I used to spend a lot of time trying to come up with content for this thing. I didn’t want to come across as too sappy, or too emo, or too over the top. I should probably warn you that I no longer care. Sure, the ultimate goal is to share something humorous yet thought provoking… in theory. But the truth is, I’m just happy I feel inspired to put finger to keyboard again. So if I feel like writing something, I will write something. And if you don’t like it, shut your stupid face.

This week I had my first visit with a new therapist. I figured it was time for some maintenance. Plus I really really like talking about myself to someone who is required to give me their undivided attention…. as if you didn’t already know this.

It had been about 6 months since I have had any sort of official therapy and I had nearly forgotten how helpful it is. I truly believe that ANYONE can benefit from talking to an unbiased someone every once in a while. It really puts things in prospective. Granted, 9 out of 10 times – my sister, my friends, and my coworkers give me the same advice that the therapist gives me… but somehow it’s different when you pay someone to listen.

Since it was my initial visit with a new counselor, we had A LOT to cover. Three hours worth, in fact. Three hours of me giving her the rundown of every idiosyncrasy of my character, and every hardship I have ever endured. While it felt good to tell my story, it was a bit exhausting- to say the least. But it did make me realize something.

I’m dramatic. I’m emotional. I over-think and catastrophize every situation. I have a bad case of ADHD.  I have major sleep anxiety. I have general anxiety in nearly every situation in my life. I have a bit of an inferiority complex. I have absolutely no control of myself when I drink liquor. I’m constantly teetering on the edge of hypomania. I have a major case of body dysmorphia. I will probably never have a comfortable relationship with food.

I could go on for days about my emotional and behavioral issues, but what I realized was that I’m OK with it all. In fact, somewhere over the last year, I’ve learned not only to accept- but also to appreciate some of my issues… or at least the fact that I can acknowledge them and work towards dealing with them.

In the very least, they don’t freak me out as much anymore. The difference between this session, and the first time I met with a counselor last year is unbelievable.

That being said, I can’t help but imagine a world where I didn’t have to worry about keeping myself in check. Where I didn’t have to use “tools” like mindfulness and meditation to calm my nerves or talk myself down from cliffs. And especially where I didn’t act on such impulse all the time. Like, can you imagine if you could program yourself with your own, personal panic button that would prevent you from saying and doing things that you immediately regret?

Por ejemplo: Oh yay! Bob Schneider is playing my at my radio show’s Christmas benefit! He’s my favorite musician in the entire world. I should walk up to him and tell him about how much I love him.. and keep talking for about ten minutes until he looks like he might take off running in fear.

ACTIVATE PANIC BUTTON

Carissa. Take a deep breath. If you want to say something to your most favorite musician in the world, fine. But for God’s sake, he doesn’t want to hear your life story, or how you once drunkenly wrote him a facebook message proclaiming your love. Just. Stop.

Por ejemplo #2: I’m at a co-workers birthday party drinking a little wine. Just the night before I decided to swear off liquor because SOMEHOW I ended up waking up on the bathroom floor of a boy’s apartment who I actually really like. Boss hands me a shot. Boy, I sure do love shots. Especially warm cinnamony whiskey shots. And it would probably make me a lot more fun to talk to.

ACTIVATE PANIC BUTTON

Hey girl hey. If you take that shot, it’s all gonna go down hill. You’ll end up making an ass out of yourself in front of all your co-workers. Then you’ll proceed to call that boy you dig and ask, no beg him to pick you up. And THEN you’ll call your dad 10 times telling him you don’t know where you are. So, no… Don’t take that shot.

Sighhh… if only.

Instead, I have to learn these things the hard way. Stupid human body, unequipped with panic buttons. But I guess then I wouldn’t have anything to work on.

So until someone learns how to reprogram my head- I’m just gonna embrace my poor decisions and nutso brain.

ACTIVATE FREAK FLAG

I’m sure all five of  you are just dying to know what the hell I’ve been up to for the past 6 months. I mean, it’s not like I could have spent EVERY SINGLE SECOND of my free time giving myself multiple nerdgasms watching Doctor Who.

Well I probably could have, but then when would I have found the time to watch Firefly? HUH?

So basically, some really shitty stuff that I had no control over happened in my life. When it did, I tried my best to take control over the things that I could. I made it my mission to try to “find myself.” To work out every day. To meditate. To eat healthy. In short, to be perfect.

Until that point, I had always maintained a sort of  “controlled chaos” lifestyle. But I made it my goal in life to change that. I no longer wanted to be the funny girl. I didn’t want to be the person that people told stories about. I didn’t want to be the person that got herself into horrible, ridiculous situations anymore.

The truth is-by trying to calm the chaos in my life, I somehow created the perfect storm.

The harder that I tried to define myself (or find myself)- the further I fell from the things in my life that defined me. The aspects of my life that I had been trying so hard to control, began to control me.

I found myself truly depressed for the first time ever. I quit writing and doing comedy.  I fell back into disordered eating. I withdrew from my friends family… and THAT’s when the obsessive Dr. Who-ing occurred.

