I Want My Mommy

Tell me other people get completely overwhelmed with adulthood. Some days I just don't want to do it anymore. And lately, there have been more of those days than not. I feel like I'm the kind of person that's fine as long as things keep moving. But, as soon as I have time to relax and to think, I start freaking out. I'm not doing enough. I'm not saving enough. I'm not eating well enough. I'm not socializing enough. I'm not working hard enough. I don't see my family enough. I don't call my mom enough. I don't clean my apartment enough. Sometimes, despite feeling like I never have time for myself, I feel like it's just never enough.

I had a minor meltdown last night. I'm blaming it mostly on the fact that Ben's been going through his nicotine withdrawal, and for the past month I've been focused on him. I've been walking on eggshells, because his fuse has been the shortest I've ever seen it. Some days, it doesn't take much to completely set him off. And I'm terrified of upsetting him to the point where he goes back to cigarettes for comfort. That's not in any way blaming him. It's just part of the process. I expected it to be difficult for both of us. I just didn't really expect it to be this difficult for me. I'm not what you'd call a patient person, so I ran out of sympathy and nice gestures pretty quickly. When the second week was harder than the first, I was completely thrown. And when he was still moody after a month, I just started retreating into myself. I didn't really know what I could say to him, how I could help him. I've just been waiting it out. And he's doing really well. But, still. There have been days when I've needed him, and he just couldn't be there for me, because he had his own stuff going on. Such is life.

In any case, last night was just my breaking point. No particular reason. Nothing earth-shattering happened, nothing terribly stressful. I just suddenly couldn't deal anymore. I woke up yesterday just feeling like I wanted to run away. I wanted to be alone. But, not in the sense that I wanted Ben to make himself scarce for the day. I just didn't want to be where I was. I ended up at a children's bookstore (naturally) after trying to get my niece and/or nephew, and a friend's kid to come with me. None of them were available. Probably for the best anyway. That completely defeated my whole "alone time" thing. Getting out of the house and doing something for myself made me feel better, even though I had anxiety about spending money, since my paycheck doesn't seem to be going as far these days (I haven't even thought about Christmas yet...don't ask me...I can't deal with it right now). The rest of the day basically just consisted of Ben and I hanging around the house doing some chores and watching a movie (Bambi...he'd never seen it...it's much more boring than I remember). But, that night, we were laying in bed, and I just told him that I've been feeling really anxious lately. He told me that he could tell I haven't been feeling like myself lately, and I confessed that I've been trying really, really hard not to take my anxieties out on him. It's been difficult. Almost every day this week, I've wanted to pick a fight with him. Why? Just to make myself feel better. Just to get it out. Just to yell at someone about something. But, I didn't. And if you knew me five or six years ago, you'd agree that that's an enormous amount of growth.

I told him that I just wanted my mom to come do things for me, because I just didn't want to deal with anything anymore. He asked me what I wanted my mom to do. So I started naming things. Load the dishwasher. Clean the apartment. Feed the cat. Buy my clothes. Pay my bills. Plan and cook my meals. Do my laundry. Make my doctor appointments. Put my clothes away. Buy my groceries. As the night went on and I began to feel better, I sporadically called out something else I thought of that I wanted her to do. It became an amusing game after a while, but I was immensely overwhelmed in the beginning. Crying that I just felt stuck. I drove past the college where I got my graduate degree, on the way home from the bookstore, and my thought was, "I should go back to school." Ben damn near had a heart attack. I feel overwhelmed with my hobbies; like I don't have enough time to maintain them all, even though hobbies are meant to be relaxing and not stressful. For days, I felt like I was one wrong word away from crying.

It's been a long time since I felt like that. When I was with my ex, my general state of being was "I just want to run away by myself for a weekend." I remember that feeling so strongly. But, I haven't felt it in years. And yes, I suppose I was overwhelmed back then, but I was always busy, always doing something, so I didn't even notice. When I started focusing on myself is when I started seeing how unhappy I was and how too much weight was on my shoulders. So, I'm not really sure why now I feel like I'm simultaneously too busy and not doing enough. Things are definitely easier now. I finally have someone who helps around the house (though, generally needs a gentle reminder). The entire state of our relationship doesn't fall on me anymore. And he maintains his own family relationships without needing me to remind him that it's someone's birthday or that there's an event this weekend. I'm also only working one job for the first time in a long time, and I'm no longer in graduate school. I have more time at home to myself than I've ever had before. So, what the hell is the problem?

I think I'm bored, to be honest. Like, I keep thinking about going back to my job at the bookstore, but then I think about having to give up my nights and weekends again and I can't do it. But, then the nights and the weekends come and I'm bored, and a little bit lonely, and I don't feel like doing any of the 5,000 hobbies I've acquired over the last few years. I'm just restless lately. I keep thinking, "I need to just have a damn baby and I'll never be bored again," but then I remember last night and wonder how that would have played out if there was a child involved. Is that a feeling that parents get? I would imagine so. But, like, I just wanted my mom last night. What happens when I'm the mom? Yikes! I have to do all the things I don't feel like doing for someone else. I'm so overwhelmed by my own monotonous life, and now I'm considering adding another human being into the mix? Am I actually insane?

