Listography

It is now the middle of 2014 and I'm sure all of you have realized that I have an almost unhealthy obsession with lists.

I make lists about everything. I'm pretty sure they're the way that I organize my life, even in my subconscious. I think in lists, in a method of prioritization that sometimes confuses even me. I write out lists. I have notebooks and notepads and virtual notepads of lists of things I like, things I want to remember, books I'd like to potentially read, things I want to do and places I have been or want to go, deadlines, applications, letters I need to write and the list (haha) goes on and on. Following up yesterday's post, the initial gap year list has been posted on my page and it is pretty interesting! Take a look at it and comment below, let me know what all of you think! It's only thirty items long, but I think I can add more as we go along--flexibility is key!

On another note, I want to update you on another list that I created not too long ago. In January of this year, I created a list of New Year's resolutions that I meant to accomplish in the face of all the New Year's naysayers and negative Nancies who were telling me (at the time) that no one, no one ever completes, accomplishes or finishes any of their New Year's resolutions. Well, I also posted this list onto my page (I also love accountability, as you can see) and I am proud to say that slowly, but surely, I am drawing lines through little things, every so often. You can check it out yourself here and let me know what you think of my progress so far! I realize now, six months later, that many of the things I've written down are things that are ongoing, which means that I can only really "finish" them at the end of the year, but the stories I've written about some of the resolutions will hopefully help concretize some of what I have done in the past six months!

This post was more about business than pleasure, but I have to say, looking back on what I was feeling in January and sitting here and thinking about what has actually happened over the last six months...it's pretty amazing.

My (Gap) Year

Today is as good a time as any to make an announcement.

This, of course, is an announcement more personal in nature. My life isn't as grandiose as I'd like to think it is, and I'm perfectly fine with the simplicity, but it is now the right time. First, a little back story:

For about a year now, I have been struggling with a load of bitterness, resentment and anger not directed at any one person, rather, directed at my station in life. A year ago, I failed a class. I gave up an entire summer for a single class that I had to retake. I gave up a plane ticket to the Philippines, the first chance I'd had to see my family back home in six years. I gave up an entire summer of fun that I had planned for myself. I gave up the four-week chemistry course that I had signed up for just for this class. As a result of this class and the circumstances surrounding my failure, I grew more and more bitter each day, especially throughout the entirety of my senior year. I felt as if a cloud was hanging over me, reminding me that I didn't have any more chances, that I was either all-in... or I was out.

My summer thus far (this last month) has been directed and defined by this anger, resentment and bitterness. I have been angry about my stance in life. I have been angry that I have been set back and have had to revise the five- and ten-year plans that I have had for myself since the age of  fourteen. I was bitter towards other people, envious at their advances and constantly wondering why life seemed so easy for everyone else. And I resented those who placed me in this position in the first place, the ones who turned their backs when I asked for help and who decided that I, as a student, wasn't worth their time. Sprinkle on top the fact  that I have been having an interesting and rough readjustment to home-life after being away for four years and it ends up making for a fantastic first month.

I know, I know. Whiney. I realize this now. Bear with me.

Fast forward to today, in this moment, and I am radiant. I had a wonderful conversation with a dear, dear person (shout out to Father Brian) and he spoke to me about letting go. And I know that sounds so cheesy and cliche, but I do have to tell you that it really opened my eyes. It made me realize that the very thing that was holding me back was exactly what was propelling me forward. The anger, resentment and bitterness that had been my fuel, my fire, for these last few months of school was now the exact thing that was dragging me down.

And so, the announcement: this gap year is going to be a purposeful one.

That's right. I have decided that this year will be full of purpose. Full. Of. Purpose. How, you ask? Easy, thanks to my big sister and fellow blogger, writing on The Diary of an Iconoclast, and her advice. She told me to make a list of everything that I wanted to accomplish this year, keep lists of things I've done, books I've read, movies I've watched and things like that throughout this year, keep a journal and keep writing. And that's exactly what I'm going to do. Within the next few days, you will find a new page on this blog that contains my (gap) year list and I am so ready and excited to share in this new adventure with you.

So, folks, keep me accountable! And thank you for letting me move into the foray with all of you.

Size 4

I cover my mouth when I chew
because I get nervous
with people watching.
Maybe "nervous" isn't the right word
and "self-conscious" is better
because that's really how I feel--
like I'm doing something I'm not supposed to be
chewing, swallowing, eating.

It's just easier to stifle the sounds with
my hand over my mouth.