The one bright spot in all of this, is that I was able to recognize that I was in a bad place and that I wouldn’t be able to get out of it alone. I’ll go into it more one day when it’s farther in my past, but I will admit that much of my free time the last few months has been spent in therapy, group therapies, support groups and doctor’s offices. It hasn’t been fun, but it has taught me a lot.

When I got laid off 2 weeks ago-  I was sure I was going to plummet even farther into despair. In those first bleak hours, I figured I would lose even more control and that I would spend the rest of my days flying in weird octagons over the cuckoo’s nest. I imagined my parent’s selling everything they owned and putting on benefit concerts trying to raise enough money to give me a lobotomy.

Amazingly enough, the opposite happened. (You can read more about this in my previous post) It could be just temporary, but I honestly feel more like myself the last three weeks than I have in the past eight months. I’ve been sleeping again; albeit odd hours since I’m not currently working normal hours. I’ve been eating again, normally… when I’m hungry and not obsessing over every single thing that I put in my body. I haven’t even worked out except for the occasional walk here and there, and mostly just to get myself to a destination. I’ve found that I can find a balance in the meditating, obsessive yoga aspects my life and the crazy chaotic ones- and that I like it.

Most importantly, I’ve been recognizing that there is still so much that I love about life… and THOSE are the things that define me.

You’ve been abandoned, you say? You sure do look like it. It looks like you haven’t been loved on in at least six months…. and you have so much potential! You don’t even have any followers or anything? THAT IS SAD! How could anyone just leave you out to fend for yourself in this wide world of webs?

Well no… I couldn’t possibly…. I can barely take care of myself…. Blogs take a lot of work. So much maintenance, so much attention…

Although…

Well, I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I used to have a blog once myself. A few even.

What happened? Well I suppose what always happens. I got burned out. I got bored. I didn’t feel like I had anything to offer the blog anymore. That, and I discovered how addicting Netflix Streaming videos are. Oh yeah, I’m telling you. First it was just an innocent flirtation with Doctor Who, then all of a sudden I found myself printing out little Tardis pictures and taping them to every disaster picture in American history. Then I watched Firefly, then went back and watched the entire series of 30 Rock (again), and it wasn’t until tonight- halfway through my second viewing of Doctor Who’s season 3- when I realized how much I missed my little bloggy.

Yes there I said it… I miss my blog. Oh, don’t look at me like that… that doesn’t change anything. I still might be a horrible blog owner. I would probably still forget about my blog for days. I don’t know if I have the energy to pay attention to the other neighborhood blogs every day like I used to. I don’t even remember how to blog properly!What if all I have to blog about is Doctor Who and how crazy David Tenant’s tongue is!?

But well…. I did just move to Austin and I’m kinda lonely…. and I suppose it would be kinda cool to document my new life in a new city. But let’s take it slow OK?  I don’t want to feel any pressure for real commitment… Like I said, I just moved here and I’m really enjoying  all this new-found freedom… the potential for self discovery… the opportunity for change. I don’t need some stupid blog coming back into my life and making me feel guilty for not spending enough time on it.

Although, now that you mention it, I forgot how much I missed talking to you… You do need a bit of a makeover, but I bet I can handle that… OK well hells bells. I’ve never been a gal to say no. Let’s do this!

(PEE. ESS.)

I have been trying to get myself to blog again for like 5 months… but I didn’t know how to start. I didn’t want to be all blah blah life is hard, I have problems, I want to listen to old Death Cab for Cutie albums and cry… so I just didn’t write.  I decided that now that I’m in a new city, I can’t put it off any longer- and so I am posting the cheesiest, most stupid blog ever… AND I DON”T CARE WHAT YOU THINK. Honestly, if there is anyone out there still reading please know I MISS YOU ALL. It has been a crazy 6 months, but I’m honestly so ready to start writing again. I’m excited about life, and I’m excited about getting back in touch with the interwebs.

Hearts and rainbows and unicorn kisses til next time!!!

Carissa

The last year hasn’t been easy. I specifically remember writing last year that 2009 was the worst year ever, but I think that I can safely say that in terms of hardship, heartache, and hellamotherfucking tribulations- 2010 has hands down been the most difficult year of my life. Even though the shit has hit the fan significantly fewer times in the last few months compared with the first 3 quarters of the year- I’ve still been dealing with a lot of the poo debris.

I’ll even admit to you that less than a week ago, I was on the verge of the ultimate melt-down. The week following my move I had worked harder than I had in a long time at both of my jobs. I hadn’t been able to sleep. I hit a curb small wall and busted a tire. I lost my license, my debit card and then my temporary debit card at three different locations. Then got into a wreck. I literally thought about busting down the door to the closest therapist’s office and begging her to commit me to a looney bin so that maybe, just maybe- I could take a few weeks off to de-stress and figure out my life. Or in the very least,  they would medicate me enough so that I could get some sleep. Luckily, it didn’t have to come to that. I made my first grown up therapist appointment, and at the risk of sounding crazy, it felt freaking amazing to get some stuff off my chest. I’m not going to lie though, the next few days following the appointment were even more difficult. I thought about things that I had been forcing myself to ignore, and for the first time in years I had to really figure out what I’m trying to achieve, what direction I want to grow. And that, my friend, is no easy task.