And the holidays are coming, and my experience has only ever been a nightmare trying to squeeze in both sets of parents. With my ex, Christmas was the nightmare, because his mom required his presence on Christmas Eve, which was when my family did their thing (we were together ten years and spent exactly one Christmas Eve together). With Ben, it's even more complicated. Because both of our parents are divorced. So, that's essentially four stops we have to make on Christmas and Thanksgiving. His dad makes it easier by having his Christmas shindig in mid December, but Ben still hasn't outgrown the whole "I want to wake up at my mom's house on Christmas morning" thing. So, now Christmas day becomes the problem, when I have to see both of my parents and his mom. And I honestly wouldn't mind skipping my family's stuff every other year if he'd agree to do the same, but he won't. And I so appreciate how close he is with his family, but at what point do I become the priority? At what point does he try as hard to spend the holidays with me as he does to spend them with his entire extended family? I know, we see each other every day, but it's Christmas...

And I didn't even mean to go on that tangent, but that's where I'm at lately. I'm all over the place. I can't stay focused on one thing without becoming overwhelmed by something else. I used to pride myself on getting things done. If I had three places to be in one day, I'd figure out how to make it happen. It was go, go, go, and I thrived on that. It was like a puzzle to me; how can I make this all work? And I don't know if it's because I'm getting older now, or if it's because I got tired of being the person who was holding it all together, but I just can't anymore. I just don't feel like putting that much effort into every single thing. I want someone to just come do it all for me again. I was in such a rush to be an adult and call my own shots and have my own space, and I was so friggin' stupid. I want to smack sixteen-year-old Kim so friggin' hard and tell her to have some damn fun. And now I'm twice that age and I still don't know how to have fun.

Three days ago this post was going to be about whether it's possible to be an atheist and still believe in ghosts. And now it's this. Because that's how quickly things change. I might still write that one, though. In the meantime, tell me I'm not the only one who finds adulthood overwhelming.

Adulthood is Not For the Weak

So, I've only posted three times this year. I guess there hasn't been a lot going on since I finally got the job I've been looking for. I've always joked that you can tell I'm happy when I stop writing. It's always come in waves throughout my life. I get on a kick of writing on a semi-regular basis, and then I completely stop. I have been busy, though, which means obviously something's been going on in my life. And I really do enjoy keeping up with the blogging thing. I just ran out of ideas, I guess. My blog has evolved to so many different things since I started writing nearly ten years ago. It's not even close to what it was intended to be, but I guess that's a good thing. That being said, the reason is because I have a difficult time keeping it interesting. I was writing about my marriage before, and I think people enjoyed seeing how in love I was. Then it was about my divorce and the shit storm that became my life for a few years, and I think people enjoyed seeing the struggle, and the realness, and the eventual happiness. They enjoyed the journey. Then it was looking for a job, and all the crappiness that comes with that, and I think a lot of my friends just related to that. It struck a chord, because so many people were there. But, now I got the job. I got the guy. What more do I have to write about? So, I thought about it on the drive home from work today. Life.

Being an adult sucks. Like, a lot. There's always something more difficult than the day before. There's always something that you're not prepared for, always something you didn't plan for, something you want no part of. How does anyone keep their sanity trying to keep up with work, a social life, family obligations, finances, food (I have to think about this three times a day?! For real?!), health, etc. And how do we all do it on the measly salaries that we make?

Now, don't get me wrong. I guess you could say I'm comfortable. Looking back at where I was in 2009, or even 2014, I'm doing pretty damn well. But, in 2009, I was 24 and optimistic about the future. I also bit off more than I could chew buying a house mere months after getting my first professional job. And 2014, was my absolute lowest. I moved into a 585-square-foot apartment for $800 a month and could barely make ends meet. I remember not having enough bags to clean my cat's litter box, because I didn't have enough money to go grocery shopping regularly. I was using random boxes and emptying things out so I could have something to use to dispose of the dirty litter. I was also eating boxes of Stove Top Stuffing for dinner, or going to my mom's, because I couldn't afford to eat real meals. I was in the depths of grad school, the pit of depression, suffering through a job I hated, and not making enough to live. I was feeling every bit of that missing second income.

