This Job Surfaced my Insecurities and Past Difficulties, Day 178

I have to do well at this job. I'm a Customer Service Representative at a call center. I'm still in training, but I have to do well at this job. It's not because of the standard this company has, although it is a factor. I'm vehement to do well because this job has surfaced insecurities and past difficulties I'm not ready to revisit. I've attached an overwhelming amount of significance to this job, more responsibility than it deserves.

I'm intelligent. It's not conceited of me to say this. It's a true statement. I've performed impressively on a variety of tests that support my claim. Yet when it comes to learning a new skill, I demonstrate greater difficulty than the majority of other learners. How is that possible? I shouldn't be stuck in the under-achiever category when I put three times the amount of effort as everyone else when I'm supposed to be intellectually advantaged.

This is something I've struggled with my entire life. I try to address it when it becomes professionally-relevant, but I'm quickly disregarded as modest and/or insecure. I am insecure, but I'm glad to report that I'm making progress towards the opposite direction. With that said, though, it doesn't make my difficulties any less true. I'm quickly portrayed as quick-minded and capable, so I'm intentionally placed in an advanced position I don't qualify in. I'm not able to speed through it the way many people estimate I will.

This isn't my insecurity talking. This is reality, an unfortunate one I have to prove. And in the process I disappoint others, which frankly I care less about because I gave them an opportunity to make an informed decision and they chose to ignore it, but it taints the image they have of me and it eliminates me as a candidate for future opportunities. It's like I get punished for their misjudgment, even though I warned them. And it keeps happening over and over and over again.

I'd rather not revisit that unpleasant occurrence. I'd rather just do well and develop the ability to learn more quickly and utilize the intelligence I'm fortunate enough to have inside of me. I was once told by a really good friend of mine that I'm too quick for my own good and it makes me too slow to get it. I come to a conclusion prematurely, unconsciously, with the very little information I was given. I construct an answer based on incompletely components, so by the time I receive all of the puzzle pieces, I find myself confused and lost in a maze of answers that are incongruent. How inconvenient and frustrating is that!!!!???!!!!!!!

I feel so behind because of this. I never quite belong. I'm too fast to be entertained by mediocre intellect. But I can't keep up with high-functioning intelligence. So where do I belong? I attract people in my life that orbit around my plane of existence and that means the world to me. The efforts of my friends make me feel less alone. I may live in a paralleled world from them, but they're always close by and choose to stay with me as close as they possibly can. I truly appreciate that, but I want to travel to their reality where it's more adaptable and more successes exist.

There are too many limitations where I live. But I built a life out of it. I feel like I have to break down those walls just to escape, but I'm trapped inside so I have to be careful that I don't collapse the building I'm stuck in. It's a strategic process, an intuitive art, and an exhausting task. But one I feel will be well worth it when I'm free.

The decisions I've made in the past still hold me back. I have to pay off the debt I accumulated when I wasn't making enough income. So I have to put off school just to pay those bills off. I have to be later on my credit payments to ensure I don't get a permanent eviction notice on my record that'll trap me here because no one would want me. I have to work twice as hard and find work elsewhere just so I can prevent a catastrophe from occurring as it's developing. I have to stay where it's unsafe for a better future trying to protect myself from things unknown and dangerous.

I'm open-minded because I'm curious and want to experience new things. But I'm just one person. My ability to experience multiple lives has its limitations, so I look elsewhere to gain that. However, I don't have the best multi-tasking skills and that becomes evident in my mental processes. Also because I enjoy over-analyzing and do it effortlessly just like I am now, so much of my energy and focus goes to one component leaving me blinded to the surrounding other pieces.

All of a sudden when I step back, there are stacks and stacks of burdens I can't manage. I'm too busy trying to keep it from building that I fail to realize that I should and can ask for help. When I observed others who asked for help, it was because they were lazy and lacked self-sufficiency. I made a negative association with asking for help and grew up in an environment where you can get by without asking for help. I became the person who'll keep walking with a sprained ankle even if I was offered a ride because I can still walk. I'm not paralyzed. Terrible mentality, I know. But I'm getting better. I didn't realize how distorted and damaging my perspective was because whenever I need and want something I ask for it. So naturally I assumed that I was getting what I needed.

It's like I opened up my eyes for the first time and realized the services offered to me and that I qualify for them. It wasn't as much of a pride thing as most people think it is. I just believe that those services should be offered to those who truly need it, and my "need-it" detector was calibrated incorrectly. I was starving, but I can miss a meal or skip a side dish and feel equally starved. So I thought it was just my metabolism.

*It's been way too long since I wrote this entry that I'm not sure which direction I was planning on going. So as incomplete as this entry is, that's as far as it'll go.

My Desire for This is Stronger Than my Need for It, Day 165

After months of being unemployed which became a full-time job of hitting job fairs, career centers, employment agencies, cold calling, temp positions, scrimping by, and killing myself in the process, I was offered the same position I was offered last year at around the same time. Had I have taken that job last year, I would've been financially-secure and better off as far as my living situation and life stability goes in the conventional sense. Maybe even in the literal sense. But actions have consequences.

For such a long time, I kicked myself for selecting a job that was less lucrative, had signs of financial insecurity, evidence of conflict, and many other things that really trapped me to stay there for all of the wrong reasons, forcing me into a lifestyle that's unfavorable. But after some long reflection, I realized that sometimes the right outcome is born through a series of wrong decisions. I now appreciate the experiences I gained from that job because I grew and evolved as a person. I never considered myself a bad person, but that job turned me into a more caring, compassionate, empathetic, and deeper person than I realized I could ever be. It made me a better person through those pains and struggles.

I also met some amazing people along the way. They've touched my life in ways they'll never know. I'm glad to have met them and truly believe that if it weren't for my previous job that I would've never really developed the relationship I now have with each and every one of them. The experiences are irreplaceable and life changing. The financial hardship defined and strengthened me as a person even as it weakened me. And it's not like I lost out on that other job offer. I just accepted it a year later.

