You never forget your first – March 22nd, 2019

8:08pm

         Ok, I have a confession to make. I secretly, well I guess it’s not a secret anymore, really want someone to read my blog. Even if it’s just one person. I don’t exactly know why, but I’m assuming it has something to do with some sort of validation. The idea that there is someone out there that cares enough to read about my life and thoughts excites me. It would give me hope that all these emotions and feelings that I have inside have a purpose. That there is a reason to write all of this down. I guess deep down, I want to know that there’s a reason that I’ve been through all that I’ve been through, and I want to help someone who may be going through something similar. Now that I’m reading that sentence, I’m guessing there are a lot of people out there that think that. It’s a big world, and I’m just one person. Do I matter?

         Oh my. How that question has haunted me since I was about twelve years old. I will always remember my first anxiety attack. I was in fifth grade, and my teacher had us students reading aloud. The idea was you read a paragraph, and then you pick someone to read the next one. Please note: I was not popular in any sense of the word at this point in my life. In fact, this is when girls started to bully and pick on me. But that’s a story for another post. So, for this exercise you WANTED to be picked to read. It meant that you were liked. In general, the girls chose girls, and the boys chose boys. Maybe cooties still existed at this point. Well anyways, I was the last girl chosen to read, so I had no choice but to pick a boy to read next. Remember, who you picked to read was such a big deal, and since I could pick ANY boy, I knew that the popular girls were going to have fun talking about this later.

         Well, I froze. I finished my paragraph and just sat there. My teacher, who looked like a rat, kept telling me to pick someone. “Pick someone.” “Seriously, just pick any boy, none of them have read yet.” “Are you listening to me?” “Pick someone, anyone.” “Look at the boy sitting in front of you and say his name.” “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.” Then he came over to my desk and literally pointed at the boy sitting in front of me. “What is his name? Just say it! It’s not that hard. You’re holding up our lesson. Just say his name!”

         Of course I knew the boy’s name, but all I could hear was his taunting tone and the giggles coming from the rest of my classmates. My chest tightened, and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I had never felt this feeling before. Every breath required all of my strength. My eyes were blurry with tears, and my throat was too dry to even think about saying a word. I tuned out my nagging teacher as I focused on each agonizing breath, even though it felt like there were razors in my lungs. I’m not exactly sure how long this went on for, but it certainly felt like an eternity. Eventually, I was able to croak out “Tom” to which my teacher replied, “now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He had no idea.

         I’m not the best writer, and please remember that this is just a journal entry, so I’m not putting a ton of effort into making the details paint the perfect picture. But I hope you can understand how traumatic this unknown and embarrassing experience was for a young adolescent girl.

         When I think about my years of depression and anxiety, I would say it was in that moment that I knew something was really wrong. That I wasn’t just “sad” and things would just pass with time. I’ve obviously had a countless number of anxiety attacks since then, some of them rather severe. But if you were to ask me to pick the “worst” attack I’ve ever had, I would have to say it was my first one in fifth grade. Triggered by my teacher, no less. This teacher turned out to by my first real serious bully, but again, I will get back to that at another time.

         Anxiety attacks suck, and if you’ve never had one, you will never truly know how bad they can be. I honestly can’t even find the words to describe some of them. Especially the ones that occur for no apparent reason. In some ways, those are worse than ones that are triggered by a traumatic event. Sometimes, anyway. But if you are someone who suffers from anxiety attacks, just remember you are definitely not alone. I know how much they suck, and I know the helpless feeling they give you. I still haven’t pinpointed exactly why, but for some reason, people tend to feel better knowing they aren’t alone feeling what they are feeling.

         I’m going to get deep for a second… I know you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. But I promise you, that whatever it is you are feeling, you are NOT alone. No one should ever have to feel as though they are, or that no one understands them. I’ve been through so much, and I’m still here. I’m proof that surviving is an option.

         To remembering better days.

