Slipping ...

I can feel it.  It is creeping over me, slowly, with every ounce of bad news or bad decision.  I am slipping into my dark place.  I am trying to pull myself out, but I feel like I just keep slipping deeper.  It is like trying to climb up the side of a dark muddy hole, the harder you try to grip and claw the farther you fall, and the hole gets just a little bit deeper.  

This was supposed to be the year of Harper, this year of empowerment and good things.  I keep making decisions to try to prove I am living my life for me.  I dyed my hair red.  I said it was because I always wanted to, which isn’t a complete lie but it isn’t the whole truth.  I needed to know if the blonde bombshell persona I have been hiding behind all of my twenties was the only thing that made me me.  Am i more than a Marilyn Monroe wannabe?  You might be saying to yourself it is just hair, but our society puts a lot of emphasis on hair.  People spends ungodly amounts of money to color, cut, and protect their hair.  People sew and clip in someone else’s hair to give them the look of full abundant hair that society has told us is beautiful.  If I added up how much I spent on the salon and products every year it would probably make me sick.  So, how did going red make me feel?  At first I didn’t even recognize myself.  I worried that I had just taken away the one thing that helped make my features beautiful.  I found myself worried about what every person in my life thought about it.  Would I still attract the same men or any men at all?  It has been a month and I have decided to keep it red, at least for now.  I think in many ways it is making me face some of my fears.  Which is good, because the rest of my life just makes me want to run.

Why do I want to run?  Why am I slipping farther and farther?  This is really hard for me to talk about.  I am just going to blurt it out.  My mom is going to leave my dad.  At 29 years old, my parents are going to get a divorce.  Or at least my mom likes to talk to me about the selfish things my dad does and tell me she is looking at houses online and thinking about divorce attorneys.  I want them both to be happy, and if that means they need to be apart, then fine.  I know my life will turn upside down, but I am an adult; I can handle that for them.  It’s more that my example of love is broken.  No wonder I can’t find a healthy loving relationship, I didn’t exactly have the best example.  I date men like my father.  Men who only give you the little part of themselves that they want to share.  Men that never think about you when making decisions that will inevitably affect you.  Men who are selfish.  My mom tells me to break the cycle, to find someone who will adore me, but I don’t know how.  It is true, women end up dating their fathers.

I also am still not talking to Bee.  I sent her a message a month ago.  I know it was probably too late, but I meant what I said in it.  I love her, and I miss her.  I know that doesn’t change that we have things to work through, but it does mean that I want to try to figure things out.  I tried all summer to find the right words to say to her, but I never could figure out how to say how she has made me feel all these years without reliving every terrible moment.  I was too worried about my parents, and my job and just kept telling myself that it would keep.  We would work it out eventually, maybe we, maybe I, just needed some time.  Instead of time bringing us back together it has dissolved what we had.  How strong could our friendship have been if we can’t make it through this?  10 years, maybe that was the time limit on our friendship.

I try to forget Evan and the fact that when I tried to make something more of our causal relationship he just disappeared.  I try to brush away how deeply hurt I was.  I had really let him in, let him see all the parts of myself I try to hide.  Somehow he made me feel safe, and wanted, and alive.  I had given him more power to hurt me than even I had realized.  When he disappeared, the aching was palpable.  I wanted to feel anything else, anything but what I was feeling.  I have slept with boys to prove to myself that I am desireable, and to mask that I still care about Evan, still think about him.  

When he texted this weekend after 3 months of silence, there was a little part of me that wanted to believe the “I’m sorrys” and the “I miss yous”.  At least in that moment I was able to call him on his shit, to not let him off easy, to find some little ounce of strength.  I deserve more.  I was just starting to really be ok, and he had to pop back up, to remind me that my feelings for him are still there, fading but not yet gone.  

I try to grip a little harder, and I slip a little farther.  

Blissfully Boring

The curse of my writing process is that when I am happy, the words don’t come to me.  When things are good in my life I don’t feel the need to take to my keyboard.  I am drawn to the blank page when I need to figure something out, determine how I feel, or voice my shameful acts.  When life seems to be falling into place, I don’t need my own words of encouragement.  What does that say about me as a writer?  What does the fact that I only find words when I am lost, lonely, wallowing in my own misery say about me?  Frankly, I am not very interesting when everything's going right.  When I am in a happy, healthy place, I am not out hooking up with random guys, or having crazy drunken nights, or existential crises.  Happy me is blissfully boring, spending her nights in stretch pants drinking wine and catching up on her always full DVR.

At the same time I feel more myself when I am writing.  How do I reconcile not feeling compelled to write, and the personal comfort and self-awareness I find in writing.  Am I only granted the comfort of writing when I am tortured?  We all know the idea of the tortured artist, but is that the only kind?  Can I be blissfully, boringly happy and still write compelling words worth reading?  And if not, can I be fulfilled without writing, without sharing a gift that I now realize comes with limits?  

Lately I have found myself in that odd blissfully boring place.  I started a new job three months ago, and I love it.  I feel like I have purpose again, like I am back on the career path that I wanted when I moved to DC 5 years ago.  That’s right, I have been in DC 5 years now.  It’s hard for me to believe that it has been that long since I packed my bags and got on a plane, not knowing what this city would hold for me.  DC is home, the center of the life I have built for myself.  I have a sense of pride when I think about my life, my friends, what my normal is.  It might not be the life I planned out when I was younger, but I wouldn’t have done any differently.  Although my mother would love for me to “settle down”, I am so glad that I have built a life based on not settling.  Although I am not always off having wild crazy adventures to tell you all about, that doesn’t mean I am not living the exact life I want to live (within my budget).  

