Changing My Life, Again

It feels like every planet imaginable is in retrograde, and I broke a mirror while walking under a ladder with a black cat in front of me. The apartment of my dreams slipped through my fingers, and I don’t know where I’m going to live in a week. While the prices of living in LA constantly make me feel like I need to get a “real” job or sugar daddy ASAP, the stubborn free spirit within screams, “ I LIKE FREEDOM AND BABY FACES!”

As some of you may recall, about six weeks ago I said I was going to change my life. Through meditation, affirmations and self discipline, I was determined to improve myself and my life. Well, so much for that. To be fair, I had many triumphs during that time, especially with insights on my relationships and setting boundaries. However, this last week shit hit the fan and it’s time for changing my life take 2…. Or take 973,694,761.

So, what went wrong? Nothing. Everything is as it should be. Yet, it feels like absolute SHIT. Why? Maybe because comedians love to suffer on the DL? idk. In all seriousness, I feel like a big part of my work in this lifetime is self mastery. The ADHD, depression, anxiety, addictions, and plethora of other goodies my hand was dealt in this lifetime, is really a royal flush. 

It’s like getting socks for Christmas from Santa. When you’re a kid you’re like “God damnit why the fuck did Santa go to Costco for these off white socks when I asked for a slutty Bratz Doll??” Then, years later, you get socks and smile while the Bratz doll would have gotten a buzz cut and thrown in the trash years ago. 

This is my path, and my sensitive bitch ass will find my success no matter how many takes I need. I will find my success because of these challenges I move though. They are not here to try to stop me, but to heal me. These obstacles are opportunities for the self mastery I was designed to experience and transcend. Take 2 (or 973,694,761) starts now.

Addiction: Old Habits Die Hard

A20D1498-8BC8-450D-A1F7-2CD635E1BD42Today marks year 8 since I left a rehabilitation center for eating disorders. That’s not to say it’s all been smooth sailing since. In fact, at times the waters have been rockier than Chris Brown and Rihanna’s relationship.

The past few months, I’ve been having the time of my life. I have an incredible group of friends, I’m making money, having fun, and blah blah blah. Yet, unbeknownst to the world, there was still an internal struggle with my old friend ED. (Eating Disorder) Although I haven’t “relapsed” as many would say, I have certainly regressed in terms of my behaviors, feelings, and thinking.

I look at ED as some abusive ex partner that continues to slide back into my DMs. It’s like ED can see my glow up, and can’t resist swooping back in. ED sends out a message, and I ignorantly open the new inbox notification that says… “I miss you.” I want to respond with a poop emoji but next thing you know a heart has been sent and we’re talking till 2AM. 

It’s clear to me that these moments come when something within me is out of alignment. Regardless of how good life is, when I feel too much uncertainty, or a lack of trust in myself or life… *knock knock knock* Here comes ED with his never ending list of food suggestions and criticisms to “help” and control me. Can you blame me for feeling like life has had a fair amount of uncertainty these days? #2020 #isthisreallyhappening

Eating disorders are all about control, so this is my sick and twisted way to cope with the lack of control I feel in my own life. Then, this coping mechanism turns into a habit, and if I’m not careful, a relapse.

It goes a little something like… “You know you want to try that cookie. Go for it. Treat yo’self! You should finish them. Thick is the new fit so I’ve heard.” … “Can’t believe how much you ate. You’re going to be able to feed a Mormon family with the amount of rolls you’re going to have on you tomorrow. You better find a meal to skip soon.”

More often than not, it’s quite counter productive as you can imagine. I end up feeling like Gollum without a ring, but much fatter. (I don’t know why I write so many references from The Lord Of The Rings when I haven’t even seen all of the movies.)

Do I worry about relapsing in the future? I’d be lying if I said no. Heck, I worried today at the vegan buffet. That said, I refuse to let ED win. ED has ruined relationships of mine, and nearly took my life. Yet ED has also taught me some of my most valuable lessons and insights. I do not hate ED. In fact, I love ED for all of the strength and growth it has given me, but I also do not want ED to be an active part of my life again. 