With love to every human,

Lizzie

Picture perfect doesn’t mean much to me – March 21st, 2019

5:54pm

         I cannot believe I only made it TWO days and then missed FIVE. Not that I have a full excuse, but I have been slightly under the weather. I spent one whole day puking my brains out, and I haven’t slept in over two days. So my state of mind is a bit on the hazy side. If hazy is even close to the word I should be using. I feel disoriented. Tired, obviously. Dizzy. Uncomfortable. Nauseous. I guess a bad dream is the best comparison I can think of off the top of my head. Or I guess if you get a bad high. You know the kind where you’re just TOO high and you start questioning why no one has come up with a better design for a peanut butter jar yet so you can stop making such a mess on the handle of your spoon when it starts getting low. I mean, seriously? Make it shorter and fatter, people. MAKE IT A CHODE.

         Sorry, that was a weird tangent. I’m pretty sure if everyone either said everything they thought or everyone could just read each other’s minds, I would have ZERO friends. Not that I have a huge group of friends, I guess. But I don’t consider that a bad thing. The point was that sometimes I wonder if I’m too weird. Like you know that person that is “special” and everyone knows it, but no one ever talks about it or acknowledges it, it’s just a fact. Well, sometimes I wonder if I’m that person. What if people actually say “oh, that’s just because she’s Lizzie” as an excuse to my weird behavior? OR maybe I’m just so paranoid and self-conscious about everything, but I’m actually not nearly as strange as I think I am. I do know one thing, though. I am much weirder than I used to be, because I used to be cool.

         Now let me explain before you label me a self-absorbed bitch. If I were to look at my life objectively and from a third person’s perspective, I would have been considered “popular” in high school. I was a cheer leader with a “popular” boyfriend. From the outside, it looked like I had tons of friends and everyone loved me. I was fit, tan, had blonde hair, my make-up was always done, and it was known that I worked at the local ice cream stand. I had guys flirt with me regularly, and I was aware of a few that had crushes on me. I knew I turned heads when I walked into a room, and I could constantly feel people watching me-for many reasons. I was smart and came from a happy, “normal” family. I was deeply involved in both church and school, and I was quite the popular babysitter. Like I said, from the outside, it looked like everyone, both adults, teenagers, and children loved me. But things are never as they seem, are they?

         OK STOP. I know what kind of picture I just painted in your head, and I don’t want to know your current opinions of me. But I SWEAR I have a point, just keep reading… This isn’t meant to be my sob story of how my life was worse than everyone else’s and you should feel sorry for me. NO, I never want anyone to feel sorry for me. Ever.

         So anyways. To further prove I don’t want this to seem like my sob high school story, I’m not going to delve into every little detail of what was really going on. You can learn more about me if you want, if you keep reading my blog. Long story short, no one really truly liked me. My “friends” said the worst things about me to my face and behind my back, daily. I was struggling with schoolwork, but I was too embarrassed to ask for help, so I occasionally sought alternate options. I was suffocating in an abusive relationship with the most popular guy in our town, so therefore I wasn’t “allowed” to break up with him, or tell anyone, for ANY reason. My family had its’ secrets they wouldn’t even admit to each other. I wore long sleeves every day to cover my scars and fresh wounds on my arm. I prayed every day that I wouldn’t be Homecoming queen because it meant I would have to return the following year to crown the next queen. When I was done, I planned to be gone.

         And that’s how it has been. I haven’t been back to my high school sing the day of graduation. I went to college and started introducing myself as “Lizzie” instead of “Elizabeth” and I changed. Sometimes I still wonder if I’m true to myself or if I am the way I am because I just want to be anything but what I was like in high school. I stopped wearing make-up, gained weight, stopped doing my hair, started wearing cheap clothes that don’t match, and the biggest thing is I STOPPED CARING. I stopped caring what everyone else thought about me, and I stopped caring what I thought.

         AND THERE WE HAVE IT, FOLKS! A BREAKTHROUGH! But seriously. I didn’t realize how in depth the situation was until I just wrote it. Sure, I’ve thought about it countless times, but I guess I just didn’t realize how high school affected me on SO many levels. And I didn’t even tell you everything. If I did, this would be my story, and well, I’ve been working on that for five years. So go read that if you want to know more details about me life, HA! Again, like I’m that interesting.