I find it symbolic that I'm at the exact place I could've been last year at this time. I keep bringing it up and I'll continue to because it's so meaningful to me. Apparently there was a class in March, but I wasn't offered that program. Now I'm in a training program with a bunch of amazing people, and I can't stress enough how much I appreciate them. That'll be an entry called "My New Loves." Those words came from a friend at work. It's interesting. On facebook, so many of them put a deep and meaningful status update on the same day. We all have lives outside of work, but I noticed that many of us carried a similar significance in our lives. I mentioned that to someone at work. She said she's not surprised and that she doesn't think it's a coincidence that we all came together at the same time. I totally agree with her.

This job couldn't have come at a better time. I've already been late on two months' worth of rent. I was getting desperate. I need this job because I can't afford to get evicted. No one really can. I was resorting to cash exchanges with my food stamps. I'd buy food for my friends and they'd give me cash for it. I ran out of toilet paper and have to go to Burger King whenever I needed to use the bathroom. It's not a way to live.

If I do well, this job is financially-secure. It's at a convenient location. It'll give me an opportunity to move out and live somewhere that's more conducive to my self-growth and emotional maturity, as well as offering me safety benefits. Where I live now, my roommate's car got broken into. There have been incidences where homeless people have squatted under the stairwell. Bikes get stolen. A neighbor stalked my roommate until she decided to move out and this same guy nearly attacked me because I was associated to his old roommate. A girl who lives in the same complex and doesn't get along with others might be moving in here. She's also the same girl that almost stabbed her boyfriend. The landlord is manipulative, hostile, and borders on stalking. Yet I live here.

And that's just the objective reasons why I should move out. It doesn't even include the burdensome reasons that come with roommate situations. For almost a season now, the dishes have stacked up completely. It requires me to offer time I don't have just to wash an apple in the kitchen sink. Cooking becomes a near impossible mission.

Selfishness is masqueraded and manipulated into a way that's meant to stabilize my own self-interest, as though my desires are unreasonable through an illusion of higher maturity that doesn't exist. If I have to move your clutter around to make space, I will. And I do it in a way that keeps the kitchen functional. Sure, it exposes to the outside that we're filthy but I've exercised the best possible option. I'm not going to put the clutter back to make it more difficult for myself in the future. If you're so ashamed of the mess, do something about it just like I do with my own. Their approach is acceptable for someone who just moved out and are trying to cope with their messiness. I'm past that, though.

I need something more than that. And as small as it may seem, I feel that I need to be at a place where I can grow my own plants. I can't do that here. The fact that I can't makes me feel suffocated. To change my circumstance, I need financial security and stability.

This job is structured and organized, a welcome change. There are tests daily. I'm noticeably behind in absorbing and retaining the knowledge taught. I seem to be trapped in this permanent state of confusion, and I'm constantly stressed that I'll be eliminated as a candidate. I heard this is the first training where no one was eliminated the first week.

If I don't make it, I still owe money. I could get a legal eviction notice on my record that'll further damage my future. I'll return to using public restrooms and schedule my liquid consumption according to business hours, such an unhealthy, unhealthy lifestyle adjustment. I'll continue to be stuck in paralysis mode and be unable to not only move forward in the future, but I'll be dragged back, as well.

Obviously that's horrible. But I've gotten used to living, surviving, adapting, and accepting of a life that's abstract at best. I discovered that as frightening as it may be at times that I'm able to overcome my fears. I discovered that as near impossible as it seems that living next to impossible is still possible, and I can do it well.

The one thing I've always struggled with is validation. I need it. I seem to care less about the general opinions people have of me. And the truth is that most people do validate and accept me. It's something I haven't given myself, though. I live, breathe and see my inadequacies. I'm intimate with them. It leads me to believe that I don't deserve acceptance, but I'm finally beginning to open up those doors.

Somehow I turned this job into a test that defines whether I truly deserve to step into that room that says, "You're good enough. You deserve to be at a higher standard than you put yourself at. You're no longer the one with the inadequacies. You belong with your friends where you place them where they deserve to be placed at." I know that isn't healthy, but that's still how I feel. So my desire to do well at this job is stronger than my need for it.

The Significance of An Experience is Defined by the Value We Give It,

The significance of an experience is defined by the value we give it. Something happened to me, and I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around it. How do I put into words what happened? Where do I begin? How do I do this?

I've always been a spiritual person, but I've only recently started to really explore it when that side of me surfaced in an undeniable sort of way. Not everyone has the beliefs I have and I respect that, but I believe what I know. My experiences define reality for me, as it does yours. I get premonitions.

Since then I've attracted a lot of spiritually-connected people, and I'm grateful to have met them. But it's inevitable to meet someone dark lurking in the shadows waiting to exploit others for whatever reason. And I was victim to one of them. God, I hate admitting that because I feel like I'm trying to absolve responsibility and I'm not. But no matter how much something irritates me to admit, it doesn't take away from reality.

That's why I decided to blog about this. It's such a personal, private, invasive, disgusting experience, and part of me wants to just forget about it. I'm so skilled at pushing thoughts, feelings, and experiences in the back of my mind. But it stays with me and builds on me. I created this blog to learn to be more open. I worry that if I ignore this and the next time something like this happens in a completely different setting that I'd snap and I don't want that. If I've learned anything in the past couple of years, it's that you can't ignore your feelings. No matter how much you hate the experience, what happened, what you did and didn't do, what happened happened.

I went to the beach with a friend and her friend wanted to come along. The first time I've ever heard her talk about him, I got a weird feeling. But I brushed it off since I didn't sense any danger and it was totally judgmental of me. When he wanted to join us, I had a WTF sort of feeling. But I ignored it that, too.

My friend and I began talking about the emotional and spiritual impact that the beach has on a person's soul and how different places possess different spiritual properties that restores, rejuvenates, and invigorates us in a way as uniquely as the elements that represent them. When my friend's friend, the dark "spiritualist" returned (because he went back to his apartment twice - first to get us a blanket and second time to park my friend's car in a different spot), he joined the existing conversation. It felt natural to talk about meditation, spiritual powers, premonitions, the energies that exist in all of us, etc. He asked if he could read my energy by taking my hand.