Tonight though, I feel like something inside of me finally moved. I’ve had moments of happiness the last few months, but mostly I’ve found myself crying in my car over things that I can’t control.

As I was driving home from dinner tonight, I found myself once again, crying in my car. But this time it was different. I’m not sure if it is the approaching holiday, the fact that there we are in midst of a total eclipse of the heart AND a winter solstice, or that I had just finished an amazing dinner with my aunts, (who are two of the most wonderful and inspiring people in my life)- but a feeling of euphoric happiness overcame me. I’m serious, it was a serious Lifetime Christmas movie moment.

It hit me that YES, I’ve been down on skid row for the last year or so- but things are only as bad as I let them be. I can’t control everything, but I can change the things I want to change. I have so much to be thankful for. I have been so wound up in the little things, that I haven’t taken the time to look around and realize how good things really are. And that’s when it hit me. This is the season to be jolly… but even  more for me- it’s the season to be JOFFY. Yeah I made it up. What’s new? It stands for things that I’m thankful for right now. How’s that for a Lifetime Christmas movie moment?

JOFFY=Jobs, Opportunities, Friends, Family, and Yultideness.

I know you want some more details, right? Either way, I’m gonna give em’ to ya.

Jobs: I know from time to time I complain about being stressed out and overly busy, but you know what? I actually like it this way. Moreover, I’ve never been in a position where I love the people that I work with and what I do so much. Neither of my “jobs” are overly stressful, the people that I work with are genuinely good and inspiring people, and unlike any other work I’ve ever done, I never really dread going into the office. My second job is exciting. I’ve only been doing it for a few months and it’s already taught me a lot about myself. I like coordinating people. I like meeting new people. I like being a part of something that’s growing and that I really believe in. Plus, it’s a really good time.I can’t wait to see what I learn in the jobs category next year. Me be excited.

Opportunities: When it feels like I’m worst place ever, I can freak out like my momma took away my WOW privileges, or I can try something new. I mean hell’s bells, we live in AMERICA. Actually that’s beside the point. The point is we are humans, and for the most part we can take control of our own lives. I see people do it all the time.  Have you seen Intervention? I mean sure half of the time those people relapse, and sometimes worse-they die-but for the most part; when they really want to change, they do. They get better. If they can over come drugs, I can overcome a bad day. I’m so sick of talking about the things that I want to do. This next year I’m actually going to do them. For me, right now, I want to learn to play the guitar I just bought. I want to write more. I want to get back into doing comedy in one form or another. I want to keep meeting people who enrich my life. I want to try as many new things as possible. And now I’m going to quit talking and start doing. Cause I can.

Friends: I know I talk about them all the time, but I’m going to do it once again because they are awesome. I honestly don’t think I could have gotten through the last year without them. I have so many wonderful people in my life I can’t even believe it sometimes. Some of them are people I talk to daily. Some are people I only talk to every few months or so, but they all have given me so much. One thing I can say about 2010 is that it was the year that I’ve met the coolest people ever. I don’t know all of them as well as I’d like to, (I’m looking at you, hiuhime) but I love the fact that I have friendships to look forward to.

Family: If I’m completely honest, for the first half of 2010- I wanted to get a Macauley Culkin divorce from my family. Not all of them and not all of the time, but  I probably would have taken a job in Egypt just to get away from it all. Then at some point everything changed. I realized that through the tough times, we had gotten closer than ever. Even when things were at there worst, I relied on my parents for so much. It took a divorce and some serious tears for us all to realize how good we have it. My sister is my best friend in the world and my rock. My cousins are my sanity. My aunts and uncles are my inspiration and what I strive to be. Did I mention my parent’s got remarried last Friday? Now we are a real family again. If that’s not a Carissamas Christmas miracle, then I don’t know what is.

Yuletideness: CHRISTMAS! Isn’t that what Yuletide means? Well even if it’s not,  that’s how I’m using it. Really I just needed a “Y” word, and that’s the only “word” I could think of that would make semi-sense. But for serious,this is the first year in a really long time that I’ve been excited about Christmas. I don’t really have the money to buy gifts this year, and I there is not a thing in the world that I could ask for other than some good old-fashioned family time. And maybe a cactus. And maybe some incense. But other than that? Just my family. And maybe some cranberry sauce. And always some wine.

And to all of you??? Have the best holiday of your life, cause you never know when it will be the last.

I kid. You have at least until 2012.

No, seriously. I love you all and I cannot tell you how much each of you mean  to me. Especially you and you. Oh and you over there. And you facebook stalker. And you John Cusack. Especially you John Cusack. Also you old high school friends. And you stupid face. And you family. And you random googlers. Have a merry merry JOFFY day. I don’t know how much I’ll be around until after the new year, but I’m always reading! HOE HOE HOE!

