacity for mood swings, and is really into eastern spiritualism.

But this time, she really seemed to be trying, so I agreed to go.

At first, it all seemed to be going rather well. Not only did she show up, she showed up on time! Wonders will never cease! As we drove, she got really into talking about ancient eastern philosophy and the all encompassing fear of death. (Apparently, "we're all dead, and death is where life begins.")

That's about when we found out we were lost.

It turned out, dear Auntie hadn't printed out Google directions, and she'd thought today would be a great time to figure out how her car's navigation system worked. Yay!!! We were lost for nearly an hour. ("I'm too fat for this!" my sister was shouting as she ducked underneath the car seat for the hundredth time to pick up the phone for directions.)

Eventually, we just stopped off at the nearest pizza place to have lunch. It was really small and cozy, with hand made pizza, and it had lots of band posters on the walls. The food was pretty good. That was basically the coolest part of the afternoon.

My aunt wanted to quit and go back home to have "me time" right there, but she remembered she was trying, so she gave it one more go. We wound our way down lots of rural back roads lined with trees, before eventually -- miracle of miracles -- we found the lavender farm. Aaand it was closed.

So many disbelieving questions ran through my mind: Why had she not bothered to call and verify the farm was open? Why had she not bothered to check whether lavender was even in bloom? "Closed for the Season," read the sign posted at the head of the road. Yeah. No kidding.

The guy at the cute little cafe next door recommended we call them and see if there were any chance we could stop by. I suggested we take a drive by, take some pictures of the fields, and ask if we could take a closer look at how lavender was planted. My aunt refused both suggestions, drove us home, dropped us off outside our house, and drove away.

Thanks, Dear Auntie. Great.

Even when she's not a flake... she's a flake.

So in the end, my sister and I went running screaming back to our parents, who took us out to the movies to see Jurassic World. So I got to watch dinosaurs eat people and blood go everywhere, which actually kind of made it all better. (Watching Spielberg and Stephen King movies with the fam? Best thing ever!)

We had burgers and nachos afterward and my sister won me a little pink dragon from the claw machine. I named him Freckles!

I am so glad my mother is my mother, and my aunt is my aunt. It really shouldn't be the other way around. You know why? Because Mom would have called to verify, printed out directions, and had the patience to drive to the end of the road and check out the lavender farm.

UGH.