I let him. His hands sandwiched mine. I tried to be as open as possible, but I warned him that I've become detached lately. Within seconds, I felt a transference of energy leave me. It was slight, mild, brief, but I imagined seeing it. It felt more pulled away from me than I released it, but I also know that I gave it to him. Shortly after he said that my powers come from my past, and he offered to open up my chakra and explore the energies within me.

I've always been fairly open to that stuff, but I did question his level of power at one point because he wanted my friend's participation. He asked her to close her eyes, put her hand on my head, and think of the most highest power and direct it towards me. It seemed fine at the time. I was cold, so I covered myself in the blanket. I also put on my sunglasses to protect my eyes from the sand. He began to place his hands over my body. It began with his hand around my belly button area and he started pressing around it, which reminded me of a pap smear.

I thought it was odd but I'm new to this. Now I feel incredibly stupid because this creeper probably exploits the unawareness of girls to further his agenda. And I fell for it! I never thought I'd become one of those girls who just takes it out of uncertainty. I always thought to myelf, "How do you not know?" I guess ignorance is an easier practice than awareness.

He continued to do this under my clothing. I had a top on and a bathing suit underneath. I distinctly remember him traveling his hand to my left boob through the inner top of my bikini instead of from slipping his hand from the bottom of the bikini. I opened my eyes for a second because I questioned that action only to see his eyes open and focused, rather than sexually pleased. His hands were cupping my boob so closely that I felt his hand resting on my nipple. There was no fonding, no squeezing, just physical contact. When I asked myself if this is okay, a spiritualist I met at a crystal house responded, "No, it's not."

Out of everyone there, I could sense and feel her powers. I was drawn to her. It was concentrated. When she sits there and observes, it's just such an infusion of controlled strength. When she talks to people, the energy subdues. It isn't this captivating sense but turns into this open and receptive energy surrounded by a sense of tangibility like you can reach her or at least see her. She isn't a million miles away like she seems when she's sitting there silently or at least that's the way it was for me.

So it was incredible that I could feel her presence there with me when she wasn't but she was. Before I could make sense of any of it, the dark spiritualist had already slipped his hand to my other boob. It all happened so quickly that I'm not even sure what part of my bikini area he slipped his hand through. It's like when I returned, his hand was already placed there.

I'm beginning to realize both the burden and dangers of over-thinking because I'm not focused, not focused on how I feel. My head's too busy spinning. My first thought was, "What the fuck?" That should've been enough to make him stop, but I proceeded into my analytical nature by asking is this okay, how do you know if it is, remembering that I've never had this done before, so I'm not aware of the etiquettes, etc. All these questions overwhelmed me and distracted me from what should've been done. My mind may have been confused but my spirit wasn't because I kept telling myself to not freak out. I still don't know how to control my power, so keep myself in check. You don't want to release something you can't control; you don't want to release something you can't control. Then it ended there.

He seemed collected enough but also disturbed by what he "saw." I question his honesty and integrity, but intuitively I believe that he was genuinely freaked out. As well he should! Was it something he could've faked? Absolutely. It's a perfect profile move to make and I don't doubt that a person like that would do such a thing, but I truly believe that he was frightened spiritually.

It was damp on the bridge of his nose on the right side. Where did that miscellaneous liquid come from? He was characteristically disturbed and said that I was murdered in my past life. I had no reaction. No fear, no intrigue, no shock, no curiosity, an absence of anything. How unlike me and this wasn't because I was still shocked. That was my reaction to his claim.

He began elaborating that I was a man in my past life, that I was interested in Buddhism, I wasn't a practicing monk but many of my friends were and that I was drawn to it, the source of my dark powers come from others, that the dark karma in me isn't my own but was put there, I resisted for a long time but eventually it became a part of me, and I was spiritually murdered by those who were jealous of my powers. He said that I was a good person in my past life.

There may be elements of truths to that because con artists twist the truth. They manipulate it to their advantage. They turn truths into their allies. I do believe that I have some dark karma carried over from my past life because unbelievable things keep happening to me in unimaginable ways. I believe I have a strong source of power, and I fear that it comes from a dark place. Others have sensed this from me, as well. But I'm skeptical about what he told me in particular. For one thing, I wasn't very open.

He was shivering and shaking from that experience. He claimed it's because he's really cold, but he broke through something and that we can continue it at his apartment. Now, I'm a lot more level-headed. My friend has intuitive powers, too, whether she's aware of it or not. Or maybe she was channeling me. I don't know, but it was her that was advocating on my behalf when I was still in a speechless state of shock.

What a bastard! First he says the ocean has good energy, which it does. He lives across the fucking street from the ocean and claims that he doesn't need a jacket. Then after exploring my chakras he's shaking because he's cold and suggests continuing in his apartment. Are you shitting me? Like you can't measure the temperature and plan accordingly, you jack ass! But I felt that it was more than the cold. He felt my power.

By then I knew I was more powerful than he is. He probably got terrified by it. And good! I'm glad he got freaked out. Karma, bitch! You do something bad. And you feel bad. He left to get his jacket, while my friend and I stayed behind. As he walked away, I came close to my friend and asked her if he ever did that to her. He kept looking back nervously. Now why would someone do such a thing? I wonder...

My friend agreed that it wasn't appropriate, that it's totally invasive and if he were going to do that that I should've been warned. I totally agree. I was demonstrating what he was doing to me by grabbing at her boobs. For a while we were having that conversation and she wasn't aware that he went under my clothing and bikini! She was shocked. She already knew it was unacceptable before I explained it clearly enough. And of course it fucking is! How could I have been so stupid????

What the Hell is honestly wrong with me? The fact that I kept telling myself to stay grounded, to not release the dark energy in me, that wasn't enough to tip me off? Really, really? When did I become so fucking special ed? When did I become a participating victim offering implied consent?