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Ahhh.. “Highhhhh Hopes, yes he had- highhhhh hopes. That song makes me happy. My mom used to sing it to me when I was a kid. I’m trying to remember that ant. Right now.

Last week everything seemed possible. I had some majorly high hopes that I could get back into a strong routine of writing and working out and being healthy and all that nonsense… Then, somewhere around mid-week, life sped up. It’s not all bad, it’s just hard to keep control with so much happening right now. I was shocked, I’m telling you SHOCKED when I realized that Thanksgiving is THIS WEEK.

I’m happy about it, because of course it means I have an excuse to see my family, take a few days off, and eat some well deserved pecan pies pie. On the other hand, I have to face the fact that this break is going to be very short lived and reality is going to hit me smack in the face again in about 4 days.

I’m working two jobs right now, which is great, on the one hand; but on the other I’m a little bit stressed. When I’m not working I’m trying to meet some other obligation that I’ve set for myself. I’m trying to maintain friendships, get to know new people, and see every live show and movie that I come across on a very limited budget. There are also vacations I want to take, books I want to read, and stories that I want to get down on computer- stat.

Have I mentioned I’m moving again next week? Again? Yeah it seems like I just moved.

Oh, probably because I did just move, like 6 months ago.

Not only am I moving again, but my best friend in the world/roommate has decided to leave me forever and take off for the far-away and foreign land of New Yawk.

That bitch.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for her. I know she’s doing what’s best for her right now. But I’m also jealous of her, and super angry that she’s leaving me all alone.

Which brings me around to Day 4 of my 30 Days of Truth. (I’m taking this super slow, shut your stupid face.)

Something I have to forgive somone else for.

It may seem a little contrived that I’m using my best friend moving as the one thing that I have to forgive, but right now it’s a huge thing for me. There are other people that I probably should make a movement to forgive, but the bitch in me just isn’t ready yet.

LA and I met the first day of sorority rush before my freshman year of college. Her first impression of me was seeing me trip and fall, then subsequently laugh loudly and introduce myself. She told me later that she didn’t want to join a sorority if everyone was as fake as I seemed. She quickly learned that my gregarious nature wasn’t an act… for the most part I am an overly friendly person. Sometimes annoyingly friendly.

Shortly after that first introduction we became fast friends. We’re opposites in nearly every way, but we’re alike in the ways that make a friendship work. From the very beginning we had something strong. I’ve never had someone in my life that wasn’t family, that I knew I would love unconditionally. We are partners in crime. Cohorts in catastrophie. Acclomplices in adventure.

A lot of people probably think our friendship is a little bit unconventional. We argue about everything, but that is something I truly appreciate about her. There aren’t many people in my life who I can express myself to without worrying that I’ll hurt their feelings. LA knows my deepest darkest secrets without me even having to tell her. We’ve gone through some really tough times, but have shared our happiest moments of the last decade together as well. She’s one of the only people who I can sit with for hours without anything, and still be completely entertained. We live together now, but don’t rely on each other to live the way some other friendships do. That’s kind of a lie, because I rely on her A LOT. She keeps me in check when I’m down. Tells me there’s no sense in worrying when I’m upset, and tells me everything is going to be OK when I insist that it isn’t. And somehow I believe her. Sometimes, even now, we go days without talking but I know that she’ll be there in a heartbeat if I really need her, and I hope she knows I’d do the same for her.

She’s taught me a lot about myself and has helped me grow. She’s taught me how to be strong, assertive and confident. Even in her weakest moments, I look up to the way that she handles situations. I know that I’m an independent person, and that she’s helped me a lot in that department, but it scares me to think that in a few months she’s not going to be just a short drive away to help me regain my sanity when I start losing it.

Blargh. LA- just so you know. I’m crying right now with glass of wine in one hand and your laptop in my lap. If you were here right now you’d tell me to be careful not to spill my wine on your computer. At least I know I still have your voice of reason in your absense. I can’t express how sad I am at the thought of you moving. Alas, I am happy for you. I’m here for you if you’re ever feeling lonely. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve ruined your shoes and lost your jewlery. I hope you can forgive me for that. In return, I won’t hate you forever for leaving me to fulfill your dreams. Love your BFF, Carissa. DON”T FORGET IT. AND P.S. IF YOU FIND A NEW BEST FRIEND IN A FEW MONTHS THEN SHE BETTER BE COOLER THAN ME. (Though I know that won’t happen.)

This has actually been a big thing for me in the last few weeks… “self forgiveness.” I was recently forced to make the toughest decision of my life and sometimes I feel like hitting myself over the head with a stapler, because I’m not sure I did the right thing.

Lately, I feel like I’ve really been struggling with the concept of “let it be.” I curse myself for my lack of self confidence and my inability to be content. I carry on a facade of being “happy go lucky,” which is usually true in the moment. It’s later on, once my brain takes some time to process things that I go on this irrational rollercoaster of emotions.