         Wow, I totally forgot how this whole tangent started. It all started with me being weird, imagine that. So, I guess the point is, the next time you find yourself thinking that someone is weird, remember that there are SO many reasons as to who that person is the way that they are. And who are you to judge them? Maybe you’re the weird one.

         I think I’m going to leave it at that today.

With love to every human,

Lizzie

I never really understood parades – March 15th, 2019

2:05am

          So here is the real test. I can’t sleep, so I decided to write until I feel like I can’t anymore or I start feeling tired. Ambien sucks. It used to knock me right out, but now it takes me hours to fall asleep. I mean it probably doesn’t help that my boyfriend snores. And he is an obnoxious snorer too. You know the kind you just can’t tune out? Yup, that’s what I’m stuck with.

          My keyboard light won’t turn on, and I’m trying to type in the dark. I think it’s broken, and it’s not worth paying to get it fixed I’m sure. It’s weird cuz they turn on when I first turn on my computer, but then they go off and won’t come back on. It’s just a first world problem, I know.

          Man, I have a headache.

          Smoking used to help, but ever since I lost contact to get vapes, it just doesn’t seem to do the trick. I did get my birth control changed though. I had a happy ending too, haha. Well, he did anyway. I want to please him too so it’s ok. I understand I don’t get to finish every time, as much as I wish that were the case. I think if I was guaranteed an orgasm, I would be way more horny. I mean that just makes logical sense, I know, but I mean even with the medication side effects, I think that would change my outlook on sex just a bit. Cuz sometimes it just hurts. And sometimes I just can’t shut my mind up. So I’m thinking about everything but the man I’m having sex with. My brain gets me into a lot of trouble.

          People tell me I see too much good in people. For example, I’m hanging out with my friend’s brother the other night. We are just smoking and playing Mario Kart, having a grand ol time. He knows about my boyfriend, and he has a live-in girlfriend. Well, he asked if he won a round of Mario Kart if he could kiss me. I was appalled and ended up leaving after telling him no several times. I’m so pissed because I was having so much fun up until that point. And I think he can hook me up with some vapes. And as bad as it sounds, I might use him to get them. Does that make me a terrible person? It’s not like I want to see him, and I’ll probably have to hang out with him a little so it’s no weird, but I’m desperate.

          I may be a stoner, but I promise you: you would like the high version of me so much better than sober me. It helps my headaches and anxiety. And I have a med card. And I don’t know why I’m explaining myself to a computer. You don’t care what I do.

          I just cleaned out my pipe, and I just had such an amazing hit. I would love to just get high with everyone I know. Like one on one. And have deep meaningful conversations with them and bond on another level. Like my mom and dad. What an experience that would be. Even any of my siblings. I feel like we would have some fun. Wishful thinking I suppose.

          I wonder if I will ever finish my book. Even if I did, I’m not sure I would ever let anyone read the whole thing. That would be like letting someone read these only worse because I put every emotion I have into writing that story. Maybe it’s not meant to be finished. I have a problem with finishing things. Like coloring pictures, journal entries, and just about every craft I do. I have this constant need to have to finish. I can’t just leave it half done or especially not almost done. If I’m even relatively close to finishing something, I HAVE to finish it. I mean obviously there are sometimes when my depression gets in the way, and I have no motivation to finish what I start. Then I just feel even worse, and I feel guilty, though I’m not sure why.

       If I could, I would finish every journal I owned in one night. Not for any particular reason other than it would feel so good to have them completed. I love looking at them. They make me happy. Even if no one else understands why I make these junk journals or smash books or quote journals or the reason I have at least twenty of them… What was I talking about? Oh, how good it would feel to have my journals full. Full of quotes and inspiration and ART. And again, even if no one understood it, I WOULD. And it would make me happy to look at them, and that’s the whole point, right?