Don't get me wrong. This guy's a jerk. I'm by no means trying to transfer blame on myself to minimize his. But I do believe that we train how others treat us. They'll do whatever they want, but to deny that we don't have an influence is naive. I didn't say or do anything that expressed disapproval or address how completely unacceptable that is. He deserved to know, and I kept it from him.

It's crazy to think that, in reality, I was sexually harassed and it qualifies as being molested. But it wasn't an extreme form. I wasn't traumatized by it. I know it happened, though, because I was there. And yet I didn't react in a way I would've suspected someone to react, so I wouldn't blame someone for doubting me. Something fucked up happened to me and I end up feeling guilty because of my own actions or lack of. I'm left feeling inadequate more than invaded. This isn't something I should even be burdened to feel.

The old me would've ripped him to shreds. I'm small, but don't think for a second that I can't do any damage. I made a guy piss blood for a week after he crossed the line with me and I saw him telling a girl to sit on his lap right in front of me (boyfriend at the time). Oh and I dislocated his nose. And I've done way worse. If I let the old me out, this guy would've had a distinct deep scar on his cheek that people can't ignore left as a reminder of what he did to me. I would've easily injured him in the knees.

If a person has a scar on their face and walks awkwardly, people easily become suspicious. Now I keep thinking to myself, how many other girls will he continue to do this to because I haven't done my part to discourage him? I doubt this was his first time and considering how he got away with it, it won't be his last. But if I were to give him the benefit of the doubt and say this was his first time, what's to stop him from doing it again? He developed no social conditioning against it. If I had fucked him up, he'd think twice before doing it again. He'd wake up to that experience every morning when he looked at himself. That's what should've been done.

I don't have a problem with violence. I believe it serves a purpose in society. It's misused, abused, and resorted to too recklessly, but I'm not against the existence or selective practice of it. This would've been a good example of that.

You could judge me all you want and think until you turn blue that I was stupid for not reacting. I feel that I deserve that reaction. But it makes me so livid that people like him exist and puts people in those types of situations. The truth is that if he was going to do something like that, you should warn someone AND get permission. If you didn't ask permission because you felt uncomfortable, you shouldn't do it! He's a creep, but he's by no means stupid. He's socially aware that it's taboo.

I was invaded and question the seriousness and degree of that experience because my reaction wasn't the classic victimized one. I feel inadequate over my ability to process experiences. I felt guilty for indulging in who I am because it left me vulnerable. I feel like crap for being so ignorant and lacking in common sense. Then I feel bad because I've invested more energy in making myself feel worse, as if he hasn't already done that only to realize that I've neglected to channel hatred towards him. It's exhausting!

My friend believed me, but she was still shocked by what happened. She was both surprised and impressed that I intuitively disliked him from the beginning. She kept asking over and over and over why he would do something like that, while simultaneously mourning for the death of their friendship because she enjoys the spiritual conversations she had with me. And she wonders why he didn't do that to her because he had plenty of opportunities. Can you make it more about you? I don't want to be burdened with her excess thoughts, too, but it just came out of her like word vomit. The most intolerable thing for me was how she kept expressing guilt for introducing me to him because she felt like she shared the blame. That really aggravated me because I don't blame her for this, but the more she said it, the more hostility I felt toward her because by repeating it, it's like she's ignoring me. Doing that to someone can be a form of disrespect and I already experienced enough of that that day.

Don't get me wrong. I know she didn't mean to. But I was already feeling the pressure. That's how I felt and what was going through my mind. I'm not even sure how I was supposed to feel. How can I possibly give her some or any sense of closure? I don't have the resources, knowledge, or energy to. And at the time, I didn't have the desire to, either.

Since I can be a dark and perverse person, I can understand why someone would do something like that. There's thrill in getting away with something. And while it was happening, I realized the genius behind his plan. Yes, I honestly thought this and I still didn't do anything. I guess I thought if it wasn't sexual, then it's not invasive. But it's also unnecessary and a form of respect to not do stuff like that! How did that thought not click in my mind?

It makes perfect sense to do exactly that. Maybe a sexually stimulating opportunity like that hadn't presented itself around my friend. Maybe she's not his type. Who knows? Who cares? I didn't want to over analyze anymore because it was that that made me miss such an obvious truth, that what he did was unacceptable.

We parted ways and hung out with another friend. Him, I love and I was so happy to see him because it was his presence that made that day a good day. If it wasn't for him, the entire day would've been terrible. We were just at his place hanging out and having a good time.

It's kind of nuts how something like that can happen and then I can turn around and enjoy the rest of my day, as though nothing happened. There's danger in that. I have so many psychological pockets of escape where dark thoughts hide until it breeds and mutates into something else. By then, it's hard to tell where it came from, what it was born out of it, or that it's even there. But you know what? I realized instead of tripping about how I feel about something, how I don't feel about something, this is what came to me. This is my quote: "The significance of an experience is defined by the value we give it."

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF AN EXPERIENCE IS DEFINED BY THE VALUE WE GIVE IT.

I'm glad and proud of myself for not allowing the earlier day's experience to tarnish the evening. I FINALLY have a phone! It was brought to my attention a while back that all of my ringtones are suggestive. Background story: This guy I was going out with made me come to this realization. At first, I was in denial and resisted it until I embraced it. We were lying in bed snuggling, talking, and maybe there was a kiss or two involved. It was definitely romantic and intimate, but it wasn't sexually heating up yet when all of a sudden I get a call with a ringtone "I'm a prisoner of love, prisoner of love!!!" I jumped out of bed with a sigh of "finally!" He asked me who the fuck is that? My other friend's ringtone is Savage Garden's Crash 'n Burn. He grins at me and says, "you know all of your ringtones are suggestive, right?" Well to this day, I carry that theme. Continuation and return to original point: I told my friends that I need suggestive ringtones.