I’m here to say It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to regrettably respond to a DM every once in a while. You learn from it all. Just make sure you don’t take the loser back completely.

 

Dear James Pt. 2

125EA89C-93D7-41F2-A740-9CF987A6A577Dear James, 

It’s been about a month. I thought I’d be over you leaving by now. Not completely, obviously, but I didn’t think the thought of you would still bring tears to my eyes. I listened to a song about death on the back of a motorbike in the rain. My tears blended perfectly into the world you’re no longer a part of. Last week my phone ran out of storage. I went to make some more room and saw our WhatsApp conversation was taking up some of the most space. I shouldn’t have clicked on our conversation. I had to leave my friends to cry like a little bitch. You probably would have made fun of me and then followed up with wise words to make me feel better like you used to. 

I’m afraid, James. Your death made me face that I too could leave before my time. Before my dreams and desires come to fruition. Before I manifest the goals that I feel are so close, yet so far. It taught me a lot though. Be so at peace with what I’ve created, that if I joined you today, wherever the fuck you are, I’d be happy with what I’ve done. To be fair, I am happy with what I’ve done, but feel like there’s so much more I need to do. I wanted some of those moments to be with you. 

I’m reminded by you constantly. This time last year, we were hanging out every day together. It’s rainy season. Remember how we got stuck in that down pour in the middle of nowhere and we had to pull over in some shed until it passed? Where was that? Phong Nha? Ninh Binh? You would know, but I don’t think I ever will.

I’ve seen a stupid amount of things on Facebook I’ve wanted to share with you. Should I send them anyways? Would you know I’m sending them? Do you know I’m writing this now? A sign would be pretty dope. You used to make fun of me for that kind of “slang”. Did you know that my catchphrase is “tragic” and all my friends know it? They don’t all know it’s because of you. 

I see the tchotchke you gave me every day. It hasn’t left my bedside table since I got it. That was so selfless of you. I wish I told you how much that meant to me. I have a gift I was planning to give you next time you visited. What should I do with it now? 

Now that you’re gone, I’m stuck with a lot of questions that can’t be answered. I’m forced to think more about the meaning of this thing called life, and to be honest, I don’t know what to make of it anymore. Life was better with you in it. I guess that’s the goal. To leave life making the world better having been a part of it. Rest in Paradise, James. 

The Devil Wears Lululemon

pexels-photo-206515Whatever we’re wearing, the devil wears too. There’s a devil out there that’s created by you! 

Hold back the tears, and don’t be sad. Being a devil doesn’t have to be bad.

The reason the devil is something you fear, is because you’ve pushed away a part of you that is so dear. 

Don’t worry if you are a bit confused, because I still have some more explaining to do.

I will show you an example that will make things clear, and prove that the devil doesn’t have to stay here…

I was feeling as single as a dollar bill, and felt a huge void that I needed to fill.

“Why am I still so down and alone, why can’t I find true love with a hot guy to bone?”

The Devil was at it again in my mind, giving me lots of problems to find.

“Something must be wrong with me, I can’t find a man. what am I doing wrong, I don’t  understand!”

I thought once I was loved I would feel complete, and there was something within me I’d first have to defeat.

Once again the devil was back to work, and I was being driven completely berserk! 

Nothing is broken or needs to be defeated, when I accept the darkest parts of me, I’ll realize I’ve always been completed.

I was rejecting the part of me that felt unloved and undesired, rather than asking that part of me what it required.

All it was seeking was self acceptance and compassion. Was I listening to some devil just because I liked her fashion?

When you push away a part of you that wants to be accepted, you create a large void and you will feel rejected.

It feels like rejection because that’s what it is. The devil feeds off that shit and comes across as a wiz. 

Don’t feed the Devil whether it wears sweats or shoes by Kanye West. Give the true you some love because you deserve the very best. 