In any case, I pulled myself out of it. I finally moved into a two-bedroom, 1100-square-foot apartment, that I got approved for on my own. Ben moved in a few months later, but his name was never added to the lease. It's technically just mine, but he helps with the rent. I pay a little extra each month, since I make more than he does and have less debt, but I don't mind. I take home $600 a week and immediately put $200 aside for rent. I then put $100 towards my credit card or, if it's paid off, into my savings account. That leaves me with $300 a week to pay for food, fun, gas, and anything extra. If I have to get a haircut, I'll need to plan for it. If I want to buy clothes, I have to plan for it. If there's a birthday or a holiday coming up, I have to plan for it. This week in particular, I spent too much last Friday. I tried to make a deal with myself that every time I wanted to go to Barnes & Noble to buy more books, I'd go to Target instead and get myself some new clothes, since nothing fits me anymore. Only problem is that I spent nearly $150 at Target, whereas I would have probably spent less than $50 at B&N. So, yeah, that put a cramp in this week. Aside from the two birthday parties we had on Saturday (my nephew, and his cousin), it turns out my boss's birthday is on Sunday, so the team decided to treat him to lunch this week. I said I'd make cupcakes. The cupcakes didn't happen. It turns out, I didn't have the ingredients I needed in the house, and I don't have the money to buy them. At time of writing, I have about $60 in my account and I still have to get through two more days (and a gas fill). I'm feeling every bit of those new clothes I bought (and the snow shovel...and the potholders...and the wrapping paper....shutup). I had to ask a co-worker to spot me for the boss's lunch, because I just can't risk overdrawing my account...again.

I've also decided this week, after the clothes shopping, to try to start eating better...again. Literally nothing I own fits, because I haven't gone shopping since before I gained thirty pounds. Ugh. Last night I made a cream of asparagus soup from scratch (using a cookbook, obviously), which was surprisingly easy and quick. But, I blended it wrong (you'll find that's a common theme in my cooking), and it's just not very good. Oh well. It wasn't enough for dinner anyway, so PB&J came to the rescue. Don't judge. Needless to say, it hasn't been going well. I had a salad for lunch today, but Ben literally just walked out the door for pizza. I just friggin' like food, okay?

On top of that, I have a $1200 credit card bill from my yearly car inspection, and the holidays are coming up. It's kind of just never-ending. Last week I stood in my living room screaming for my mom, because I didn't feel like doing laundry. She wouldn't accept my offer of $20 for her to come pick it up, wash it, and bring it back. Thanks anyway, Mom. Oh, and let's not forget the random hip pain I've been getting all week. I doubt the $320 a month I pay for insurance gets me good enough coverage to cover whatever that's gonna be. I'm only 32, guys. Why do I feel like I'm 65?

  Adulthood is not for the weak.

Baby Blues

You know what's a very strange feeling?

Missing someone you never met.

I'll explain:
As most of you probably already know, I've been digging into my family history a lot lately. I have vague memories of some of my mom's aunts from years ago, but other than that I don't remember anyone older than my parents' generation (except my paternal grandparents). My mom's dad died when she was five. Her mom died when I was three (I remember her only from pictures...and I've written about her death on this blog before). My dad's parents both died when I was in high school, five months apart. As far as great aunts and uncles go, I didn't know any of them. I know many of them died in the 90s, and even into the 2000s, but I never had the privilege of knowing them. I remember one great aunt on my mom's side and there's where it ends.

This past weekend, my uncle let me borrow a suitcase full (literally) of old pictures and newspaper articles from when his mom and aunt died. He and my mom both went through them with me and I still don't know who most of the people are. I can tell you this, though: I miss the hell out of some of them.

Apparently back in the day, my family used to have a ton of picnics. There are tons of pictures of them all together, seemingly having a good time.  Now, I know enough about the family history to know that things were ugly a lot of the time, but the point is that they were in each other's lives. I have dozens of cousins I never see anymore...many of them with children I've never even met. And I can remember the days when the family got along and we all got to see each other on holidays and family events. Those days are long in the past, though. As the youngest cousin on my mom's side, I missed out on a lot. There are quite a few pictures of my grandmother with all of her grandchildren...before I was born. And since I was so young when she died, there really aren't any of me with her (there is one that I remember with me and her and my two older female cousins...I have no idea where that is). I miss her less than I miss my mom's dad, though, which strikes me as very odd. I never knew him. My mom barely knew him. But, that's exactly my point. At least with my grandmother, my mom has stories to tell. I don't remember her well, but I still know her, through stories from my mom. I have none of those for my grandfather. He didn't live long enough to see a single grandchild born. But, I look at these pictures of him and he looks so much like my uncle it's crazy. And it makes me sad. He looks so happy in all the pictures with my grandmother. He had six children who he didn't get to see grow up. He has a flock of grandchildren he never got to meet. And my curiosity gets the best of me. Who was he? What was he like? What did he sound like? What were some of his favorite things to do? What was his relationship like with his family (who I know even less about)? He feels like this great mystery in my life, and it bums me out sometimes.