       I have this strive for perfection. And not necessarily meaning that I want other people to think I’m perfect, or even care what they think. I just want to be proud of whatever work I do. And that includes reading, writing, doing puzzles, cleaning, and it even affects the way I do my hair and make-up. It just has to be good enough for ME, and that’s all I care about. Is that normal? Am I weird? These are things that I wish I could talk to people about. But when I try to make deep conversations, they usually end in someone just bitching about something. My best guy friend is probably the best at having a real, deep, meaningful conversation. I can’t imagine my life without him. It’s crazy to think that we have only really been “best friends” for less than a year. I mean we didn’t talk much for years, and we didn’t keep in touch. I don’t know why I didn’t feel this amazing connection before? Maybe we were both still growing. Figuring out who we were.

I’m still trying to figure out who I am. I ask myself that every day. I hate the person who stares at me in the mirror, and I just want to puke every time I see her. I am fat and ugly, and it pisses me off because it’s all my fault. I can’t blame anyone else but myself and bad habits. I could have prevented this, at least most of this, if I had just been smart and realized it wasn’t JUST five pounds. This I swear, if I ever get under 150 pounds, I will never go over again. Unless pregnancy. Then the rules change. I don’t think I’ll care as much when I’m a mom, but I definitely care now. I feel huge. The biggest I’ve ever been.

I need to end on something positive. Pinterest has been really inspiring lately, but there is this stupid thing called lack of motivation to do anything and I have it. I struggle to do anything all day, but I force myself to do things. Even the Adderall isn’t helping anymore. And I’ve been trying not to smoke all day, so there’s that. And I’m trying not to drink soda, so there’s that too. There’s just everything.

I didn’t eat anything today. Only a few chips my boyfriend fed me in bed. I hate to even think this, but I’m proud of myself. Every day that I eat well or not at all, ESPECIALLY not at all, I feel amazing. I always feel lighter the next day, even when there’s no change. I wish I could just not want to eat anymore. That would solve everything. I love food too much. So literally, the only way to keep me from eating because I lack self control is to have no food in the damn house. Which is our current situation. Two more days until I get my food stamps. Two more days…

I think my eyes are starting to droop. I want to go to sleep so my mouth stops hurting too. I feel like I’ve been grinding my teeth lately. Random thought. Hopefully you won’t hear from me for hours, but I hope to remember to write later.

With love to every human,

Lizzie

 

5:12pm

          I don’t really feel like writing to be honest. But it’s this book, ‘What Alice Forgot’ that has me feeling all sorts of emotions that I’m not sure about. There’s talk about miscarriages, relationship problems, kids, and just life stuff in general. It has me all overthinking everything in life. Alice lost ten years of her memory, and she is able to gain a new perspective on life. Maybe that’s what I need. A new perspective. Maybe by writing these I can look at my life more objectively and fix some things that I don’t even know need fixing. Just a thought…

With love to every human,

Lizzie

 

9:47pm

          I am forcing myself to write because I can’t fail on only the second day of this journal experiment. Hopefully by forcing myself to I guess think and ponder?… That’s supposed to help? I don’t know. I hope there is a point to doing this I guess.

          I guess I just want to finish something great. Even though this journal does not exactly scream greatness. But I’m hoping it will help my mood and motivation to do other things… Like crafts or writing or any of my hobbies. I always find a hobby and get obsessed with it for a few days and then I move on. I feel the need to finish everything, yes, but I get bored easily. And I don’t like projects that take more than one day. I think I would rather have something like this that could take a year or even longer than a project that takes “only a few days.” If I can see the end in sight, I’m going to get there, so why can’t I just do it all today? Those are my thoughts anyway.

          And maybe this is also just something to do to kill time because I am literally bored all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. I can’t help it. I try so hard to stay busy, and I do a lot of things, I really do. I just struggle with the point of doing it all. It used to be for happiness, but I don’t even seem to get that out of a lot of things anymore.

          I don’t know exactly why I’m depressed, though I could come up with plenty of reasons. I hate the way I look, I’m in a relationship that seems to have just stopped, I am alone all day and every day, I have trauma that I can’t even begin to think about, I am insecure about just about everything like friends and if people actually care or like me, and well, yea. I could come up with a few reasons, like I said.