Dear James

BC4D3798-4E67-4935-B757-8A304FF057F7Here I am, crying in a classroom closet while my students eat snack. Meanwhile, doing all I can to not snack myself into a coma to cope with the pain of knowing you’re gone. What about your plans to see me in Vietnam and travel more of the world together? What about your goals you talked to me about last week? 10 days ago to be exact. Not to be a creeper or anything, but I did just look back at our message history. Sorry, I swear I genuinely forgot to respond to your last message. The guilt is eating away at me. I know you’re not mad at me for that though, and I’m not mad at you for leaving too soon either.

How could I be mad at you? You’ve brought so much joy into my life. I have never met anyone else who I had such fluid, fun, banter with. We’ve shared so many unforgettable adventures. It sucks that we won’t make more together or reminisce about them on the phone again. Who’s going to make fun of me all the time now? Actually, I’m sure other people will, but never like you. No one was like you.

I am mad though. I’m mad I forgot to respond. I’m mad I didn’t check in more. I’m mad that such a good person had only a short time to spread their light. I am mad that your Go Pro camera is loaded with photos and videos of us that I’ll never be able to see and cherish.

So many people cherished you, James. Your energy lit up the room, even if  you were passed out on a bean bag chair in the corner after a long day of travels. Some of the most fond memories that I’ve ever had in my life were with you by my side. I think you knew that, but I wish I told you.

Now I’ll never figure out the spaghetti song we made up when we were drunk in Hoi An. I was counting on you to remind me and make me laugh like you always do… or did. Fuck James, this just doesn’t seem real or right.

Do you remember watching the lightning in Sapa? That was a magical night. Remember that time we almost died in Ninh Binh? We talked about it last month, so of course you do. That is, if you can hear me now… What about the first day we met? I would lose my debit card a million times if I knew it would result in me needing to beg strangers for money and miraculously meet someone as incredible as you again.

I can get on with people pretty easily, but you took me by surprise. It was like I knew you my whole life. You’re like a brother to me. Forever my soul family.

You’re too good of a dude to go so soon.

Rest in paradise James Maguire 21.11.1996 – 15.7.2020

 

I Just Wanna Be Fuckin’ Happy

photo-1588031710692-25195b092ab1

I was minding my own business, on the back of a motorbike heading out of Tay Ho, Vietnam, when my Spotify shuffled to a random song by Julia Michaels. “What kind of sorcery is this?” I thought to myself as I gazed down to find out the artist and title. The song is called “Happy”, but it’s not about rainbows, butterflies, or drugs. The song is about sadness and heartache. She sang it in a way that touched me in my feels. It’s not often a song will turn me into a total softie while bobbing my head back and forth like I’m preparing for a mosh. However, the reason I was taken aback wasn’t because of that.

Why would a song about heartbreak, and not being happy, resonate with me so much when my life is good? That song essentially put me into a time machine, and flew me back to my cringy yet significantly trimmer and more youthful 16-year-old self. It made me think about times that I didn’t particularly want to go back to, and question many of my life choices. Yet, I still pressed repeat when I knew the song was coming to an end.

The next time I heard her sing the chorus, “I just wanna be fuckin’ happy.”, I asked myself what I had probably been suppressing for a long time. Am I really fucking happy? The fact that I asked that question was enough to know the answer was no. Don’t get me wrong, my life is great. I’m surrounded by an incredible community and wonderful friends. I love my family and have created a beautiful life for myself. I have a good life and I’m happy, but I’m not really fucking happy.

By that I mean, I still have voids I’m trying to fill. I still believe that my life will be better once I start my own business, or once I’m waking up every morning next to the doppelgänger of Leonardo DiCaprio from Titanic. (Yes, specifying Titanic rather than The Revenant makes a big difference in my book.) A part of me feels empty because I’ve created a life where the future, and things outside of myself, hold my conditional happiness. I was and am living a great life, but what’s keeping me from being really fucking happy is complete acceptance and gratitude for what is, regardless of other things I want that have yet to manifest in my life.

I am choosing in this moment to put my value and focus on different things. To bring my attention to the good that I have now rather than what I want in the future. That’s not to say I can’t have dreams and desires, but what I need to do is stop putting so much hype, hope, or worry on the future, that I feel my present is less valuable. Wanting more from life is fine and normal. However, needing something more to feel better, is not a goal we should strive for, yet we seem to have collectively agreed it’s alright.