Depression has been getting to me a lot over the course of this project. At first, they were just names and dates and people who I didn't know.  And then the deeper I dug and the more stuff I uncovered, they became real to me. I started feeling the sadness of all of the babies that were lost, of all of the husbands and wives lost, of all of those sons and fathers sent to war. They weren't just names. They were people with families, with people who loved them, people who mourned them, people who miss them. Each of them a unique personality with their own strengths, their own flaws, and their own story. Each time I find a death certificate, I wonder about the people they left behind. How old were their children? Did their parents outlive them? Did their widow move on? Most of these questions I'll never know the answer to, and I suppose I don't really need to, but it's been so strange to me to see how much of this I'm internalizing. How much of these people, who I am a part of, are beginning to effect my everyday life.

And I think about my cousins a lot. The ones I see and the ones I don't see. I notice so many of my Facebook friends talk about their cousins and how great friends they are, etc., and I just never had that. On my mom's side, there were three girls, and I was the youngest of them by more than a decade. The other two were only a few years apart. I spent my childhood surrounded by boys, who liked to tease me and exclude me. I'm not blaming them. We were kids. Kids are stupid, and annoying, and mean. I just wish we could have had the same kinds of relationships I see people have with their cousins now. Is it because I'm so much younger than the rest of them? Did the whole cousin/grandchild/niece thing lose its luster by the time I came around? Who knows? I know now that I get to play with their children and get to know them, but it's still only occasionally. Why don't we have picnics anymore? Why don't I have my cousins' phone numbers, and know where they live, and hang out with them? Do other families do that, or am I making this up based on a selection of pictures from the past? Until I saw these pictures, I didn't realize how much of a family I missed out on. My mom's parents and my dad's parents were in their forties by the time they were born, so my grandparents were older than most. Ben's grandmother is still alive, in her 80s (he's 36). My paternal grandparents died in their 80s nearly twenty years ago. He's met his great-grandparents. My dad's grandfather died in 1933. I used to think it was normal to lose your grandparents at a young age. Having "old" grandparents seemed the norm to me, but the older I get, the less sense that makes. Especially since back then, people had children so young.

In any case, I guess I'm just lamenting my "baby of the family" status. It's never a title I enjoyed much, and I know it still makes my mom a little sad that my brother and I missed out on so much. But, it is what it is. This is my family. The ones I know are mostly good people. The ones I never got to know were probably also good people. And they clearly loved each other. I just wish I could have been a part of that love.

Hell Hath No Fury

Some of you may have noticed that I haven't been on Facebook in a few days. If you haven't noticed, then good for you, you don't pay that much attention to me. I won't speak that much on that, but I'll let you know that I am logging back on simply to post this blog and then I'm gone again. I can't stand it anymore. I can't stand seeing how truly, truly terrible some people are. But, I do believe that the stuff in this blog needs to be seen. So, here it is.

This one is for the people I know who voted for Donald Trump. Mainly, the members of my family (which is pretty much every single one of them) who voted for him. Now, look, this isn't about politics. I don't care what you believe in. What I do care about is what you just voted to have taken away from me. As your niece, cousin, sister, daughter, you have voted for someone who wants to take so many things away from me. Not only as a woman, but as a human being.

For those who voted for him because of his plans for Planned Parenthood, let me tell you a story (yes, I will be throwing a family member under the bus for this one). The summer I turned twenty, I was getting ready to transfer to West Chester University, where I would be living for the first time away from home. It wasn't far, but it was out of my comfort zone. At this point in my life, I had been with my (now) ex for three years. In terms of our relationship, we were solid. I wasn't worried about where that was going. But, let's be honest, we were kids. About a month before I was to move into my new apartment, I got my period. And then it was gone. I had only gotten it for a day, and then it was gone for another two weeks. After a few days, I was worried, so I asked my mom if that was normal. She asked if I was worried about it and I said, "yeah, a little bit." See, what I meant was that I was worried about it because it was strange. What she meant was if I was worried about being pregnant. So, that answer sent her into a frenzy. From that point on, nothing I said to her could convince her that I wasn't some irresponsible idiot who didn't know how to prevent a pregnancy. So, feeling frustrated, alone, and scared, I confided in my two best friends at the time. They picked up a pregnancy test, drove me to one of their houses, and locked me in the bathroom until it was taken. The second the single line showed up, I dropped it in the trash with relief. And then...I began overthinking it. What if I'd thrown it out too quickly and the second line had appeared later? What if it was wrong? So, those friends, God love 'em, drove me to Planned Parenthood. There, I took another pregnancy test and sat with a woman who asked me questions. She asked me if I used protection 100% of the time and I said yes, I did. But, things happen. Condoms break, or fall off, or just don't work the way they're supposed to. While I was there, another girl called and the woman speaking with me answered the phone. I obviously didn't hear the other side of the conversation, but I could tell that on the other end of that phone was a girl just like me who was scared, because the answers included "yes, technically you can get pregnant while you're on your period." Thankfully, I wasn't pregnant. And I was able to go somewhere where someone would listen to me without judgement to find that out. I was able to go somewhere where they would talk to me discreetly, where they would sit down with me and give me individual attention, and answer my questions without belittling me. At a time when I was scared and couldn't talk to my mother (who pressed me for weeks, saying "are you pregnant or not, because I already paid your tuition?"), I was able to go somewhere and get the answers I needed. 