One of them is a foreigner, so she didn't understand the connotation of "suggestive." We spent a better duration of the evening making suggestive jokes. It was pretty hilarious, but is it weird that I can be so lighthearted after such an experience? Am I in that much of a denial phase? Did I just suppress it? Am I that desensitized? Does it really bother me? If it does, then how come I was able to function as though nothing happened? Am I that broken? Did it not bother me because it meant nothing to me? That's just as twisted. I can go on forever about why I reacted the way I did, but it is what it is.

I talked to a friend about it, and he opened up to me about his own experiences, things I wouldn't dare elaborate on. But there's one thing he said that gave me comfort. He didn't know it was wrong. It didn't feel wrong to him. It felt weird but not wrong. Sometimes you just don't know. And there are people in this world who take advantage of that.

It's a tragic reality. They take something away from us when that happens. I left feeling confused, conflicted, inadequate, stupid, and I consciously carried it over with me. I told a co-worker about my experience at the beach, but I distorted the truth. What was I supposed to say to someone I've known for like a fucking week? That some jerk felt me up and I laid there like an idiot?

I don't want to title myself the moron, and it's not something he'd want to hear. But it bothers me that I felt the need to lie. I lied because I have a problem with the truth, with reality. And if that's the case, I shoud've said something. I should've done something. I can't control the actions others, but I could control my own. That's something I have to remember.

He's not the only person I lied to, either. I guess this blog is like my form of confession. I'm releasing it because I'm hoping it'll heal me. But in all honestly, it doesn't hurt knowing that one friend doesn't read my blog. He complains about how long it is. Yet he reads like 400-500 page novels! Maybe he does read my blog. It's a beautiful lie I sometimes like to indulge in.

I feel so stupid. A couple days before all of this happened, he was showing me some jiu jitsu moves. The truth is that I could've really damaged this guy, but I didn't let myself realize what was really happening or I'm just that dense. I'm still not really sure. I'm not ready to tell him the truth. Maybe I never will be, but I certainly feel bad about lying, not enough to confess directly, though. So this is all I have to offer. If by any chance you're reading this, thank you for providing me with the knowledge I could've used. It's crazy how I learned those moves at a point in my life before I could've used them. I do believe that everything happens for a reason, but I also believe that we don't always take advantage of it.

As for my co-worker, he doesn't even know about the existence of this blog unless he read my facebook profile and observed the link to this blog but few people do. It's interesting how many people are unaware of my blog. After mutual friends and acquaintances complimented me on my blog around a closer friend of mine, I realized how many people don't read it and how much I'd like them to. So I sent out what seems like an impersonal mass email, but it's 100% genuine. It shares some insights and depths into why I blog and why I chose a select group of people to share it with for reasons that aren't as tangible but an intuitive desire.

I appreciated the outcome of that decision, so I decided to every so often send that email out whenever I meet people I'd like to share my thoughts with. I met some amazing people at work that I plan to send that mass email out to. If you do take the time to read my blog, please know that I chose you because you have made a bigger impact in my life than you realize. Writing to me is an intimate practice, and it means the world to me.

The Universe Whispers to Me, Days 155, 156, 157, 158. 159, 160, 161, 162

Have you ever felt like your walls were closing in on you from all different directions, as though the universe is trying to gently guide you towards a better path? It's this subtle but powerful and increasingly undeniable feeling that I can't properly articulate but feel so strongly. It's not the same feeling that you don't belong somewhere. It's different. The truth is that I've made a life where I am, and I can probably continue to maintain it. But more than likely it isn't favorable for my soul and emotional growth.

I think that's what the universe is whispering to me except I believe that the universe doesn't have language. It speaks to us but not with words. Slight breezes passing by in opposition to where we're heading. The scent of freshness when new discoveries are near. The sweetness that cloaks us when we experience a hint, even a taste of what that life could be like for us if we just take the chance. The fire that sparks in us when we're closer to our dreams than we fully realize. How the heat warms our skin and makes our hair stand on ends. The way water rises beneath us and we feel the excitement of new opportunities thrashing around us, while the ground secures us in place. To know that we're going down the right path.

That's what it's been like lately, but I also know that I haven't lived it yet. I just feel it surrounding me, so close that I can touch it. And it's my intent to make the right decisions, allowing my intuition to lead me so that I can reach that destination. In some areas of my life, I can feel it stronger than others. Then there are other areas of my life where I know it's best to carve a new life somewhere else, but I don't feel this powerful connection to it like I do in other aspects of my life such as my home situation.

I know it's best for me to move on. I guess I just got comfortable in the crap situation I'm in because I've developed tolerance. I used to easily move and accept the burdens that came with it because it came more naturally to me than coexisting in filth, tension, unlawful behavior, and anything else I've ever really endured. I thought I was a strong person then, but as it turns out, I was led by my ability to manage my stress. That part hasn't changed, but the direction shifted.

I don't look forward to the inconveniences of moving, but it's become undeniable that I must move on. I chose to be in the living room so that I can keep the window open at night when I suffer from indoor allergies. If I take the room and my roommate has a complaint about it, it'd be unfair of me to keep it open. What if she gets sick and does poorly in school or can't attend work? These are factors to consider. I made a thoughtful decision when I chose to stay where I am.

I understand that the living room is a shared space. It's a reality I can't deny. But now that there's a futon in there, my roommate's made it a habit to sleep there at night because she misses how she used to be able to sleep in any room she desired when she lived with her mom. And when she's in the living room, she closes the window. That aggravates my allergy, and it's unfair that my allergies suddenly become an "inconvenience" because of a circumstance I didn't create. She has her own room. Why doesn't she sleep in there? It's one thing to use it as a functioning living room, but it's another reason to also turn it into your bedroom and interfere with my allergies.

Her actions are perceived as innocuous and in some ways, they are. But it obstructs my purposes in the process. I chose to stay in the living room because of the advantage it offered over my allergies. If those concerns aren't met, then there's no logical justification for staying at a complex where the assigned landlord's behavior borders under legal stalking and harassment for rent that isn't even due yet. Not to mention my once-friend neighbor who threatened me and stalked my former roommate. I cant' even enjoy natural lighting entering my living room because I want to avoid my landlord. It defines and puts limitations on what I do by choice but choices I shouldn't be burdened with.