Many think that in order to change your life, get what you want, and be fucking happy, we have to do something different. Although that’s not wrong, it’s not where to begin. It’s not about doing or having. It’s about being. Who do we have to become? Who do we have to be to change? We have been brought up in a world revolved around doing, but we won’t be taking the right actions if we haven’t become the right person first.

I am choosing to become more grateful and appreciative for what is. I am going to become more present and mindful. I am going to observe my thoughts, feel my feelings, and accept them without resistance. I am going to chill the fuck out and be fucking happy not by changing what I do or have, but who I am. Then, I’ll be truly fucking happy.

Does This Movement Matter?

2B371882-84D4-486C-9CE0-3C12EE967310Does this movement matter? Um duh, but clickbait is a thing. That said, this may be one of the hardest blog posts I’ve ever written. Mind you, I’ve published blog posts about my biggest fears and insecurities, put people on blast, exposed my sex life and addictions, and posted a blog about my relapse just days after. Then, why is this so difficult? 

I’ve always been an open person. When it comes to talking about me, I have no shortage of things to say. However, what’s going on in the US right now, being a white privileged female, living in Vietnam, feels so far from me. I want to know what to say, but I don’t. My heart hurts for the world and the people of color who have so many obstacles in our society, but I could never claim to understand what they’re going through. In the past when riots like this in my country broke out, I stayed silent because I felt my voice wouldn’t make a difference. I hid and took advantage of my white privilege by closing my eyes and ears to the truth that our society was and still is so fucked. 

Don’t think so? In 2018, the median income for an African American household was $41,361 U.S. dollars compared to $70,642 for non-Hispanic white households. About 40% of homelessness in the U.S. is African American even though they only make up 13% of the population, and the poverty rate is 20.8%, which is more than double the poverty rate  for white people. (8.1%) We haven’t even started talking about racism. 78% of African Americans think they’re being treated unfairly and 15.8% of black students in the US reported experiencing race-based bullying or harassment.

Black lives matter. But why talk about it if what I say won’t really make a difference? Because that’s only what I thought, but what I thought may not be true. That goes for us all. It’s so easy to think we can’t make a difference. “Who am I to make the world better?” “There’s no hope.” “This will end soon enough without my help.” etc. There are millions of copouts as to why we don’t need to speak up or act out. Deep down though, we know it feels wrong to be complacent because we’re lying to ourselves when we say we can’t make a difference. I’m not telling you to go climb the Empire State Building, and cause a scene. Our actions don’t have to be big or acknowledged by the masses to make a difference. More simple acts of kindness can make an impactful change. 

I will never forget September 11th for many reasons, but one being what happened to my mother that morning. She was in a grocery store parking lot on 9/11. She noticed a man of color, in torn and worn-out clothes, looking distraught. He looked homeless. She could have easily looked the other way to go about her business and get her shopping done. Instead, she asked if he was okay. He told her that his son worked on the 98th floor of the first tower that fell. He tried contacting him all morning but hadn’t heard back. Needless to say, his son’s life was likely lost that day. For the next ten minutes, my mother and this stranger embraced, crying into each others arms. 

Imagine how much that man needed soneone’s support in that moment. Not to mention, how that one act of kindness stuck with me nearly 20 years later. Shit, that made me feel old. Anyways, you get the point. Show up and show your support in whatever way you can because you can make a difference. Black lives matter, and what you do to support their lives matters too. 

To The Guy Who Called Me A C#nt

photo-1581864353095-ec9ced350147Everyone at some point has been in a situation that was perceived as hurtful, disrespectful, or aggravating. However, the experiences that seem terrible to others, could be an opportunity to give you one more reason to smile. At least that’s what happened to me.

I had just arrived at my friend’s house for game/movie night and pizza. Shortly after, I received a message from a guy who I will refer to as “irrelevant”. He asked me what I was up to and I told him my plans, to which he said. 

“When are the games over?”

“When I feel like going to bed. Haha” I replied. 