It’s not only my mind that I have to forgive myself for, my relationship with my physical self has always been a bit rocky.

I don’t think I’ve been particularly kind to my body in the past.

I have starved it and overfed it. I’ve allowed myself to drown in alcoholic binges. There have been times in my past where I’ve gone on blind food binges.
I haven’t always respected myself when it comes to men. I’ve consciously let myself be taken advantage of.

I know that I have some issues, but I think I do a pretty good job at facing them. At least I have self awareness, but I’m not always sure that’s a good thing. There’s quite a bit of truth to that old saying “Ignorance is Bliss.” Oh Plato, you genius you.

I doubt there will ever be a time in my life when I’m not struggling with myself… when I’m not punishing myself or pushing myself to be better at life, but I do hope to get a little bit closer to being content.

Anylies, the first day’s topic is:

“Something you hate about yourself.”

For the entire list, check this.

Alright, do you have all day?

I hate that I have a flair for the dramatic, when all I want is for a situation to calm down. I hate my really tiny pinky toenails. I hate that I have an abundance of body hair. I hate that I cannot say no. I hate that I can’t sing. I hate that no matter how hard I try, my stomach will never get flat. I hate that I deal with things through food and alcohol. I hate that I don’t have a good relationship with food. I hate that my hair turns brassy 3 weeks after I dye it. I hate that I have too round of a face. I hate that I suck at math. I hate that I fall in love so easily. I hate that I love being the center of attention, but talking in front of crowds scares me. I hate that I have taken advantage of my parents. I hate that I am not brave enough to really chase after my dreams. I hate that while I am great at friendships, I don’t seem to be very good at relationships. I hate that I don’t have the self confidence that I often pretend that I have. I hate that after 20 years of trying, I still can’t do an Italian accent. I hate that I’m forgetful. I hate that I really don’t love working out. I hate that I am sometimes too lazy to keep up friendships. I hate that I’m lazy. I hate that I get depressed. I hate that I get jealous. I hate that I don’t know who I am.

ahhhhhhhhh…..

That was easy.

If I had to pick one thing though, I’d say that I hate my lack of self control.

There isn’t one aspect of my life that I think has gone to an extreme, but overall- I just don’t have enough.

I’m not an alcoholic, but I drink too much. I like to drink, but I have realized over the last few years that I really need to slow down. I’m fine with that until I go out with my friends… and then, you know… once it hits your lips it just feels so good and… stuff.

I’m the same way with food. No matter how healthy I’ve gotten in my life it’s always been one extreme or the other. I either eat the whole buffet or I obsess about what goes through my body. I’ve overcome a lot when it comes to this, but I’m sure it is something that I’ll always struggle with.

Self control issues have really buried themselves into all parts of my life and my personality. I say things I know I shouldn’t say, I think things I shouldn’t think, and I have an extremely difficult time sticking to a structured plan. I think part of it has to do with ADD, but part of the problem lies deeper than that. It’s something I’ve always struggled with, even as a child.

I had this thing when I was little, where I my hands had to feel moist at all times. I would carry a “wet napkin” around with me and constantly squish it around in my hands. I washed my hands whenever I had the chance; and I would spend hours upon hours in the tub. My doctor said I had the worst case o OCD he had ever seen in a 4 year old. Some might say that I had an over achiever’s amount of self control, seeing the meticulous way that I kept myself clean, but even then I knew that I should have been able to refrain. I didn’t though.

Sometimes I think that my lack of self control is the root of most of my problems. My inability to say no; the fact that I fall in love easily; the fact that I can easily spend $100 bucks in an hour on itunes.

I’m hoping that it’s something that I’ll be able to solve like a mathematical equation. Now that I know the root of the problem I’ll be able to figure out what I need to do to fix it. It might take a lot of trial and error, but eventually, I’ll get there.

When I was a kid, those were my 3 favorite words in the world… but the rest of the sentence was really what was important. Whatever came out of my mouth following “Let’s pretend that…” would become my universe for the next three hours.

“Lets pretend that we’re mermaids. My mermaid name is Christina, what’s yours?… OK you’re Cynthia. Behind the barstools , that’s the lagoon where we live. The shark lives in the hot tub, so we only go in there when we have to. We have to meet Squish, the nice jellyfish, in 3 minutes for lunch. Come on!”

After that, the real world would cease to exist. I actually became Christina; I was her. It didn’t matter that I was once a 9 year old girl in a Tye-dyed one piece that kept riding up my left butt cheek. Once the three magic words were spoken, I became an 18 year old princess mermaid with perky boobs held up with a clam-shell bra. I would spend the afternoon fighting noodle-sharks and strangling pool-pump-eels. I made friends with thebubble-minnows that hung out near the drain. I lived by the law that if I stayed on land for more than five minutes, my fin would shrivel up and I would become a human for eternity. When the humans were on shore, they expected a show- so I would perform diving and flip shows where I would prove that I could do 15 or more somersaults without taking a breath.