Maybe no one will notice that
I only eat half of everything.
Even half is better than nothing
but the scale still showed me the wrong number
and the rolls on the table
look like me in the mirror
and I cover my mouth and swallow the bubble of air
I'm pretending is food and continue my snacking
on scents.

Smell is much more satisfying than taste, anyways.

My only friends are in the bathroom,
nothing is as comforting as porcelain.
It is cool to the touch, lovingly caressing
in just the right times and places and spaces.
I think I spend a little too much time with them
because I am no longer shocked by the cold.
It offers me a tissue and I cave.

Maybe I'll be able to hold it together.
My knuckles are white under the tablecloth
and I suck in the air bubbles, drowning them with a hint
of lemon water,
wishing the gnawing feeling in my stomach to go away,
go away
because I am almost there.
The numbers showed me that.
They were less than last week's figures.

And soon, very soon,
I will fit. And it will look marvelous.
The sides will be snug
and the waist will sit just right
and I will close my eyes because
all of the terrible thoughts will melt away
as I lay
in my size 4 coffin.

What It's Like

There aren’t any good days. There are only what appear to be good days. There are days that seem a little better than others, and then you realize that this day was no different from the day before, the day before that, and all the days that came before that. That’s the reality of it, the truth that no one knows. You are constantly confronted with all of the good—the good smells, the wonderful presentation and the salivating...that’s almost worse, because it’s like your own body is betraying you and all you want to do is control it. 

You can’t shut out any of the voices. The ones in your head are just as loud as the ones that surround you, but you can’t get rid of anything. Nothing helps, not even the medicine. Talking to someone, even a professional, never helps because the feelings of inadequacy that greet you consume you completely. You wonder why you can’t deal with your own feelings and what is so wrong with you that all anyone can see is this giant, glaring problem. You begin to rationalize, so much so that your permanent state of being is rationalization. You begin to compare all of the awards, accolades and accomplishments to your giant, glaring problem and wonder what it is about the problem that enable it to be life-defining. You wonder why everything else makes you feel empty. 

You feel like a failure. There is no sense of accomplishment. Even accomplishments deemed laudable and wonderful by society are empty because it’s not really something you ever wanted. All you’ve ever wanted is for this giant, glaring problem to go away. But you see it everywhere, in reflections, mirrors, behind your eyelids when you close your eyes and in the numbers that surround you when you get dressed. There are days I want to scream, “HELLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME? I AM SUFFERING” and then I realize that no one would believe me anyways, because I’m not nearly thin enough to be considered successful. And that’s the kicker, that I believe success is determined by how many fingers I can lace around my wrists and how many calories I can sweat off and how many workouts I can complete in a day while only sustaining my body with hot tea, seltzer water and one meal a day. I didn’t have the stomach for bulimia; I hate throwing up. 

But they don’t know. They see me every single day and all they can tell me is that I’m starting to look great and I’m finally going to be able to feel sexy and look sexy and they just know that I can keep it up and that I’ll have a flat stomach and a better body by August. They say to not take anything personally because no one actually thinks I’m fat. They tell me that I should start wearing more fitting, flattering clothes because no one realized how much weight I had lost until I put on a pair of running leggings and a dri-fit t-shirt. And then, they rub my stomach and tell me not to worry, because it’ll be gone in a few months and I’ll finally be sexy. And then maybe, just maybe, some one will finally like me and take interest and me and ask me out. But for now, they say, don’t get too excited about anyone that shows any interest because it’s probably not real. And I can’t block them out no matter how hard I try, so instead, I haunt the grocery stores and look at the Colace, milk of magnesia, dulcolax and fiber. I hydrate and rehydrate with coconut water and tea. I have never had the courage to take a pill before, and I still don’t. But there are other ways to stimulate your digestive tract and I’m all about doing it naturally. 

Two pounds. Five pounds. Twelve pounds. Fifteen pounds. Size eight. Size six. Size four. The numbers are everywhere and they mean everything and nothing because I see no difference. I look at my size four pants and my twenty-nine inch waist and still, I only see a muffin top and a stomach so bulbous that it makes me want to throw up. I close my eyes when I’m in the bathroom and I turn my back to the mirrors. I don’t want to see anything because I am repulsed by my own existence. Honors scholar. Cum laude. Top ten percent of my class and all anyone sees, and all I can see, is a girl who is too fat. But no one can hear me. That’s how suffering is meant to be, I think. It’s meant to be silent. 