If that wasn’t enough of a hint that I didn’t plan to meet up with him that night, I don’t know what is, but things escalated quickly from there. He sent me a voice memo about how he’s been “going through some shit” in his personal life lately, and wanted to take out his frustrations on me… sexually. Then, he proceeded to tell me what that would entail.

I had no problem with him saying any of that. If anything, his words made me blush and smile, while simultaneously giving me a mild panic attack that someone may have overheard. It’s what came after I told him that he wouldn’t be seeing me later, that had my friends gagging. 

Read for yourself…96B90F3B-B32D-4976-8A2F-BBCB3970DC7D

I have no intentions on speaking to him again, even though he reached out to apologize the following day. However, my initial reaction after reading his texts, was a grin from ear to ear. Why? Because first of all, who says that? It’s pretty hilarious how stupid he is. More importantly, I’m at a point in life where I so strongly know my worth, that not even for a second did his words make me feel that I was missing out in any way, or was inferior to him or anyone else. The pizza alone will probably give me more of an orgasm than he ever could, so there was 100% nothing lost on my end.

I can’t even fathom what this would have done to me back in college. I probably would have responded to his apology faster than my heart raced when I thought someone overheard irrelevant saying what he wanted to do to me. I imagine receiving those texts back then would have negatively impacted what turned out to be an incredible night.

That situation was validation that my self worth, though not perfect, is stronger and higher than it’s ever been. The way I handled everything showed me that I no longer feed into people or situations that don’t add enough value to my life. It gave me an opportunity to reflect on how far I’ve come. Experiences that can easily be perceived as negative, tend to be the ones that will shed more light on the positive if you know where to put your focus. 

So, to the guy who called me a cunt… Looks like you’ll have to go fuck yourself now.

I’m Going To Break His Heart

EDCFF377-F6E2-4085-85FC-4BC533C5734DI’m in a pickle. I have to break someone’s heart and I don’t know how. I don’t want to, but there’s no way to go around it if I want to live my life with honestly and integrity. The last thing I want to do is ignore the guy. Being ghosted by someone you like is such a mind fuck, I might as well tell him the truth.

I’ve known him for several months now, but the last three weeks, we’ve gotten closer… not just emotionally. For anonymity and clarity, we will call him #61. The problem isn’t that I only want to sleep with a guy that I think will lead to marriage. If you’ve read some of my other blog posts, you probably could have figured that one out. The problem is, continuing this path will be me repeating an old toxic pattern that I refuse to relive.

Four years ago, I was in an on again off again “situationship” that lasted 6 months until I ended things for good. We will call him #20. He wanted to be my boyfriend and I was like… Nah, I’ll pass, but I’m down to keep doing what we’re doing. (I used a different choice of words at the time, but you get the idea.) #20 bent over backwards for me, while I took like one of those kids who pours all the fucking candy in their bag on Halloween when the basket on the doorstep says “Take ONE.” He was so much more invested and I knew it. It felt wrong, so I would end it in a “We can still be friends” way. It wouldn’t take long before we Netflix and chilled, and you can fill in the blank. It ended on good terms, but it still resulted in him moving to a different city the following day.

Not every “situationship” is that way. There’s another guy, #57, who does a lot for me too. He also puts his hands around my neck, and I like it if you catch my drift. Yet, there’s a similar investment and understanding. There’s a mutual satisfaction and expectation. For the record, they’re not just numbers, I genuinely like these people. I just think it’s pretty funny.

#61 is so sweet, caring, and sensitive. He wants nothing more than to love and be loved. I want nothing more than that for both of us, but not with each other. He wants to do things for me, hang out with me, and talk to me all the time. However, we are on totally different pages. If I’m being honest, I am also 99.8% sure that if things continue this way, he will soon start annoying me pretty consistently. I will certainly leave that out when I talk to him later this week.

Not only that, but I feel my brain shifting back to my #20 days when I’d wonder if he could do or help me with x, y, or z, anytime I didn’t feel like doing it myself. This week, I’ve needed a lot of help with transportation, technology and more, but I’ve grown, and intentionally outsourced help elsewhere. I grit my teeth as I read his text the other day saying “If there is anything I can do to help lemme know. The pleasure of helping you always feels good.” I then sighed as I looked up at the sky and thought “Bruh, really?”