That is what your tax dollars pay for. That, and cancer screenings, and gynecological exams for women who can't afford them, or who don't have insurance. Do you know what your tax dollars don't pay for? Abortions. How do I know this? Because I know people who have had them. They're expensive. And they come out of the pocket of the woman choosing to have the abortion. Zero percent of government money goes towards abortions. So, if that's what you voted for, you did it for nothing. All you did was take peace of mind away from young women looking for answers, and affordable care for women who can't get it anywhere else.

On that note, you don't get to judge someone who has an abortion. You don't get to take that choice away from us. Look, I get it. It's taking a life. I believe that too. However, regardless of the law, or your opinion, or your religious beliefs, women will always seek abortions. Making them illegal will only guarantee that they do that dangerously. Why do women get abortions? Well, surely because they're irresponsible and don't use birth control. False. In most cases, women get abortions because there is something wrong with the baby, or because her own life is in danger. Obviously, there are women who seek them because they are irresponsible. I know one. And I don't agree with her decision, because I know the situation, but that isn't for me to decide. 

I also know several women who have gotten pregnant on birth control. I know a woman who got pregnant at twenty-one (for the second time) while using an IUD. I also know a woman who got pregnant (again, for the second time) while on the pill. I know women who have gotten pregnant while using condoms. Nothing is 100%, except abstinence, which we all know is unrealistic. And you know what, even if these women had been abstaining, what if they had been raped? And this is the part where I talk to the parents here, especially those with daughters. What if your daughter went out one night, just to the movies with her friends, and on the way home, she stopped for gas, or for a drink at Wawa, or McDonald's. And let's say that, on her way back to her car, she was jumped and brutally raped. And let's say that, as a result of that rape, she became pregnant. By voting for a man who plans to overturn Roe v. Wade, you are guaranteeing that that poor, completely innocent girl must carry that unwanted and violently conceived child to term, which is neither fair to her nor the child. Would you want that for your child? Not only is that unbelievably traumatic, but think about how you judge young, unmarried mothers. Does she deserve that stigma? Does she deserve to walk around with that for the rest of her life, on top of the horrible way that child was conceived? How could you subject the women you love to that kind of thing? And yes, it does happen. It happens a lot. 

Or further, what about the woman (or girl) who is raped by a family member. I've lost count of the number of women I know who were raped by an uncle, or brother, or step-father, etc. It's astronomical. Those women can get pregnant too. Do they deserve to carry that with them? Do they deserve to be forced to bring a child into this world who was created through violence, and hatred, and fear? Does that child deserve to live knowing that that's how it was conceived, and that it was never wanted? What kind of life is that for either of those people?

This part is for those of you who voted to have the Affordable Care Act repealed. My first point leads to the above rant. Under the Affordable Care Act, birth control is 100% free. Yes, I know, why should women get to have sex with no consequences for free? Well, for starters, not all women take it to prevent pregnancy. I know a woman who was a virgin until the day she married, and she took birth control for years before that. Why? Because, sometimes, getting your period is actually really, really horrible. Sometimes it comes with physical and mental side effects that our bodies can't handle (look up PMDD). Sometimes, we need it to control our monthly cycle so that we can live a normal life and function like a regular human being. That will be gone now. Fine. Doesn't need to be free. We can pay for it, like all of our other prescriptions. But, then why vote to make abortions illegal too? You voted for both of these things, forcing us to not only conceive a child we don't want, but to carry it to term and deliver it as well. Where are our options? Where is our choice? Especially when so many men have no problem making the child, but can't stick around to raise it. Why does all of that fall on women? 