***I'm still writing, but I accidentally hit publish. More to come.***

The situation with the living room turned into a bedroom with allergic reactions is a rather unique circumstance, but everything else is your garden variety roommate issues like the dirty dishes piling up and the hypocritical behavior over it. For me, though, it's the maturity level that's more of an indicator that I've gotten all that I can from here and it's time to move somewhere else. I can sit here all I want and express how frustrating it is (and I will), but more than anything, it's one of the universe's signs. That's the lesson I should leave with. That's why the experience happened for me, and how I want to remember it as.

Both sinks get completely filled with dirty dishes and right now it's caused by one roommate! How long does a person go without doing the dishes to get that bad? If she uses that many dishes, she's certainly the kitchen often enough to clean it! Some of it is ridiculously easy to clean, too, like a bowl of cereal that can be rinsed off with a swipe of a pre-soaped up dish sponge.

I get it. I've been there. And sometimes I return there. But it's not where I am now, and it's not the environment I feel I should be in especially since it's become more than just unpleasant. The real concern is that I've learned to tolerate and adapt to it, but with each increment of undeserved tolerance and patience I build, I'm slammed with another challenge to break down the walls. I know I can keep building, but I shouldn't have to.

I spend anywhere from 10-15, sometimes 20 minutes clearly out a sink just so I can use it to prepare and cook meals, as well as search for necessary dishes, utensils, whatever. I shouldn't have to incorporate extra time like that. It's such an inconvenience. So to make the space more functional, I cleared up the sink by lining our windowsill with dishes. Of course, it's unattractive and displays how slovenly the kitchen is, but I need space!!! I'm not going to clean after your mess! And I need to eat.

Given the circumstance, what do you expect me to do? My roommate had the audacity to ask me if I could return the dishes back into the sink once I'm finished using the sink. Are you fucking kidding me? So you're honestly asking me if I'd be willing to return things to their designated cluttered order so every time I need to access the sink, I'd have to shell it out again? What the Hell is that? I couldn't wrap my head around what she was asking me. You won't take the time to clean it, but you expect me to invest more than I already do to accommodate you? Oh Hell no!!!! Read your own damn note that says in red:

KITCHEN RULES:

• wash dishes immediately

• If trash is full, TAKE IT OUT

• clean/wipe down the following after use:

-stove -sink

-counter tops -dining table

Let's keep the kitchen clean!

-THANK U!

We're all hypocrites, and I've developed an unhealthy tolerance to it, but now she's fucking asking me to help her sustain her mess her way that consumes more of my time? No. That doesn't work for me. The kitchen is cluttered with stuff.

My place here was essentially an undefined spot to begin with, and that's starting to get stripped away from me. What do I really have left here? Talking to a friend of mine who's had some encounters with her, observed her, and is really perceptive and astute has given me clarity, as well. I realized how much I don't belong here. I knew that for a while, but something with the energy shifted. I no longer belong at the place where no one belongs.

He sees her as spoiled, which is still a little difficult to wrap around my head but in a way it makes sense. My bigotry limits my perception, but it makes so much sense. Just because you've had to share your space with everyone doesn't mean you're immune to common prey. She told me once that out of respect I should get permission before inviting anyone over. What the fuck? She never asks anyone before inviting her boyfriend over. She expresses disapproval when others make a mess, but she tolerates her own to the same degree and sometimes worse. She's bothered when she has to open the door for others but has been asking to be let in because she's too tired to look for her own keys.

These are all small and understandable things we all do, but my friend brought it to my attention that she's spoiled in a different way than I'm used to. That's why she has these expectations. A mature adult would realize that her requests are unreasonable and not carry that mentality. True. I guess I was just so shocked because she seems more mature than me.

My friend observed that when she gets upset, she overcompensates for her lower maturity level by appearing higher than she is, while my maturity level drops lower than it actually is when I get upset. They're all illusions. At the end of the day, it's just not an environment I want to be in. She's a great person and I love her. She's like a sister to me, but the truth is that we're no longer compatible as roommates. A lot of things don't fit anymore where I am.

I feel like it's best for everyone for me to move on. My roommates want to request his wife to take over landlord responsibilities, but she's more professional and is more than likely to evict me because of how tense the situation is. All it takes is a legally-formatted eviction notice. They deal with the consequences of me living here just as much. They get harassed about me. My roommate's car window got broken into to steal an iPod. Obnoxious parties with people getting seizures from doing weed, shrooms, ecstasy, acid, and drinks have been absent for a little bit, but it's just a matter of time.

This place is convenient for someone just getting started because it creates a template of tolerance. It's right across the street from school and affordable. But I don't go to school right now. It doesn't agree with my lifestyle. And my life is finally going in a direction where I can leave this place.

I got a new job. Those who are in training with me realize what a challenge it is, but it's worth it. No matter how difficult it is for me and how likely it is or isn't that I make it through the program, I'm there right now and that's what counts. I got selected and haven't gotten eliminated for a reason. I have a real chance at this. And WHEN I make it, I'll be in a position to move out. Sure, financially, I'll be making more and spending more, so I'll level off. But I can't continue on this way. I can feel the universe whispering this to me...

Tiger Face, Day 154

Because you can be what you're not

for only so long,

one day the tiger cub raised by goats

wandered to the lake and saw himself.

It was astounding

to have a face like that, cat-handsome,

hornless, and we can imagine he stared

a long time, then sipped

and pivoted, bemused yet burdened now

with choice. The mother goat had nursed him.

The others had tolerated

his silly quickness and claws.

And because once you know who you are

you need not rush,

and good parents are a blessing

whoever they are, he went back to them,

rubbing up against

their bony shins, keeping his secret to himself.

But after a while the tiger who'd found

his true face

felt the disturbing hungers, those desires

to get low in the reeds, swish his tail,

charge.

Because he was a cat he disappeared

without goodbyes, his goat-parents relieved

such a thing was gone.

