Most moments, I’m able to fully recognize how lucky I am.
I have hilarious and supportive parents who have always put me at the center of their world. I have a sister/best friend who would go to the moon and back for me. My boyfriend is one of the most wonderful, kind and weird human beings I’ve ever encountered. I know some people must envy my job. I’m able to have fun in nearly every situation. I have fucking amazing hair.
Others moments, I find myself suffocating under a blanket of self pity. My idiosyncrasies seem to put a glare over all of my other qualities. I feel as if I am walking around with a spotlight on a sign that say’s “Hi, I’m a big fat weirdo.” With every question I ask myself, I sink lower and lower into depression.
Why do I have so many issues with food?
Why can’t I drink like everyone else?
Why do I get so sad?
Why does the mere thought of roto-scope animation send a fire of anxiety through my chest?
Combating my self-deprecation is probably my biggest challenge right now. Every time I find myself thinking negative thoughts, I try to immediately counteract them a positive, or at least something comforting.
Everyone has issues with something.
I’m going to be healthier and more productive with my time.
It’s good that I’m self aware enough to feel everything.
Roto-scope animation IS creepy and it should be made illegal.
I don’t know why I have eating issues and my sister doesn’t. I don’t know why I’m the only person in my family who seems to have trouble controlling the amount of alcohol I consume. I was never molested. I was never ignored. I wasn’t beat up or put-down. I wasn’t coddled (very much).
I don’t know where my emotional problems come from, and I definitely don’t think that they are anyone’s fault but my own. In fact, the older I get- the more I feel that I owe to my parents for cultivating me with the traits that I’m most proud of- without which, I wouldn’t have the strength to make any positive changes in my life.
Last night, my mom stayed with my sister and I, and I realized it had been so long since I had told my parents how much gratitude I have for them. I know they know I love them, but just in case they ever need reassuring:
Thank you for allowing me to choose my hobbies, therefore allowing me to learn the things in life that really make me happy.
Thank you for letting me spend as much time as I wanted to in bookstores and libraries.
Thanks for allowing me to raise 30 mice in my bedroom, and for letting me take them to school in Jr High, even though you knew it might cause me to get made fun of.
Thanks for letting me decorate my room with as many door-beads as I wanted, letting me finger paint all over my walls, and for letting me pretend that the camper in our backyard was my fortune-telling hut for much longer than you should have.
Thank you for letting me wear whatever weird, 70’s vintage outfit that I wanted to school, even though you knew it might cause me to get made fun of.
Thanks for letting me believe in ghosts.
Thanks for introducing me to religion, but never pushing your own ideas or beliefs on me.
Thank you for daily visits to the park and the zoo.
Thanks for letting me play pretend for as long as I wanted.
Thank you for cultivating my interest in the outdoors, for taking me camping, and for teaching me the names of rocks.
Thank you for telling me that I was beautiful, no matter what size I was.
Thank you for cuddling in bed on movie-nights.
Thank you for teaching me forgiveness.
Thanks for teaching me not to give up, and that true love actually does exist.
Most of all, thank you for your unconditional love and support, and for believing in me, always.
I love you!
Thanks to the rest of you for putting up with my sappy posts as of late. You know me. I get that emotion flowing and it just doesn’t stop.