That matter aside, you voted to take my health insurance away. Are you listening, family?  The ones who hug me and kiss me and tell me they love me every holiday and birthday and family gathering. You. You are the ones who have just voted to have my health care taken away. Because, see, for the last year and a half, I've been using the Affordable Care Act to get health insurance. Why? Because I can't get it elsewhere. You see, I have a pre-existing condition that insurance companies are legally allowed to deny me coverage for. What is this terrible condition that makes me unfit for healthcare? Acid reflux. Yup. Since I can't eat spicy foods, or have too much caffeine or chocolate, but am perfectly able to treat this with mediation that is available over the counter, I can be denied healthcare. The Affordable Care Act made sure that didn't happen. But, now that it is going to be repealed thanks to your vote, I won't get to have insurance at all. And for those who think it needs to be repealed because "the premiums are high and the coverage sucks," you can go fuck yourself. The insurance companies make those decisions, not the president. If you want that to change, go after the right people. I was told by a Trump supporter that if I want healthcare I should work for it, instead of expecting hand outs. To that person, I say the biggest and loudest fuck you I've ever mustered. I have had a job since I was fourteen years old. Aside from two months in college, I have never been 100% unemployed. I spent several years of my life working more than one job, so I could save for the things I wanted. For most of that, I was insured either through my mom or through one of my jobs. This last year and a half, I worked three jobs at once, for a grand total of $30,000 annually (which is an estimate, since the W2s are still rolling in). My health insurance cost $276 a month, and included only annual check-ups. If those check-ups found something wrong with me, all subsequent appointments were not covered. Useless. So, you know what? Yes, the coverage sucked. But, at least I was able to get some. By repealing the ACA, you have guaranteed that someone with a pre-existing condition will not be able to be insured. Let me give you another example. Ben's stepdad was diagnosed with Leukemia, and then was subsequently laid off. Because Ben's mom only worked part-time, they lost their health insurance. And now had chemotherapy bills to pay. Because of this, they had to sell their beautiful Victorian home and move into a small house that was not big enough for the family, just to help pay for the medical bills. Now, years later, he still can't work full-time, as his strength never fully returned. Because of this, Ben's mom has to work three jobs, including one overnight, just to make ends meet, and get them health insurance. She is nearly sixty years old, and does back-breaking work to provide for her family. DO NOT, for the slightest fraction of an instant, assume that people who want affordable healthcare are lazy, or are looking for handouts. DON'T. Most of them are hard-working people who have had shit luck in life and just need a break. Most of them work unbelievably hard just to keep a roof over their own heads. You voted to take that away from them. So again, fuck you.

I will not "calm down." I will not "let it go." I will not "get over it." Because this shit is personal, and it effects everyone. There is not a single person you know who has not been effected by both of these issues in some way (I'm not even touching on the obvious First Amendment violations, or the complete disregard for humanity...you all know what I'm talking about). These are two issues out of many. And the only reason I chose to focus on those is because they're personal. Everyone else has their own, different reasons.

I thought I'd be able to get over this stuff. I thought I'd eventually be able to come to terms with it and just deal with whatever came about. But, the more I see family members celebrating this, the more people I learn who voted for him, the more I'm told to stop being a "Liberal snowflake" or to stop looking for handouts, the angrier I get. These are people who are supposed to support me. These are people who are supposed to have my best interests at heart. But, they don't. They don't care how this turns out for me. They don't care what rights get taken from me or my future children (if I even bother having any at this point...though, I probably won't have a choice soon). They were able to walk into that voting booth and vote for a man whose entire platform oppresses me and people like me. They are able to look at me, and talk to me, and feel okay about the decision they helped make for this country. Some of them are people who I've struggled to feel accepted by my entire life. Some of them are people I have always disagreed with, but was able to put it aside. Some of them are people who I've counted on, relied on, depended on, and sought comfort from my whole life. And I've never felt more alone. This isn't political anymore. This is personal. And scary. And depressing as hell. I can't shake it. I can't get rid of the gloominess that has been hanging over me since last Friday. I can't see it anymore and keep my sanity. I can't know anymore who these people are who care so little about me. I can't.   

Living the Dream

Well! What a month it has been! Two entries ago, I wrote about a job I had just started that I loved. Since then, I've started a new new job. It's a long story, but for those who don't already know, I got offered what's essentially my dream job two weeks after starting at the other job. It's at the same publishing company I interned for in college, and I've basically been waiting since then (nine years!) for a full-time position to open. So, it finally did. And, after dwelling over the decision for four days (and longer, because I pretty much knew the offer was coming before I got it), I decided to leave the other job, and go for it. I was nervous about telling my super awesome boss the news, because he had expressed so many times how excited he was that I was there and how good he felt about the work we'd be doing together. I had also been able to confirm that while someone wasn't fired for me, the firing process was sped up so that I could work there. Needless to say, I felt like a lousy person. But, I knew it's what needed to be done. As expected, by boss, C, was incredibly understanding. I could tell that he was disappointed, but he said he was happy for me, and he understood that I was doing what I needed to do. I provided him with three resumes from friends I knew who would fit in well with the work and the culture. I pointed one out to him specifically who I thought would be the best fit of the three, and she was hired before the week was over. Everybody won.

Unfortunately, C was on vacation my last week, so we had to say our good-byes the previous week. Because of that, I sent him an email before I left on my last day, letting him know how much he and the job had meant to me. You can read it here (if you want):

C,

I know you asked me not to email you, but I didn’t want to leave without saying something. Hopefully it doesn’t get too lost in your inbox. J

First of all, I want to say thank you. Even though I wasn’t with CEG very long, it was the best job I ever had. I wish I could say that I’m 100% certain that going to Schiffer is the right choice, but I’m not, because I know co-workers like these ones are hard to find. I will miss our long talks about any and everything. It’s a rare occurrence to meet someone who’s so easy to talk to, and who has so much in common with you. So, thank you for that. By the time this job came around, I had sent out thousands of resumes over several years, and I had resigned myself to the idea that the publishing gig was never going to happen. I was seconds away from giving up. So, thank you for restoring my faith in myself and giving me an opportunity that I’ll never forget.