Sometimes I wish someone would notice, but I don’t have time for rehab. I have dreams to achieve and life to live and sitting in a residential rehabilitation facility is not part of the ten-year plan. I’m hoping I’m so busy that I never feel hungry, that I crawl into bed after my shift and just drift into sleep. I hope the gnawing at my stomach and this mental torture eventually go away. I know I am beautiful. I know I am lovely just the way I am. But there’s no way that I can live like that, not with all the voices telling me I’m wrong. 

Tomorrow, I will run. And then I will bike. And then I will close my eyes as I undress to take a shower and turn my back to the wall of mirrors. I will put on a beautiful yellow dress and I will feel the pleats in the fabric and a smile will begin to appear. And then a voice will tell me that I will look even lovelier in the dress in just a few months. And another will tell me not to take it personally. And then another will ask me how I let myself go to this extent. And then one more will tell me never to wear this dress again because I look so big. 

I will take a deep breath. I will open my eyes. And instead of the cute little pleats that I adore, I see love-handles and fat deposits. And I promise myself that I will run two more laps tomorrow.

There are no good days.

Ways in Which We Love

The past two weeks have been the most joyful and difficult that I have experienced in my life to date. It has been interesting to see how people react to the same events, in what ways they grieve a loss of greet a challenge and in which ways they treat their loved ones as time continues to creep forward. 

Eight days ago, my friends and I from college said our first set of goodbyes. It sounds overly dramatic but I think what made this particular set of goodbyes different is that half of us were not coming back after the summer, half of us were not moving back in at the end of August and half of us were moving away from the areas that we had made our homes the past four years. I am grateful for my friends, though, because they—like me—truly believe that home is made of people, not places. And that is what made this particular set of farewells difficult; the home that we had known for four years was being rent apart by change, good change, but change nonetheless. 

As the week moved forward and graduation weekend commenced, the reality of what it is to graduate really dawned upon me. There were more lasts than firsts, all of which were enjoyable but the realization of last moments came much later. We made runs to Starbucks, had our final cafeteria-made Taylor Ham, egg and cheese sandwiches, ate at our favorite local Colombian place, had our final cannolis from our favorite Italian bakery and slowly, but surely, we bared our walls and stripped our rooms of the small, homey items that kept us warm, bathed in the light of laughter, late nights and good times. 

One of these nights was my birthday. We had gone out earlier for margaritas and I, being a one-hit wonder of alcoholic beverages, was drunk enough that my friends were worried, being that I also have many other medical conditions that could be exacerbated by the consumption of (cheap) alcohol. My friends came up to my room to check on me and we ended up sitting and talking for hours. Now, I don't make a huge deal of any of my birthdays because I had never thought I was someone worth celebrating. Yes, I know that's a terrible thought and yes, I understand that I probably will need therapy at some point or another, but that has been my thought for the longest time. That a birthday was just another day and nothing more. So, I sat in my room and joined in the conversation and the ridiculous nonsense we were spewing from our half-tipsy mouths and my heart raced a little bit as we got closer to midnight. I smiled a small smile as I read the clock on my iPhone and looked around the room, resting my gaze for a few seconds each on the faces of those that surrounded me. This is it, I thought, I am exactly where I want to be and I don't think any other birthday compares to this past one. I rang my birthday in with the four people that meant the most to me, who have journeyed with me and who have given me more than I could ever possibly deserve in this life and it was a quiet, simple midnight. They yelled happy birthday at 12:40am, but I knew that they had remained silent because they let me have my small moment of incandescent joy.

Fast forwarding to two days ago, I was lucky enough to have the evening to spend with these four people (sans Beyoncé, our favorite friend) to celebrate our graduations and the birthdays of many of she who had birthdays that had passed and some that were coming up. We had dinner and we drank a little and said goodbyes and exchanged gifts and relished in each other. Yesterday, I saw one of my favorite friends in the whole world, friends since high school and twins at heart and we laughed well into the night and spoke about our struggles in such an open and honest manner that it almost seemed unreal that I could be that much of myself with anyone and with her, I was. 

And last night was when I realized the greatest gift I have ever received from my friends, even the ones who are no longer large parts of my life: me. They have always been able to see me. They have always seen me. Even when I was hiding from the world and even when my heart was broken and my soul was torn and I was devastated, they saw me and held on to me long enough so that I could find the strength to look in the mirror to see me too. 

When push comes to shove, no pomp and circumstance could ever have enough power to take me away from these people. 

I'm not worried.