The Different “Me” – Life as Seen

Human beings are curious in their thought patterns and routines. We’ve learned to adapt to the many different climates on this planet, but that doesn’t mean we’ve learned to be the same everywhere. We find enjoyment in different routines and different life styles depending on our environmental factors.

I take myself as a prime experiment. I’ve lived in 3 states and 3 countries and travelled to 9 states and 12 countries. I’ve spent the greater part of my adult life shuffling from one place to the other.

While in North Carolina, I find myself to be an extreme recluse, too tired to be bothered to do anything for pleasure.

While in California, I find myself to be a go getter explorer; a person fascinated by the most mundane surroundings.

While in Oregon, I find myself to be cold hearted, a regular kind of social, and desirous of anything to explore.

While in Spain, I find my best self. I find a social, content, explorer, risk taker, who cares about her health.

While in Germany, I find a great version of myself. I find a health oriented, language learner, keen on absorbing every moment of life, I find a butterfly trying to break out of it’s cocoon.

While traveling for pleasure I find an extroverted social go getter, ready to party or read that book.

While traveling for work, I find a fatigued, anxious, tense individual.

A long lasting coping mechanism of mine has been to compartmentalize my life. It’s a dangerous coping mechanism. I am a different version of myself depending on my environment, the people surrounding me, and the context in which I find myself. I utterly detest my different “lives” touching or intermingling. Very few times have I gladly allowed there to be an overlap between the different aspects of my life.

We all change a bit based on our surroundings, most in subtle ways; however, as always, I take it to extremes.

I don’t like drinking coffee in North Carolina, but I live for drinking my daily coffee while living in Spain. It’s a dose of heaven in Spain and a regular beverage in North Carolina. The coffee doesn’t taste any better in Spain, but for some reason, it feels like heaven drinking it every morning in Spain. The way I interact with my surroundings affects my preferences, routines, and way of being.  On occasion the different versions of me are as different as night and day.

Yay for compartmentalizing my life! Joking, it’s a bad coping mechanism, but it is interesting to observe as I watch myself change from one environment to the next.


Hello 2018

Hello 2018. Everyone wants to be different, I wanted to feel again. You know, I just wanted to hold the one I love, and not want to let them go. I just wanted to have that moment of bliss. I didn’t want that goddamn lie of forever. I just wanted to let go for a little while. I just wanted to be vulnerable for that moment. I wanted to allow myself to want more, even if just for a moment. I wanted to feel in love again, because well I am in love, even if I deny myself the feeling.

But…When I saw him, he held me, and I didn’t let go of the pretense. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be vulnerable. Those walls, they are up for good. All I felt was an extreme fear of showing my love. All I felt was fear. I was afraid of him, and everything he can make me feel. I got what I wanted. I got to feel again, just not the feeling I wanted to feel.

So…Fuck that. You could say I reached my goal quickly. Talk about New Years resolutions actually working out!

Why on earth did I want to feel again? It sucks.

I was numb for almost the entirety of 2017. On only one occasion did I “feel”. I felt so much I tried to kill myself. So, for 2018 I let love wiggle out of its hiding place. I mean, I knew it was never gone, it was just so deeply hidden I pretended it wasn’t there. I thought, “Shit, I’ve been numb for so long, I can probably enjoy feeling a little love”. Well, nah, I was wrong. Love is a nuisance.

Love made me incredibly happy. Love made me feel incredibly alive, but you know what else love did? Love almost caused me to fail out of university. Love made me want to rearrange my entire life, and I did.

Love gave me burning passion, a passion that flows both ways.

So, fuck feeling. I took myself off medications, and I’m putting myself back on them right away. Who was I kidding? I can’t handle feeling feelings. I can barely handle my fucking brain let alone feelings getting in the way. So hello world. Suicide attempts, cutting, extreme depression, mania, it’s all old news at this point.

Another year and same old me. Nothing ever changes, not in my life. I just go through phases. Will this be the year I die? Who knows. At the rate I’m going, I think I’ll finally crack in about 3-5 years. Just have to let the crazy marinate a little bit more. Why anyone would ever love me is beyond my understanding.

So Tired

Hello Lovelies,

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything, about three months now. My journey has been long and I find I’ve moved but an inch.

This year I found a Job, I was promoted multiple times, and I’ve gotten to make decent money, but in the end it’s all for naught.

I’m now on the verge of being fired, and also on the verge of quitting altogether. I miss my freedom so very dearly. I’m tired of it all. Everyday that passes the more that utter poverty allures me. A vagabond without ties sounds immensely more alluring than the mediocrity of my life.

I’m so fucking tired of feeling stuck all the time. I’m not even living for me at this point. I’m living based on societal expectations that pressure me into living a certain way.

My spark is gone. I’m nothing more than the dying embers of a fire that once blazed recklessly through life.  I hope and dream of someone passing by and helping reignite that flame.

I’m so tired of being imprisoned within myself.

I Love Your Soul

I want to say, I love you.