It wasn’t always mermaids though. Sometimes I would pretend that I was a lion tamer who lived  in the jungle. I had a destiny to fulfill, and that was to ride the evil old Copper Spaniel lion that lived in the deepest depths of the trees. Other times I would be a mom who actually liked to cook.  Or if I was forced to clean, I would become a 19th century maid, mimicking the mannerisms of Cinderella. When I said I wanted to “draw,” what I actually wanted was to pretend I was a secretary. I would set up a nice little area with a stapler and a roll of tape, and I would imagine that I was completing highly important tasks. Every once in a while I would put down my number 2 pencil to answer an imaginary phone.

I continued playing pretend long after the other kids had given it up for spin the bottle and Girl Talk. Don’t get me wrong, I played those too… but when I was alone I would play out scenes with boys in front of the mirror.  I fantasized about being discovered and cast in Party of Five as the long lost Salinger sibling. I gave press talks and interviews about my rise to fame.

I know a lot of people have these sort of day dreams, but looking back, it feels like I took them to a ridiculous level. 

I realize now, that even when Idid finally grew out of 3-D fantasizing 24/7, I started to merge “pretending” into the real aspects of my life. In high school, I had several different groups of friends who were all very different. I had my dance friends, my theater friends, my cheerleader friends, and well… boys. It’s not that I was never myself around any of them, but I did learn how to pretend to be just the way they needed me to be. I don’t think this was really a bad thing though. I think I was just taking the idea of “fake it til ya make it”  and applying it to more practical aspects of my life.

For a while I thought that I was over pretending. After a college I went through a complete, life-changing transformation and for a long while I believed that I had finally found myself. I had taken up improv, which allowed me to fullfill the craving I had to “pretend;” and in my real life I was able to focus on who I really was.  I started finding music that I understood; I pursued interests that were mine, and mine alone; I lived alone and I ate what I enjoyed eating.

Somewhere over the last couple years I feel like I’ve let some of that “self discovery” disappear. I still know my passions, but I’ve found out that I’m still quite susceptible to slipping into pretend mode. I don’t do it on purpose, and Idont even realize I’m doing it, but I think I am.

Lately I find myself silently telling myself to “Let’s pretend that,” which is most often followed with “every-thing’s OK.” Whether it’s when I’m dealing with my family, my friends, or relationships- I feel like I’ve somehow trained myself  (as improvisers say) to “yes and” every situation that I’m in, until I establish what I’m dealing with. Once I know what role I’m supposed to play, I’m nice and ready  to take part in the newest “long form” improvised segment of my life.

I realize that everyone does this to an extent, after-all; we’re innately designed to adapt to our current situations. I just think that sometimes I need to completely remove myself from the stage so that I can reevaluate my real life.

I’ve found that over the last few years, I’ve started developing a habit of agreeing with peoplewhen I don’t really believe what they are saying to be true. Sometimes when I’m with certain people who expect me to be “on,” I put on a schtick because I know it will make them happy.

I still don’t think there is necessarily anything wrong with this. I’m a people pleaser. I’m a person of many faces. I enjoy being both ofthose things. The problem with my pretending is that at some point, if I ever want to keep moving forward in my starring role, I have to really establish my own character. I need to figure out the details of what makes me. I need to take note of what I love. Just as if I were performing in an improv scene, I have to ask myself these questions.

 If I’m going to go to the store to buy a bottle of wine, what wine would I  really want to drink ? If I’m going to spend $23.99 on an itunes audio book, what book would really make me happy? If I walk into a crowded coffee shop, where would I most likely sit, in a corner by myself, or would I sit down with a group of people?

Playing myself is a weird concept when I really start to think about it. I’ve started keeping a notebook with me again. This time, instead of jotting down ideas for sketches or blogs, I’ve just been writing down things that I like and things that I don’t like. I’ve already collected 20 pages that are now filled with phrases like “I could replace wine with grapes and be happy forever.”  Or “I really don’t like short shorts on men.” It’s been interesting really- recording facts about myself that I’ve never verbally admitted in the past.

I’m not sure what I’m planning on doing with my “Glossary of myself,” or my  ”Glossarme” as I’ve started to call it, but I guess I’m hoping that it will help me to move on. There are so many choices, so many options in this life- and I just have to gather up all the information I know about my character, and keep developing new scenes until I find myself in one organically progresses.

NOTE: *I’ve been in major self-reflection mode the last few weeks, so bare with me while I work some of this out on paper. I’ve decided that I’m not going to forwarn you or apologize anytime I feel inspired to go a bit sappy, it’s just where I am right now. And so is your face. So there.

Yeah I’m one of those…

I don’t believe the people that say they aren’t afraid of death. The same people who claim to be OK with the fact that at any second they could cease to exist, will  claim to fear clowns, spiders and heights. I can’t tell you how often I’ve heard  something like “I’m not afraid of reaching my expiration date, I mean it happens to everybody… but put me in a room with a rabid tiger and I’ll shit my pants.”