        

         I’m watching, or more so listening to, ‘Ice Age.’ I love Sid the Sloth so much. He is a character that can always make me laugh. Even when I’m sober. Although I must say this movie is much better when you’ve had a little bit of giggle bush in your system.

         My mom is coming up tomorrow. I am excited to see her, but I’m currently frustrated. She hasn’t told me what the plan is, so I have no idea what time I have to be up and ready. And yes, I’ve asked several times. I hate planning ahead, but it’s something I sometimes need to do. Probably something I should do more often.

         Not that I think anyone is reading this, but I haven’t talked about anything even remotely interesting yet. People like to read interesting things, not just random jibberish. I will have to try to remember to talk about things that are worth typing… Yea, I don’t even know what I mean by that.

         I suddenly have no more to say, or even think. All I can think about is what movie to put in next because this one is almost over. Except I also don’t feel like getting up, so I’m thinking Netflix it is… Gawd I’m so damn lazy.

         I would love to join a gym. People tell me all the time I could lose the weight if I wanted to and all that jazz. But the bottom line is, this girl is broke. And I feel way too selfish asking my boyfriend to help me out with something like that. And yes, I know, there’s home exercise, but I suck at that.

         Let’s talk about exercise for a minute. Now remember, these are MY thoughts and MY opinions, so don’t get all defensive when I say this… But I can’t stand people who are obsessed with going to the gym. I mean, good for you and all, but I don’t need to hear about it. Unless something exciting happened, I don’t need to hear about how many miles you ran or how many reps you did. And keep that shit off social media too. It’s just annoying. What’s even MORE annoying is when those same gym obsessed people then post about being so insecure and shit. If you really were that insecure, you wouldn’t be posting pictures of you in basically nothing doing squats. Sorry, I just guess that it’s something that will always bother me. Probably due to my own insecurities I know, but I’m just saying I would much rather scroll through my feed and see pictures of baby animals and jokes rather than your super ripped body that just makes me feel uncomfortable. Rant over.

         I think I’ve said enough for today. Nighty night.

With love to every human,

Lizzie

The whole world, I just live in it – March 14th, 2019

11:21pm

         So here I go. I think the idea is to not stop typing and just keep writing what you are thinking. Well my first thought is that I am a rusty typer. I used to be so fast that people would comment on it at work. I’ve always loved the sound of a keyboard. When I was little, I used to pretend that I was a librarian or receptionist and just type away on a broken keyboard we had lying around. I practiced typing my name the most. I guess I probably just didn’t know what else to type. However, I can type my name pretty fast still I think… Let me try it. Elizabeth Charlotte Miller. Ok, so I stumbled on my first name. I must be getting too used to typing Lizzie for everything. I wish everyone would just call me that. I would forget who Elizabeth was and just be this one and only “Lizzie.” Just a first name. Am I cool enough or even important enough to rock just a first name? I mean I’m not Madonna or Ke$ha. I guess I can do whatever I choose. Well, not really. Because no matter how hard I try, people still call me Elizabeth. Which is somehow ok when it’s family or people who have known me long enough. But I just feel like the people who didn’t know me before “Lizzie” should see it as a privilege to call me “Elizabeth,” but they act as if it’s the opposite. Wow. I’ve wanted to rant about that for so long. No one seems to understand how important it was for me to “become” Lizzie. It’s not just a name to me. So maybe the people that actually call me Lizzie understand that. Maybe I have it all backwards. The people that respect my wishes to be called Lizzie are, or could be, those that understand on a deeper level.

         So I guess I should probably use fake names or no names at all just for everyone’s privacy and personal business. I just hope no one ever plays detective and ruins the anonymity of it all. Not that I’m planning on talking mad shit about everyone, but I mean… I’m literally just typing what it on my mind. I can’t help what I think half the time, and they are MY thoughts. So if anyone who is super sensitive is reading this, STOP NOW. Seriously. How would you feel if someone was reading your most intimate and sincere thoughts? That’s beyond an invasion of privacy. That’s crossing lines that you can never uncross. So yea. I just had to get that out. I don’t know why I’m so nervous to do this journal thing. I’ve tried the paper and pen kind for YEARS, but I can’t seem to make it a habit. I think it’s because I’m so obsessed with what my handwriting looks like cuz it HAS to be perfect… Anyways, I concentrate more on the letters and not the words or even the thoughts. My hand can’t keep up with my thoughts so it’s just a frustrating lost cause. But anyways, the point I’m trying to make is this going to be unfiltered for the most part, so you have been warned.