And we can imagine how, alone and beyond

choice, he wholly became who he was

that zebra or gazelle

stirring the great blood rush and odd calm

as he discovered, while moving, what needed

to be done.

Poem by his favorite Poet: Stephen Dunn from the book LOOSESTRIFE

When I first went to a farmer's market, I met a guy who worked there. He was always really friendly, charming, and polite. I didn't think much of it. As much as I compare and contrast, I can be pretty self-centered when I'm given attention. So I never realized how he treated me differently or that he was always paying attention to me. Maybe that's naive, but he's in the business of customer service and satisfaction. It's part of his job. I was never very good at distinguishing these slight differences.

Plus I thought he was gay. Now I wonder what the Hell I was thinking. It's so obvious now that he's not and he was really into me. Sometimes, I wonder if those feelings still linger in him. He gets a lot of premonitions, too, and is supernaturally connected in ways I'm not. He starts knowing people so well while the relationship has barely established its acquaintance status.

Eventually we became friends. But he failed to tell me for years that he was married until the time came that meeting her would be inevitable when he offered me a job in his company. Or at least that's the way I saw it. Why else would he keep his marriage a secret? He told me that he'd be going on vacation and where he was going, while completely neglecting to tell me that it's to get married. Who does that? We were friends. He also admitted that he really, really liked me and had plenty of opportunities to reveal this life changing reality and chose not to until keeping the secret was no longer viable.

It's a well-known rule to not work with or for friends, but this situation was different. It's not advisable for virtually anyone to work with him because his perception is dangerously and unpredictably distorted and he not only projects and enforces but executes his professional practice with his misconstrued perception. It lends for financial catastrophe. He manages to survive resourcefully without proper compensation and struggles in his life because of it. He's well aware of how possible it is, so it frustrates him when people want to get paid properly because he's not profiting himself. But the truth is that that's his choice. The rest of us don't want to lead that kind of a lifestyle.

He's clever and manipulative. For whatever reason, he's desperate to not move forward in his dreams whether he realizes it or not. To continue to do things the way he does, he has to attract a demographic of people who are more compromised in their integrity, which, in turn, aggravates him. It's this vicious cycle and one I shouldn't have involved myself in. But by the time I found out, it was too late.

It's tragic, really, because he's one of the most compassionate and gentle souls I've ever met. But his ability to be destructive is equaled with no abandon, a polar opposite that he exploits cunningly. It saddens me when I think of it because of the friendship I developed with him and because I can see the good in him. Our friendship is an example of one I don't want to let go but one I know I must. I can't be a part of his life. It's not right for me. If he were to change, though, it'd be different. But he doesn't want to. Therein lies my sadness.

Maybe it's incredibly selfish for me to think like this, but a part of me feels like he's choosing his shady side over me. I wouldn't have to discard our friendship if he wasn't such an ass! I've gone over this in my mind countless times, and I always return where I began. Nothing changes. I wish I weren't disappointed by it, but it's better I'm bummed out than keep a lie going and get exploited in the process.

This is something that affects me more than I would like but a thought I don't contemplate very often. The fact that I can go on with my life and live it as though he was never a part of it depresses me, too. It makes me wonder if he didn't matter all that much to me. I know it isn't true, but my mind isn't immune from those thoughts.

That poem is his favorite. When we were scared because he had lumps in his throat that might be cancerous, I gave him three crystals. Each one possesses something - a healing property, mental clarity, emotional stability, aspects he needs to incorporate in his life. I gave him three because it became a symbolic number for me as I started getting premonitions. I figured he can leave one at home, put one in his car, and carry one with him. But it was really up to his discretion. I can tell that he was really moved by it. He thanked me and said that it's the nicest thing someone's done for him in a really long time including his wife....

Eeeee......As a thank you, he reciprocated with a laptop bag (something I desperately needed) and a copy of that poem. It was printed out on beautiful white paper. I've carried it with me everywhere I went, and now it's damaged. The paper's wrinkled, some of the ink's chunked off, and it looks beaten, bruised, abused. When I saw it recently, I realized how the condition of that poem was a reflection and quite possibly a manifestation of our friendship...

The Fragility of Relationships, Day 153

I've been analyzing, examining, experiencing, obsessing, observing, and reflecting on the fragility of relationships a lot recently, but mostly I've been learning, reflecting, re-experiencing, and opening my eyes a bit more through and from my mistakes. We've all heard that saying that time heals all wounds. It's a beautiful concept, but sometimes it's nothing more than a beautiful lie. And in some ways there's beauty in that, in the pain that you endure. Sometimes it's all you have. Sometimes it's all you see.

Relationships are such a complex and fragile thing. Even the relationships that have endured a lot are just as breakable because every relationship has its weak points. If you know where to strike the blow that hits the hardest, it cracks. And all it takes is one blow for everything you've invested your time, effort, heart, and soul into to shatter in an instant. Even if you manage to repair that, the cracks will still be there. The pain and the experience can't be washed away. The scars become a part of you.

I believe that when a person realizes the true vulnerability that exists in relationships that that's when it strengthens because the weaknesses become appreciated and acknowledged. So many of us don't realize how easily we can hurt someone. We're shocked by the sensitivity of others, yet become easily heartbroken just the same when it happens to us. The best protective measure any of us can take is to realize that there is true danger even in the seemingly smallest of acts and that those "small things" can be irreversibly damaging.

2 4 6 8 Fuck my OCD 2 4 6 8 Fuck my OCD!!!! Day 152

I don't even know where to begin, how to start, or even exactly what to say. I'm recovering/experiencing an OCD neuroses bordering on a breakdown, and my first reaction was to share it with my cousin, the one person in my family who I can relate to and recognize myself in. But that's what I always do. It's in my instinct to express to others, look to others, involve others as a way to explore how I feel first. How come I can never do it on my own? And I'm supposed to be independent, but I'd like a guide and a flashlight before investigating my own thoughts. And I can't quite get rid of that scurrying away feeling that gnaws at me.