Last, I want to say that you’re not a sell-out (it’s been bothering me! Ha!). There’s a difference between growing up and selling out. You may not be feeding the hungry, but you’re changing the world with your open-mindedness, and your tolerance, and your compassion. I came into this job believing that I’d never have a boss who cared much about their employees. That’s just always been my experience. But, you changed my views on that. There was never a day when I didn’t want to come in here. You made me care about this job, even after I’d already given my notice, because you saw something in me that no one else ever had. You encouraged instead of criticized. You were endlessly patient and understanding with me, and I appreciate all of that more than you could ever know. You’ll change the world by being you and by raising your girls to be patient, tolerant, compassionate people as well, which the world needs more of.

So, once again, thank you for the experience, for the opportunity, and for the rewarding talks. I hope we can stay in touch, and please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you or the company in the future.

With respect and gratitude,

Kim

I wasn't entirely sure if I would hear back from him or not, and didn't really care if I did. I just wanted to let him know what was on my mind. As it was, a week went by before I heard anything at all. I won't post all of what he wrote, because it was long, and I don't have his permission, but I will leave this part here: You were a great addition to our department; you were professional, hard-working, enthusiastic and passionate about your work. That, Kim, is rare, and because that is what I believe, I have no doubt that you will be incredibly successful at Schiffer, or at any place where you are doing what you want to do.

I hope you have had a great week at your new job. I hope that this opportunity combines all that you liked about your time here at CEG with all that you want to do, need to do in your career. And even if it doesn’t, do not give up; keep looking and keep faith in yourself and others.

WHAT A FUCKING GUY!!! Jesus, if he was only twenty years younger and we were both single...

But, I digress. 

CEG was hard to leave, because I meant everything I said. C was the greatest boss I'd ever had, and the other employees were fantastic and funny and just good people. I miss them already. That being said, Schiffer is the Dream. Not The Dream, but the Dream. I was still recovering from a week-long bout of the flu on my first day, so I didn't get to truly enjoy the moment. I didn't get to immerse myself in the feeling and truly understand what it all meant. What did it mean, you ask? It means I made it. I did what I set out to do so long ago. I realized a dream. And there have been a lot of thoughts happening in this last week. 

One of my first thoughts was a bit of a said one: if R and I had still been together, we'd finally be comfortable. At the very least, the house would not have been foreclosed on after we split up, because I'd be able to afford it now. But, that's the thing. If R and I had still been together, I wouldn't be where I am. The only reason I got here is because we split up. Although, maybe that's not true. This opportunity surely would have still come up. But, would I have had the right experience to get the offer? Despite interning there before, I didn't really have the right experience, until I quit the dead-end job I'd had for six years and went back to grad school (not in that order). 

I'm still absorbing all that had to happen for me to get here. I look back to the girl I was twelve years ago, when I decided this was what I wanted to do. At nineteen, I was in college for TV production, and while I liked it, I was bored. I wasn't getting to do enough. So, after a semester of Business, I changed my major to English. This came about after reading a book that my uncle self-published, and being appalled at the editing - there essentially hadn't been any. That was the day I knew I wanted to be an editor. I had no idea how to get there, or what to do, but I knew it was going to happen. 

My undergrad education was disappointing, mostly because the school I went to didn't technically have an English track - it was a Literature track, which is very different. So, I didn't learn much about English - no grammar, editing, language, etc. But, I learned a lot about literature, and how to dissect it and find meaning where there wasn't any. I didn't enjoy college. Not until I took my internship at Schiffer. And I remember going into that internship feeling nervous that I'd hate it, because "there is no plan B." I had no second career choice. If I hated that internship, I was lost. I didn't know what else I was going to do with an English degree. That's the one truly terrible thing about knowing what you want to do with your life. It was either that or nothing. Failure was not an option, which made everything so much more terrifying.

That was in 2007 (in fact, my last day at Schiffer was my 22nd birthday). I graduated the end of that year, and like every young twenty-something, I was going to blow everyone away and become the best editor there ever was. Except, I still didn't know how the hell to get there. At that point in my life, R and I had been dating for five years, and I was pushing him hard to get married. He wasn't ready. I needed a job first. We needed a house first. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Within two years, I had both of those things. The luxury of the job wore off quickly, and I hated the house almost immediately. But, we were in it together, and I couldn't very well change my mind. So, I stuck it out. We got married in 2011, and I finally had everything I wanted. I thought. Still no editing job, but I thought I was on the right track to get one. I had never officially stopped searching for jobs, but I hadn't really been trying very hard, either. And somewhere in the middle of 2012, I got bored. I had started writing creatively again, and I wanted to take a class to get me back into it. I searched all of the local colleges for creative writing classes, but all I could find were MFAs, which I didn't want to do. It didn't make sense for me to have a master's degree in creative writing. I finally decided to check "one more school." A Facebook friend of mine had done her undergraduate there, and while I didn't know a thing about the school, I knew it was close. Again, they didn't have a creative writing class I could take for fun, but what they did have was a master's certificate in e-publishing. It was five classes, online, and it would be something extra to put on my resume, which was what I felt like I needed at that point. I could do that! And that was the plan, until I explored further and found the master's degree program in Publishing. So, that's how I ended up in grad school! 