         So now that I’ve probably wasted no one’s time but my own, I’m going to start talking. Talking to myself? Maybe I should be cool and make these letter format. “Dear so-and-so…” Haha. I’m not cool enough for just a first name, so I’m definitely not honored enough to write letters like Evan Hansen.

         Surprisingly enough, this is not a homework project. This is an idea I got out of a book that I’m reading right now in which the lady writes letters to her therapist to help her “get better.” The point is that I’m hoping that this will somehow help me feel better. Because I’m so tired of pretending that I’m okay, and I don’t know how much longer I can do it…

         Not to go all emo there. Although I did listen to that Pandora station today. It will always be my favorite station I think. Something about the nostalgic feelings that for once are a positive thing. I just think music is magical in so many ways. But that is something for another day.

         My boyfriend is getting ready for bed. I know it’s technically late and past the normal bedtime for people our age, but I still hate it whenever I can tell he’s about to go to sleep. I guess I just feel so alone when he’s sleeping which makes me sound like a psycho girlfriend. I’m letting him watch his cursed island show right now, so I can’t be doing that bad at the job. Although, I still don’t have a ring on that finger… Again, a topic for another day…

         I guess overall today was a good day, and honestly the best part has been writing this. How weird. No way will it work that fast. I will probably have to force myself to even write hello tomorrow. We will see. Until then (and yes I’m going to sign off with my signature)…

With love to every human,

Lizzie

 

11:57pm

         I’m back. That stupid show still has a decent amount of time left so I decided I would force myself to write a bit more. I’m so uncomfortable in this bed right now. I have been a lot actually. I don’t know why? It’s not like a too hot or too cold feeling. Or it’s not like the bed it too hard or too soft, it’s just that the bed for some reason opens up my mind and releases thoughts upon thoughts upon thoughts. Maybe I’m just a night owl so that’s when I think. But I mean I already took my Ambien, but I’ll probably still be awake for a while. For no reason. I really hope not because I can feel a migraine coming. Ugh. I need to put in my new birth control. It’s such an easy task, but I haven’t done it yet. Well, my boyfriend hasn’t. I know that sounds weird, but we are literally THAT close of a couple. I have trouble getting the ring in far enough, and he can see what he’s doing and, well yea… I wish I could say it always has a happy ending, but thanks to Prozac, I have no sex drive. Sorry, probably too much information.

         Let me rant about that for a second. Hang on, need a hit. Ok, two solid hits late, and I’m ready to vent. Do you know how much it sucks to NOT want to have sex? I mean seriously. It is the MOST frustrating thing. Why would I not want to do something that feels good? I mean I know what it can lead to, and even thinking of a good climax makes me cringe, but I just don’t want to be touched. Maybe it’s because I’ve been feeling more and more self-conscious lately? I feel big, All the time.

         Let’s move on to that subject. Do you know how many times I’ve thought “if only I would have gotten my act together a year ago, I could be skinny right now.” Which depresses me even more because everything on my wiggles. I mean EVERYTHING. I feel old and fat, so don’t blame me for not wanting to be touched. I can’t help it. I wish I could, but I can’t. I accept defeat on that challenge.

         But then I start to wonder how much it really bothers Amy boyfriend. I mean, he’s a guy after all. I would think he’s disappointed. Well, I know he is because he makes comments about it all the time. But then those comments just turn me off even more. Maybe if he tried more? But he has to do it at the right time because I’m weird. Maybe it’s all because of what HE did to me, I don’t know. I wonder that all the time. Sometimes I think HE may have ruined me more than I realize. Which if that is the case, then it is not going to be smooth sailing ahead. Time will tell.

         Ok, I’m really going to try to sleep now. Oh! And the show just ended. So peace.

With love to every human,

Lizzie