So I decided to blog about it first, but I find myself lost without a compass. If I were to express these concerns to my cousin, though, they'd come out naturally. Thoughts would just rush out of me like a waterfall so strong that it'll shake the ground. But right now I'm a dizzying array of excess and scattered thoughts, concepts I can't quite make out.

My title portrays exactly the state of mind I'm in. "2 4 6 8 Fuck my OCD 2 4 6 8 Fuck my OCD!!!" But that doesn't make much sense unless you're in my head, and even then it's a little hazy. I'm not sure if it was that single incident that triggered my OCD or if it's a series of recent events accumulating that made me intolerable.

Yesterday was an odd and rather unnatural experience. I hung out with a friend and things happened the way we planned it to, an unusual and rare experience, the one and only. I even went shopping at a department, tried on clothes of my own freewill without the annoying persistence of others, and bought two pairs of pants - one shorts and one I don't even know what they're called. They're tightly fitted jeans that come up to my knee and they're folded in place.

I really like the second pair of jeans, but they aren't folded evenly because there was a censor the store attached to the jeans. I really wanted them evened out, but my roommate said the slight unevenness wasn't much of a concern. She apologized to my OCD. Lately I've been testing the limits of my OCD and with success. I didn't realize how much of a breakdown this final straw could cause or that it even was a final straw.

It really wasn't that noticeable. I was wearing a really cute outfit and was in such a positive mood. When I walked out, I became increasingly and at an alarming rate highly uncomfortable. To the outside world, I was just another body moving in a single direction. But I could feel this uneasiness crawling into me, digging me out, and scratching away at me. It took everything I had to contain myself. It's frightening how convincing I can be as I struggle because it makes treatment an obscurity.

The sound of buzzing cars, swishing footsteps, whispering trees, the movement of air, the changing streetlights, the smell of the outside air, the world around me became this distant echo that I could hear but was somehow detached to as though I was no longer able to listen to it like I lost that ability and my attention and focus fell on me and my movement. Left, right, left right, my right foot landing harder than my left and being pinched from the sandal, the tightness that forged around my lower right back as I stiffened with every step my right foot took, the swaying that I felt practically lashing to the far left like a tic I couldn't control, getting louder and more exaggerated as I continued to move forward. The right side of my pants were folded lower, it felt looser, touched more skin surface than my left, unstructured, uneven, and dangerously uncomfortable.

The left side felt clean, even, secure, tight, flush, snug, orderly. Then my right side, the side I already dislike greatly is causing this huge unbearable strain on me with its sluggishness and even more troubling, its unevenness and inconsistency to the left side. This slight imbalance induced stress, a headache, paranoid, agitation, and I was desperate to be free from it. I started fantasizing about what a relief it would be to just strip myself of these jeans.

I didn't pass two blocks before I started imagining what a relief it would be. As I passed the school right across the street from where I live, an impressively sized institution but a walkable distance, my neuroses found itself competing for attention in my already overwhelmed mind. The guilt and inadequacy set in as I realized how incredibly ridiculous it is for me to want to take my pants off in public just because one side of my jeans is folded a little higher than the other. The two opposing forces just further burdened me and no amount of logic and rational thought eliminated or suspended my desire to just strip down over something ridiculously trivial.

In my mind, all of this is undeniably flawed, exposed, and humiliating. But in reality the outside world had no idea what my mind was plagued with. My movements weren't in reality exaggerated and awkward the way I perceived it to be. Even I knew that. But it burned into me no more real than typing these words out, even more real and frightening.

I thought I could convince myself, to trick myself into ease as I crossed the street only to find myself clenching my fists so tightly that I practically cut off my circulation. I realized that it's too great of a risk, too dangerous to continue on with my errands if I've managed to border such a breakdown in a brief amount of time. The scary part is that I can't say in full confidence that I wouldn't have taken my pants off. I doubt I would've, but I most definitely would've found myself hunched in a corner crying out of despair and humiliation for my thoughts.

And what if it gets worse? What if it progresses to a panic attack? What do I do then? It sounds unbelievable for something so small to be so consuming, but you have no idea how overwhelming OCD can be. People glorify it like the modern disorder to have, but no one really understands its burdens and how debilitating it can be. It comes out of nowhere and lingers indefinitely.

That experience has damaged me so much that if I threw those pants away, I wouldn't live to regret it. They're figure flattering, perfect fitting, stylish, and an excellent addition to my wardrobe. But it made embarrassing myself and doing something illegal and dangerous into an inviting alternative that I began to see as my only escape. It made me feel helpless and weak.

Do you have any idea how awful it is for a material object to take you over like this? And it interrupted my plans for the day. Now I have to make re-arrangements in my schedule tomorrow to accommodate the errands I've neglected today. I had to make a decision. The safest one was for me to allow this bullshit to beat me and return home. I'm that weak. I'm that stupid. I'm not easily influenced and fluctuating in my insanity. My state of mind was in total jeopardy.

I had to exploit my other unhealthy tendency, a drug addict mentality, to keep me stabilized and distracted until I got home. My attention had to be focused elsewhere before the temptation became too unbearable to resist. So it became a chant in my head, "2 4 6 8 fuck my OCD 2 4 6 8 fuck my OCD!!!" My right foot landing harder than my left made my strides uneven, but I rationalized it because I was walking on the right side of the street. I promised myself that I'd walk heavier on my left foot when I walk on the left side of the street.

When I get uncomfortable like this, my mind rushes back to moments when I felt just as helpless, exposed, vulnerable, weak, inadequate, and overwhelmed. It's this uncontrollable reflex. Why did my mind have to return to that, to him? I was crying and upset because I was emotionally scattered. I was a hostage to a force greater than myself, powerful and unmanageable.

I'm walking home and crying. But my eyes are covered by my sunglasses. The water swelling up my eyes is a secret hidden from everyone inches beside me. As the clear liquid trickles down my face, warm and wet, it makes everything more real. The pain makes it more tangible. But to everyone else I'm just a body moving in a single direction...