Almost immediately upon going back to school, the bottom fell out of everything. Death, divorce, depression. 

Five years ago, I was newly married, working at a job I hated, struggling to pay the mortgage on a house I didn't like. But, in my mind, I was living the dream. That's what I had wanted. A house, a husband, stability. And in the blink of an eye, it all changed. Grad school forced me to re-evaluate what I had and what I wanted and where I was going, which was completely unexpected. I enjoyed every friggin' minute of those classes and I miss it every single day. Who would have thought?!

In any case, cut to the middle of 2015, where I'm still working at that miserable job, though I did manage to score a promotion. I was so desperate to get out that when I got an offer for a part-time job (making much more per hour, but much less per year), I jumped at it. By this point, I had survived living with my mother for a year, and living in the shittiest shithole apartment for another year. I had also gotten a cat, who essentially saved my life, and finally moved into a bigger place. I was nervous about the job change, not only because I'd be making less money, but because I'd be giving up health benefits. But, I also realized it was an opportunity to finally do things that would  help my career. To supplement the lost income, I got work at a bookstore, which I loved. And, then I started an internship at a publishing company in New York City, which ended up being a huge waste of time and money (and probably really wasn't necessary. I didn't get asked about it much on interviews). Ben was in the picture by now (and living with me), and while I did consider him in all of my decisions, I never let them hinder the ultimate goal, which is something I had never learned with R. I wasn't going to lose it again. I was finally on the right track, finally making the right decisions, and finally had someone by my side who was nurturing the dream.

I spent a year and a half working the two part-time jobs, doing some sporadic freelancing for pennies, and getting fired from a third job at a library, before I finally found something. And that was CEG, with the best boss in the world. And now, here I am, a week into the dream job at Schiffer. I almost gave up. There was a time last year when I almost gave up. I was thirty years old and still chasing a dream that I'd had since college. I started to feel like a loser, like a failure. It didn't feel like any of the choices I was making were getting me anywhere, and I wasn't getting any younger. I wanted stability again. I wanted a family. So, now, not only did I not have the job I wanted, but I didn't have one that I could survive on, either. It was an enormous risk, and I definitely regretted it some days (although I never missed the old job). I was more discouraged than I often let on. I still wanted that dream more than anything else in the world, but what if I was never able to find something full-time again? The amount of interviews, and second interviews, and third interviews I had gone on was ridiculous. And as disappointing as it was after every rejection, those interviews are what kept me going. Because someone was interested enough to talk to me. I just needed to show them now that I was the right person for the job. And C saw that in me, as you saw him mention above. He saw that passion in me that no one else was ever able to see. He saw a motivation in me that I was never able to convey to anyone else. He believed in me when no one else did. And while the Schiffer offer probably would have come along regardless (they have no idea I left a job after five weeks to come work for them), it still helped immensely at a time when I desperately needed it. 

I still can't believe I'm here. I can't believe that I get to read books, and edit them for a living. That I get to do something that matters. Something I love. That I get to bring that joy to people, and to know that the work I do is being recognized. But, not just that, that the work I do was earned. I look back to the broken shell of a person I was four years ago, and I can't believe I'm here. My lowest point. When every day was a struggle. When every morning seemed hopeless and pointless. To the days when I wondered if I'd be the first person to ever successfully drown themselves in the shower. Those days were dark. And they were scary. But, somewhere waaaaaaay deep inside, I found the strength to keep going, to keep fighting, to push through it all and refocus on the goal. Where would I be now if I'd given up? Probably not dead, because I don't think I ever really had the guts to kill myself, but it wouldn't be good, I know that. Probably still with my mom, working as a cashier at a bookstore (which is wonderful, but doesn't pay the bills...). But, I'm here. Writing this blog. Working this job. Living this dream. 

Everyone has a story. Everyone has their own struggle. And everyone doubts themselves sometimes. I did know I'd make it someday, though, if only because I had to know it, or I wouldn't have had anything to live for. Just don't give up, folks. If it feels like it's worth it, it is. If you're willing to fight for it, to cry for it, to risk everything for it, then fucking go for it. If I can do it, there is no doubt that anyone can. I will tell you the one thing I heard that helped me make a lot of those risky choices. I once heard an actor talk about her career and she said: "If it's something that scares me, then I know it's exactly the right thing to do." And I lived by that ever since then. Every decision I made scared the living shit out of me, but it was worth it, and it paid off. And here I am. 

LIFE IS GOOD!