If not, I want to tell someone, that which yearns to be heard inside of me.

Transparency isn’t my strong point.

Out there, somewhere, my soulmate lives his life. I love him anyway. I don’t love him for his looks, actions or thoughts. I love him for what he does to my soul and the home I always missed. I love him for me. I love him because I love me. Not platonically, not romantically, I love him just because… Because it feels right.

I’ve always loved him, and I always will. I’ve loved him from the moment I could think, from the moment I could wonder. He’s always been at the end of my thoughts, and he’ll always be the missing piece I eternally search for. He is me, he is everything I’ve ever been and everything I could be. He is that other half of me I always sought.

I thought I was alone, and that thought frightened me beyond reason. I thought I was never to be understood, but I was proven wrong. My soul mate is that soul which reflects me. I love you for making me whole.

Now, I can continue with life knowing I’m not alone. My other half is out there happy, smiling, living and I can too. Thank you for showing me how to live for me. The world makes sense because I met you.

Bipolar To Stay

Here is a truth rarely acknowledged, but nonetheless true. No matter what I do, where I am or who I am with, I am chronically “unhappy”, I’m depressed. The truth of the matter is that I am sick and no amount of sugar coating is going to change that. I can’t snap out of it and I won’t outgrow it. There is a part of me that will always veer towards depression, anxiety, and mania.

I can change my circumstances, but I can’t change my brain. I can only work with the clay I’ve been given…

As much as it pains me to admit it… There will continue to be days when I feel like my soul can’t go on. There will be days when I am inexplicably tired no matter what I do, and there isn’t much I can do. In the end, all that I can do, is persevere.  That’s all that is under my control. I either get back up and keep trying or I give up.

This realization is sad, and it shatters me, but it’s the truth. My world is mired in anxiety, paranoia, depression and mania. This is my reality, normalcy is simply a passing stranger I asked over for tea.

I’m so inexplicably tired. Inside my soul is so tired.

Stories Inside

There are stories that write themselves.

Stories that deceive you into believing they are of your own making. But how could that be? They scream within you waiting for release. They come out to both frighten and relieve your soul. They aren’t yours anymore than your dreams are. Your subconscious all its own, can no more be controlled than those stories echoed through your prose.

There is someone in me she’s a writer at her core

The Truth of Me (Longgg)

Here is the truth of Me.

All things said, dropping the ridiculous comparisons I obssesively bring up. I’ve lived an extraordinary life.

I’ve done nearly everything I’ve set my mind to, and I’ve experienced everything I ever hoped to experience and then some.

My depression tells me I’m not good enough, and my mania tells me I can do more, be more, and I spiral into an endless insatiable quest for more. The icing on the cake is my neverending fear of abandonment fed by my borderline personality disorder. I push people away because I don’t want to be abandoned. I’d rather do they abandoning. Hippocrital I know, never giving people the chance to go against my paranoia.

The disorders I live with impact my daily life, and they influence my thoughts and actions, but even then they don’t win. They don’t control me, at least not completely. I understand what’s wrong with me and I’m always aware of it’s control. I’m not free, but I’m also not ignorant of my issues.

This post has taken a different turn. The point in all this shit, is that I live, I breath, I smile and I cry. I am alive and successful in my own ambitions. I’ve always known to perservere for what I want even if the obstacle is my own mind, but I’d never acknowledged that taking it slow is okay too.

I never stopped to think I could enjoy gardening with my mother, cleaning my house, or simply living off the grid, in a place I never chose.

I guess you could say, I never stopped to realize that I can be happy even in reliquishing my control. I can be happy even if I didn’t choose this life, the present one.

It’s always been a competition in my life. A competition with imaginary competitors who always beat me and rules that say I can’t be happy unless I win.

I’ve never known how to stay still and be content. Success, Adventure and Knowledge have always given me a home. They’ve been my stablity and happiness. I’ve never known how to happy when Idle, when bored, when found in the perfect stability that most others find contentment in.

For someone like me, always jumping from extremes, it’s hard to be content. Content is foreign to me, it’s scary in it’s stable and neutral nature. My aversion to all things content and normal is the same aversion most people feel towards being alone in a foreign country without money, it’s fucking scary.

Being content is fucking scary, it’s like losing my identity, it’s like admitting defeat. To be content is hard, it goes against my nature, but slowly I’m learning to be content, to be appreciative for the things I didn’t wan,t but have anyway. Like living with my mom, It’s embarrasing at my age, but I know one day, I’ll appreciate the extra time I have with her now, because no one lives forever.

People like me, we get caught up in our ambition, our problems, and our lack of control, and in so doing we forget the little things that matter like breakfast with mom. We forget to see the beauty outside of our own alphabet of plans. We tend to let our loved ones pass us by.

So, I want to stop that now. Because my life is perfect and I’ve been too goddamn blind to appreciate it. My family, my friends, and I, we all deserve better than my empty ambitions. I know I’ve been lacking….