While I can admit that the image of a giant cat foaming at the mouth with Cujo eyes scares the bejeezus out of me, what I’m really afraid of is what’s going to happen once those demon teeth crunch my body in half. Even though I’m a little scared of the pain that this situation is going to inflict on my sensitive skin, what really concerns me is what will become of me after it’s all said and done. It’s death.

A couple of years ago I came up with this theory that every fear- no matter how minute or irrelevant it may seem- is actually a manifestation of a fear of death. If a person says they are afraid of spiders, they are actually afraid of getting stung and dying. When person is afraid of “flying,” what they’re actually afraid of “crashing and dying.” When someone says they are scared of rotoscope animation, they’re are actually afraid that the anxiety that those rotoscope freaks of art gives her is going to cause her to have a heart attack and subsequently die.

Even as a kid I was obsessed with all things “scary.” My mom got me fixed on horror movies at the ripe age of five.  ”Fixed” really is the best way to describe it, because it becomes an addiction, doesn’t it? When I wasn’t sitting Indian style  in front of the television watching Child’s Play or Pet Cemetary 2  for the thirteenth time, I was in my room in the dark, willing myself to really believe that there was a giant slug  like creature under my bed, just waiting for me to let one of my limbs make it’s way over to the side of the bed so it could slurp me up with it’s giant snake like tongue.

Looking back, it wasn’t really the “slake” that I was afraid of. At that age, I wasn’t yet jaded enough to assume that every ugly creature was bad. I’d seen enough film to know not to  judge a monster by his appearance. I mean really. The filmmakers of my youth were really quite obsessed with pushing my generation to fall in love with the monster. They taught me that a shriveled, turd-like alien could end up being my best friend. They taught me that that a fire breathing Luckdragon might just be my ride to safety. They taught me to be aware that if I ever came across a deformed giant while searching for buried treasure, he was more likely to crave nut-filled candy bars than my own flesh and guts.

But for all of the monsters Hollywood has taught me to love, it also taught me that for every Gizmo, there are 500 Spikes.

Which is precisely why I never let my legs hang over the side of the bed. I didn’t know whether or not I could trust it. I was scared of getting eaten to death.

 I still crave fear, but my fears have shifted over the years. While the idea of monsters and ghosts  still get my blood pumping, I no longer have to leap five feet to get out of my bed in the middle of the night just to avoid coming Slake’s dinner.  Gone are the days when I would push the pee out of me as fast as I could and run back to bed without wiping or flushing for fear that if I sit there long enough, the toilet monster will chomp me up until I look like the result of bad hangover.  What used to scare me, now excites me.

Now I spend my time thinking about more grown up scary things that might lead to my demise. I fear that all those doodle bugs in LA’s bathroom are a sign that a brown recluse is living in my house, just waiting to kill me. I’m scared that I’ll get eaten by a shark if I go out too far into the ocean. I fear that a tornado will come and rip me to shreds and scatter me all the way to Wyoming. And I’m scared that a man in a mask will come and shoot me death when I’m walking to my car at night. (Especially that last one since it almost happened. )

But mostly I fear everyday not-always-scary things. Every time I go to push an electrical cord into a socket, I fear that I have forgotten that I have just washed my hands, and that I’m about to turn myself into bacon. I can’t step out of the shower without imagining myself slipping on a puddle and hitting my head on the toilet, then I somehow manage to catch myself with the shower curtain… but when I grab it I slip again and the shower curtain wraps itself around my neck and I strangle to death. Every time I prepare to walk down the stairs I just know that I’m going to slip and fall, coming to a skidding halt at the bottom of the stairs where my head will hit an unforseen giant nail and I will lie there slowly dying in my own pool of  guts while my roommate’s Bassett Hound gnaws away at my legs because she’ll eat absolutely anything.

Actually, that last one about falling down the stairs almost happened last week. It wasn’t the greatest fall I’ve ever taken, but it was the greatest fall I’ve ever had without an alcohol shield.

I was carrying a load of garbage downstairs before work, and was still wearing my so called “no slip” footies when I lost my balance at the top of the stairs. I hit my head on the first stair, and on every stair that followed. As I fell, I had one of those moments they have in the movies when your whole life flashes before your eyes. I swear. I saw my parents, my dog, my sister, my 9th grade Science teacher and a grilled egg and cheese sandwich. When the momentum of the front door halted my tumble, I lay there in complete quiet for a few moments to access my situation. I couldn’t tell if I was dead or if it was just dark because it was 5:30AM and I hadn’t turned on any of the lights yet. I was afraid to try to move bcause I didn’t want to find out that my soul was no longer connected to my body.

Death I tell you, it really gets to me.

But alas, it turns out I could move. My head wasn’t bleeding and there was no dog eating away at my spilling guts. Besides a few bruised ribs, I wasn’t even hurt at all.

Since I survived, I figure I should tell you my near death revelation that discounts my whole “every fear is actually a fear of death” theory.

While I was lying there, I realized that there was something that I feared that wasn’t a fear of death itself per se, but it was more of a fear of what would happen happen the fact.

