Today I am taking an early 9:30 AM break because I had to switch my hours from 630-330 today, when they are usually 8-5. Today is my two week check up since putting Baby P to rest. Saying it this way helps the process instead of saying “Today is my two week check up since Baby P was removed”…yeah, I don’t like that so much.
I am most creative in the mornings, I love mornings & I’ve always been a morning person. Likewise, I love going to bed at 9:00 PM, if able. Since I was young, I’ve been creative…I would day dream in class about the next art project I would make when I get home, or I would doodle flowers non-stop over everything. I am a day dreamer anyways, I remember countless scenarios I have made up in my head about a different life, a made up story about a girl, I’ve even written many short stories that I have actually trashed because honestly, I know no one would read them. I love the person that I am, I love being able to look at things differently than others. Take my wedding for example, I had a vision, a vision that no one else saw, so I did it myself.
Honestly, I had some help from a select few people who saw pieces of my vision, but for the most part, I designed my dress, the table decor, the small details, etc. It all came together and the number of people who looked at me astonished, that I did this all myself was pretty gratifying. Even when it comes to decorating my house, my classroom, applying make up, or getting myself dressed, I consider myself lucky to be able to look at something as a whole piece of art and add in little details that make things aesthetically pleasing to someone. I know this can make it sound like everything I do for the public eye is for show, but that’s not the case. How I present myself to the world, how I present my house, my classroom, my life as a whole gives said audience a look at who I am as a person. Life is too short to hide what you like and who you are.
I struggled in middle school finding out who I was, and into high school even. I remember looking at my gorgeous friends and thinking “wow, they know who they are.” Honestly, maybe they did or didn’t, but they sure made me believe it. I look back at pictures and see how my style, make up, look in general has changed and I can pinpoint where I was at in my life. Middle school, I had glasses, wore cat t-shirts, and my guardian angel pin. True story. I was trying to please my mom and dad. My mom loved cats, and I remember getting the pin as a gift from my dad when I was in the hospital back in third grade. It was those little things that I would do to tell my parents, “look at me, I’m showcasing everything you like so you can love me more.” Sad, but true…I was a people pleaser, and still at almost 25 years old, I still am.
Come 7th grade, my sister was popular in high school, with boys and girls. She was gorgeous and still is 10 years later. She wore make up, had style, and sometimes did some not so “good girl things”. (sneaking out with our parents Shannon, never works) But back when I was 11-12 years old I swore up and down I would not turn into my sister, because my parents got frustrated with her a lot, she was a teen, but now as I was soon approaching high school I saw that the way she presented herself, said something. So summer of 7th grade, I discovered make up, highlighted my hair, and ditched the cat shirts and glasses. I fit in now. But I wasn’t happy. Nor were some of my friends. “She’s wearing make up just so the boys like her.” “She’s changed so much since 6th grade, she wants to be us.” These are just the comments that I can skim off the top of that middle school boiling pot of sh*t that most girls go through sadly. 7th grade was pure torture…it was then that I had my first taste of depression. I remember coming home from school and getting a terrible, sick feeling in my stomach for no apparent reason. I would sit there and think, what did I do wrong, did I say something today that would back fire, did I do something embarrassing that I’m going to get made fun of for tomorrow. I would rack my brain and depict every situation I encountered and sat agonizing about it because I was convinced that I was an outcast, no one noticed me in a positive way.
8th grade arrived and I grew more into myself over the summer. People grew up too. Most of 7th grade was left in the dust. Now this was middle school people, no one should be held accountable for how they acted back then, unless they are still that same ugly person they were. However, I can happily say, this is not the case. Even though I grew into myself as a person, I was touchy. If I had something in my teeth, or dry skin on my nose, or my make up was wrong, or a zit..and someone pointed it out I folded. I would almost be brought to tears because I wasn’t perfect, someone pointed out a flaw about myself that I was aware of most of the time, but it just showed that how you look to someone is everything. When you walk into a room you are immediately judged, and you can fight that all you want but it’s true. I was a weak person and sometimes I still am. I hate when someone doesn’t like me, and digging up the past, I can obviously see where this comes from. It’s another negative tally next to my name, and in this particular time in my life, I was marking up tally’s all day.
—I know you are probably reading this and wondering why I’m divulging into my past again…and I promise I will wrap it up soon and get to the point.—
So….lets fast forward (my favorite thing to do) and get to high school where there was a fair share of drama and fights. But high school was also the place that I began to SLOOOWWWLLLY figure out who I was. My sophomore year was a year filled with best friends, wrestling, wrestlers, drinking, smoking, boys, & trouble. I put wrestlers and wrestling in there because honestly, if any of my friends have found themselves reading or skimming my blog again, they will laugh because they were all we cared about, and to this day… a lot of them are still my good friends I see and talk to frequently. We all had crushes on them…….. ok, that’s all I’m going to say about that. (Hot tub nights, playing bridges, drinking, and guitar hero)–ahh nostalgia. But high school I got my first real job. I worked almost every night 4-9 at our local grocery store, and it’s here that I honestly developed work ethic and learned that working in costumer service is a headache and it required a lot of fake smiling. “Did you find everything okay ma’am?”–When in my head I really wanted to finish this phrase with “I honestly don’t care if you did or didn’t because either way I’m ringing up these groceries.” High school I got my first serious boyfriend..who actually turned into my husband. My high school year I was voted best dressed..which yes I did prod some people in the back to win…and I graduated with what? 110 people in my class? but hey, I won…and it meant something to me. Now, I’m just a dusty photograph in another year book, but at that time, 2007-2008 I was best dressed in my senior class, a small victory to all the years I sat thinking no one noticed me. I began getting compliments frequently about my make up and asking fashion advice. I had a different vision than most, and I liked it. Then, one day I got a tattoo.
I went by myself, I believe, maybe one of my friends came, but for the most part it was a silent decision that I made. What did I get? A letter B with a heart in the middle. Why did I get it? Because at the time, no one else of my friends had a tattoo and it was a quiet “my dad’s going to be so pissed” triumph. I told one person and suddenly, I remember my friend Dustin White running down to the commons and said “let me see it!!!!”. It honestly was nothing that spectacular, just a $50 tattoo, hell I didn’t even tip the guy because I didn’t know any better. But it was special to me, it was my little secret and something that made me a little bit different from other people, which is weird because just a few years ago, being just like everyone else was all I wanted. It’s called enlightenment people, I wanted to be just a little bit different than others. “She’s got a little bit of something, God it’s better than nothing”-Matchbox Twenty
to be continued