I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to take advantage of anyone. I don’t want relationships that are imbalanced, or to have guilt or fear of where things will go. I also hate this feeling of secrecy I have from not having told him how I feel. Is this what a day in the life of Elsa was like before her sister knew her powers?

I want to have people in my life that enhance my wellbeing and vice versa. I want to feel wanted, but want to want them back just the same. I want an equal investment of energy, and I can’t give him that which he deserves just as much.

I know ending things will not be easy. He’s so sensitive, and I know how hurt he will be. Yet, I’m not going to consciously waste my life repeating patterns that don’t serve anyone. I will be honest, empathetic, and do what I can to have him understand and accept the outcome. I would never want to leave him guessing what went wrong, and have him blame himself. Sometimes being honest feels wrong, but it’s always right.

My Three Biggest Insecurities

224AF776-9994-45C1-AA64-B463301356F6I think it’s safe to say, having insecurities is something we can all relate to. I don’t know why I feel so inclined to talk about my biggest insecurities, but I have a feeling this will make people laugh, and by the end, leave you feeling inspired. Not to mention, I’ll roast the shit out of myself, and who wouldn’t want to hear that? Without further ado, here are my three biggest insecurities.

Let’s start with my hair. Rather than my hair, I should say lack thereof. It’s so damn thin, I’m one hair pull away from looking like Danny DeVito. I brush my hair as carefully as Gollum polishing off his precious ring to avoid losing a single strand. Sometimes, I’m convinced I’m watching that scene in The Lord of The Rings when I see my reflection in the bathroom mirror first thing in the morning.

However, looking back, I remember one of my biggest insecurities growing up was my hair itself. I hated the way it looked, and straitened it for so many years that most people had no idea what my real hair actually looked like. Now, I love my Jew curls, and wish I could have seen the beauty in it then. I also wish I could see more of the beauty in whatever left of it I have now.

Next, we have my back. Sounds strange in theory, but it’s not when I’m walking in front of you, now looking like a mix between Danny DeVito and Jessica Simpson… During her pregnancy. There’s this tiny accumulation of fat in my mid to upper back that makes it seem as though I’m about to sprout wings. If I’m not careful, I’ll be able to fly myself back to the US for the holidays. At least I’d save some money. Maybe I’m being a little extra with that statement. I’m not waddling around like Eric Cartman right after Halloween or anything. It’s just not cute, and the thought of exposing my back in a bikini makes my wings shudder from nerves.

Yet, who’s to say it’s not cute? I remember seeing two girls in bikinis at a river while I was with a guy I had spent the last few weeks traveling with. One of the girls looked like she was just on the cover of Vogue Magazine. I said “Damn, look at her body!” He asked who I was referring too, and responded to my answer with “I like her friends body better.” To her side, was a girl who had a little belly, curves, and a relatable back roll. Nothing wrong with any of that, but I wasn’t expecting him to have that response while standing next to such a bombshell. He had little to no interest in miss wingless Vogue Cover Girl.

Lastly, (not actually last, but for the sake of time it is.) we have my mouth. Not my literal mouth. People pay to have lips as fat as mine. I’m taking about my inability to shut the fuck up sometimes. If I get excited or nervous, I’ll talk your ear off. Filters no longer exist and I’ll be sounding like an auctioneer in no time.

To be honest though, that’s an insecurity I’ve been embracing. Yes, at times it can get a bit out of control, but it’s a gift. I have the gift of gab, and I’d rather have to learn to reel it in sometimes, than not have such a gift at all.

All of those things we call insecurities now, will either continue, or be replaced with the next part of us that we choose to negativity focus on. That is, until we decide throw our middle fingers up and say fuck what the world has programmed us to accept about ourselves. All of what we call “shortcomings” are illusions and become accomplishments once we overcome them. It’s all a gift.

There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with you. The insecurities we perceive were created by our past because we didn’t know any better at the time, and that’s okay. You’re not alone. Now, we know better. So lets start rewriting our stories.