My best period ever.
In the last looming days before my transition from busy adult person in the Real World to busy adult student straddling Academia and the responsibilities of leading a large student group, my normally firm grasp on reality is wavering in the most unprecedented of ways.
I’ve had a lot of alone time over the past few weeks, which I’ve used to redecorate my apartment, shuffle my possessions, wardrobe and diet, regulate my body clock to a reasonable daily schedule pursuant to my classwork, in general refine and analyze Me and who I “am”, and mentally work out how I will deal with that which must be dealt with. Extroverted as I am, introspection is an integral part to my mental stability, and at busy times I tend to hit the Run Program button on my life and, while dealing spectacularly with my external responsibilities, my growth of self is stunted. It seems that I cannot deal with both internal and external problems at the same time, so during downtimes such as now I take full advantage of long journal entries and internal narration and objective self-assessment so that, when faced with things like 18 credit hours or bureaucratic drama or insurance companies, the foundations of who I am are strong enough that I don’t have to revert to previously successful programs like “depressive fatass” or “asexual genderqueer” or “celebrity news blogger”.
Part of this requires an intense period of reconciliation between who I am and who I want to be. This for me is one of the more painful parts of existence. I have habits and tics and ways of being that do not necessarily match up with my internal structure, which cause a great deal of stress and worry for me. I’ve often had trouble with being myself around certain people, especially if they have strong personalities or I admire them. I paint a caricature of myself that I think will please them. It’s a stupid habit but it’s likely the product of an out-of-control imagination that, as a kid, led me to adopt several different personas per year, or obsessively delve into hobby after hobby that got left behind as soon as the next one came along. In high school I adopted the persona of a character that I was writing about, living my life as I presumed they would. I suppose the entire concept of “me” was never that strong to begin with. My self is something I’ve been coming to terms with over the past few years, and actualizing that self is a process that’s not quick or easy.
It’s all stupid, but it’s what I deal with. It’s my thing.
So here I am, on the cusp of a new semester and the end of my 20th year on Earth, making a notable transition in my life and all of that, and doing it for what I can really say is the first time as a grounded, mature, happy individual with her shit together. While doing the requisite post-holiday pre-semester rounds of lunch and hikes and late-night ER runs with friends, things have been in general better and my usual social ineptitudes have been melting away to my delight. What I thought was my firm grasp on reality was maybe not so; perhaps my thoughts in the past have been simplistic, harsh, immature, and unrealistic. To see one’s self fairly and to be judged fairly by others is a feeling of incomparable satisfaction. Better than bonfires in spring or when “Dreams” comes on at like the perfect moment on a rainy day while you’re pondering the mindfuck that was your last relationship. I guess happiness is something I never thought I wanted until I had it.
In a more acute sense I’m at the crux of a few important courses of action with regards to my body. For instance, I’m in poor health at the moment and though I’m addressing this through what feels like unnervingly regular trips to the urgent care clinic, my weird 20-year-old sense of mortality is frenzying me into a more careful view of my health. I’m running and biking and eating broccoli and taking anti-acids and using DivaCups and all I can to assure a smooth-running system. I’ve come to realize that this is important, and that it’s something every well-functioning adult comes to term with before they can become well-functioning adults.
All of that is being made worse right now by how I’m at a very gross time as far as brain chemistry goes, in that I’m on my first period since quitting hormonal birth control. As my body’s hormone levels return to normal, I’ve been plagued by the normal issues, including a weight gain of about 10lbs in just under a month that has me frantically cutting down on food and increasing my workouts dramatically, which is followed by an actual need to eat a pint of ice cream or a bag of potato chips, which makes me feel bad, which makes me complain to my ex, who makes me feel worse, which sets the rest of my day on a course of self-loathing that can only be treated by external validation from reading my favorite parts of Jane Eyre or watching The Sound of Music at 2x speed and thinking to myself “YES. Yes, that is me, I am great like that woman, and I don’t need anyone else.”
Which is counter-productive, because not one person doesn’t need someone/anyone else.
I’m dealing with all of that in stride. There’s nothing more to do there.
So beyond some minor existential angst and an underlying anxiety that comes hand-in-hand with the continuation of studies after the supreme failure that was my last attempt at academics, the worst pains I am experiencing at the moment are entirely related to the river currently flowing out of my vagina. Not at any other time in my life since I gained the cognitive ability to examine my ontological state have I been able to say such a thing as that. I suppose this would be the point at which I tell myself that all pain is temporary and that happiness is there if I look for it, or something really stupid or sorry, et cetera. But that would be insulting on so many levels. What’s really important is that I keep my supply of feminine care products sufficiently replenished and beyond that maybe try not to fall in love with my new professors. Any other expectations right now are a waste of time.
When I was a teenager I wanted so much to grow up and I did that by learning big words and discussing politics with teachers that I was secretly and unsuccessfully trying to seduce, and forcing myself through disturbing situations and deeming them “learning experiences” that were necessary to have a nuanced understanding of the human condition. I feel that I’m becoming exponentially more adult-like with every successful meal and every day that ends with no dirty dishes in the sink. Of course I wish that I hadn’t intended so fiercely that I grow up, but I take intense satisfaction in having achieved what it was that I now realize was the only constant in my fantasies of adulthood: I’ve accepted myself and everything else and I’ve come to the conclusion that everything is manageable. It (life) is doable—which is a load of worrying off my shoulders.
January 7th, 2012 11 notes #P.S. - I died my hair red!! Look at the picture!! #i'm so tired #does this make sense #will edit in morning #english major for hire #boring #dear diary