I thought, If I’m dead, and Shelby gets full before she eats every bite of me up, and the Dexter people are able to figure out that I died after taking a great fall down the stairs… then all of my friends are going to get to say “That Carissa, I always knew she’d die falling down the stairs. HAHA oh that Carissa.”

 In a moment of self pity, I decided to look back on all the horrible times I’ve had in my life so I could prove just how awful of a run I’ve had.

Sadly, I couldn’t come up with much.

Oh sure there are times that I’ve been angry. There are times that I’ve been hurt. There are times where I’ve felt rage enough to verbally wish bloody diarreah upon someone else’s life.

I just can’t seem to remember mostof those times with any clarity.

I don’t know whether I’ve pushed them out of my mind because I don’t like to dwell on the bad stuff, or if I’ve pushed them from my mind because I don’t like to sweat the small stuff. Either way, they’ve nearly all vanished from my memory.

Most of the times that I can still recall being upset, I can now look back upon and realize that I was being over dramatic, and in some cases I can even find humor in those situations. There are a few instances that still cause my core to ache, but even those have dulled over time. Half of my memories in which I can recall being upset, I can’t even remember who or what caused my anger in the first place.

Anger is a funny emotion like that. It seems to come in spurts that are stronger than most of my other emotions, but in most cases, it seems to fade just as quickly as it sets in.

The times that I can recall having the strongest anger seem to fit into 1 of 2 categories.

1. When things don’t go my way due to people.

2. When things don’t go my way due to the ways of the universe.

When a situation falls into the first category, I tend to realize my bratty ways and get over it fairly quickly.

When a situation falls into the second category it gets a little more sticky. It’s pretty simple to forgive someone for having a different opinion or for not feeling the same way that you do. But when life throws you a situation that you never planned to have to deal with, it’s hard to understand why. It leaves me wandering if I did something wrong in my past… if karma has reared it’s ugly head to pay me back for something that I can’t remember doing.

This week I’ve been dealing with anger that stems from a situation that falls very neatly into both of these categories. It’s left me questioning everything from my ability to judge the character of people that I have let into my life, to my faith and my beliefs. This is an anger like I’ve never felt before. It’s crept it’s way into every part of my being, into my core. It’s caused a variety of other emotions as a result. I’ve pain in my heart that’s more real than the pain described in any country song, I’ve felt jealousy towards people I don’t even know, nor would want to know. I feel anguish and dispair and have had moments when I’ve loathed God or whatever being is in charge of my destiny. More than anything, I’ve felt anger towards myself for not knowing how to deal with an unwanted situation better, for not being able to make a decision, for not expecting the worst, and for feeling all of these emotions towards a situation that I cannot control.

I’ve spent every moment of the last week trying to figure out my next move. I thought about the ways I’ve dealt with anger in my past. With petty situations, I’ve used harshed words or childish actions to act out in an effort to fill the void that anger leaves in my soul. I’ve yelled and cried and through fits in my car. I’ve taken it out on people who have had absolutely nothing to do with my anger.

This time though, I knew egging a car or saying mean things to people I care about wouldn’t help. Even saying things to people who are directly involved with the situation won’t change anything. This one is all on me. I’ve found a way to internalize everything, which, as it turns out, doesn’t help any more than taking it out on others. I’ve spent the last week making myself into the enemy. I’ve pu and cried more than I ever have in my life.

Last night though, something happened. I was aimlessly walking through a grocery store,  staring at the 100′s of different types of teas, trying to find something that might help me sleep when a woman pulled up her cart next to mine. She was all up in my space. She laughed and tried to make small-talk about how there were “SOOOOO many different varieties,” “How will I EVER CHOOSE?” Then she selected a simple green tea, but before she walked off she patted me on the back and smiled a huge smile, and told me she hoped I had a blessed evening.

I didn’t smile back, but just sat there with frown. She paused for a moment with a look of worry, and I put my head down so she wouldn’t try to ask what was wrong. She finally took her tea and her cart and left me alone in the aisle.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that moment. I didn’t smile back… and it didn’t feel good. It was obvious that my not smiling back had effected her in some way and that is bothering the hell out of me. It irks me more than anything when I make the effort to smile at someone, and they don’t smile back. I mean… it only takes minimal effort to feign happiness, and it always makes you feel a little better.

I spent the entirety of today trying to smile at everyone I saw in an effort to make up for the lady I shunned yesterday at the grocery store. I made small talk with the gas station attendant. I tried to really mean it when I answered the phone with “Good Morning,” today at work. I even smiled at the dude  who took his precious time walking across the street this morning causing me to be late.

It kind of felt good. I’m still upset, and I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do, but I do know that just by faking a little bit of happiness, I feel a little better about life. I’m feeling a little more positive, and that whatever I decide to do next, life will be ok. It almost always works out in one way or another.

My point is this. There is truth to the lyrics of the Charlie Chaplin composed song, “Smile,” even when you feel like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

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