A Final Attempt

I guess Dressgate was totally worth it since I have never had so many compliments on a dress in my life.  I felt pretty, and that was exactly what I was going for.  Taste of The South was such a fun event, although I still can’t feel my toes.  It was wonderful to see so many people that I rarely run into anymore.  There is one person who I still can’t decide how I feel about running into, Liam (The Many Loves of my Life, Strangers Now?).  

It’s been two years since I've seen Liam, yet he looks exactly the same, he looks good.  Boy always has looked good in a suit, and in a tux dear god!  It’s funny how seeing someone can trig things you haven't felt or thought about in quite a while.  I can’t remember the last time Liam had crossed my mind, but the moment I saw him I had a knot in the pit of my stomach.  I don’t know if it is because I will always have feelings for him, or if I just have never known what went wrong with us, but seeing him throws off my equilibrium.  

After a few cocktails I decided that I looked too good not to take this opportunity to talk to him.  Shoving my throbbing feet back in my heels I threw caution to the wind and went and said hello.  He was nice, cordial, asking several times if I was well.  We said let’s get drinks and catch up sometime and that was it.  I had done it, probably a little drunker than I should have, but at least I had talked to him.  

Although I am proud of myself for talking to him, I have not been able to shake him from my thoughts.  Liam and how our friendship abruptly ended with no explanation is one of my life’s mysteries.  I decided that I would email him.  Just a quick good to see you.  Glad to know you are well.  Let’s grab a drink some time.  Short and sweet and cordial, like our run in at TOTS.    

Sometimes you do things not because you expect something in return, but for yourself.  You need to know you did everything to try to possibly save something that once meant so much to you. That is what that email was for me. It was my attempt for him to get to know the woman I have become, and to find out what kind of man he has become. Four years ago I was a girl trying to figure out what it meant to be an adult. I was idealistic, believing that life could be as simple as falling into the job I always wanted and meet an amazing boy all at the same time.  I had yet to take off the rose colored glass that I wore to look at the world.  

Liam was the light in that world that was starting to be so much different that I had dreamed.  He was more kind to me than any boy had ever been in all my life, and truly no one has been as kind since.  I was used to being called fat, and written off by the guys I went to college with.  When Liam would tell me I looked pretty his eyes showed that he was sincere.  The way they would twinkle and the corners of his mouth would curl into the hint of a smile always gave his thoughts away.  Seeing him I felt like I was that 23 year old girl all over again, looking for that twinkle and that hint of a smile.  But I am not that girl, I am so much better.  I am a woman that seeks approval in myself, not others.  I know who I am, what I want, and that I am the only one that can get it for myself.  

I don’t know that I can ever truly express how much Liam meant to me back then, what he represented, or how hard I would fight for him in my life if it was a possibility.  That is what my email was, one more attempt to fight, just so I can know I did.  Liam won’t respond, I knew that when I sent it.  The final decision about our friendship was made by him long ago.  I guess I was just holding on to a tiny glimmer of hope that he might have forgive whatever it was that destroyed our friendship.  Now I know that any hope for that is gone.  Maybe now my heart won’t flutter if I see him, maybe now I can finally let go.  

DC, Love of My Life

Four years ago, I packed my bags and got on a plane to DC.  With no job lined up and just a spot on a practical stranger’s futon in their studio apartment, I was scared and exhilarated.  Politics had been my dream from a young age, and DC is the center of the political universe.  I was coming from small town Mississippi with no experience with public transportation, and where walking places was unheard of.  My parents gave me until the first of the year to find a job with a paycheck, or it was back to Mississippi I would go.  Whenever asked what is the most terrifying experience of my life, I would answer moving to Washington, DC.  It truly was a leap of faith, and one I am so glad I made.    

Luckily I wasn’t completely alone.  I had a few friends from college here, and most importantly Connor.  I don’t know that I have ever told him this, but I don’t think I would have moved here if he hadn’t already started grad school here.  Connor let me crash on his couch for 2 weeks before I decided to make the move.  He encouraged me to take the plunge; he made big city seem manageable, and for that, I will be forever thankful.  

Things quickly began to fall into place after stepping off the plane.  I got an unpaid internship at a campaign committee, and volunteered as much as possible.  I was making friends and work connections, and feeling more and more comfortable by the day.  Needless to say I made my parents’ deadline for a paycheck, and have been lucky to have several amazing opportunities over the past 4 years.  That doesn’t mean that every moment has been a cakewalk, and I have had my doubts about my career and DC in general.  But even when homesickness is settling in during the 6 months between trips to Mississippi, there is something about DC that always feels right.  

DC is my longest relationship.  This city has been my challenger, my best friend, my comfort zone, and the love of my life.  Choosing to move to DC certainly wasn’t the easiest decision, especially when I had options to stay closer to home.  DC meant I thought I was capable of more than those small options were.  DC meant I was making the dreams I had been talking about since I was 14 a reality.  DC has brought amazing people into my life to support me, to teach me, and to grow with me.  DC has also had its low points, friends who weren’t really friends, emotionally abusive workplaces and relationships, and a sea of self doubt because of it all.  Every time things got hard and I thought about going back to Mississippi, I realized something quite unexpected.  Mississippi will always be the home where I grew up, but DC is the home that I have built.  I am a Mississippian, a Washingtonian, and proud to call them both home.    

It is hard to believe that 4 years have passed since I got on that plane in Jackson full of hope and determination.  I am a much wiser version of myself now, and looking back there are some things I would have done differently.  But all in all I am proud of the person I have become, of the people I surround myself with, and the life I have built for myself.  

It has been a hell of a ride DC, and I think I am staying for a while.  I mean you don’t just walk away from the love of your life now do you?