Blisters

Thinking about him is like having a five day old blister on the inside of your thumb. You no longer suffer the pain from the initial popping and tearing of the skin, but every once in a while you'll stretch your hand too far open and a tiny fissure will rip open, leaving you bleeding once again. And to make matters worse, that little blister on your thumb comes from a happier time. A time when thinking about him only brought smiles. A time when you were using a staple gun to fix the backyard fence to keep the neighbor's dog in the neighbor's yard.

I woke up thinking about him, like I have every morning since we started going out. And for the first time in four days I was able to do so without any tears forming in my eyes. The blister is healing. I know it's there, but it doesn't hurt to touch it anymore. I've been waiting for the day when I can make it a whole 24 hrs without crying. I almost did it yesterday, but when I got home from the movie theater with my friend Kris (he hadn't seen Harry Potter yet and needed someone to go with), I decided to test how much my blister had healed, and I stretched my thumb a little farther than I should have by texting Chris. I knew it would hurt, but it hurt more than I thought it would. The tears came yet again.

But today is the day. I will not cry today. I am going to force my blistered, broken heart to heal once and for all. I love this man, but I'm done crying over him.

I think it's time to return his things.

*Edit 6:44PM:  Mission failed. I don't think I'll ever stop crying.

A Future Forgotten

Dear Chris,

I'm sorry I couldn't be the woman you wanted.

Sincerely,
Your Recently Ex-Girlfriend

We were perfectly un-perfect for each other, and I knew it from the beginning. The way he described his perfect woman was nothing like the way you would describe me, but I held on, thinking things would work out. Almost a year and a half passed before we finally came to this realization together. We sat down on his bed- our bed- and we talked about the things that worked and didn't work about "us"... mostly the things that didn't. I wouldn't say he broke up with me, or that I broke up with him, only that "we broke up". I cried and cried last night. Yes, this only happened yesterday, but I woke up at 6:30 this morning and couldn't go back to sleep. Whereas I finally got my mind to stop thinking about him long enough last night for my swollen eyes to let me drift asleep, it seemed impossible this morning.

By the time my best friend drove me home, my whole family already knew. And I already knew that the whole future I had planned out for myself was over. I could already see myself married to him. Having his children. Living in Santa Barbara... Chris, on the other hand did not. At least not with me. What am I going to do now? So much of what I have done in my life thus far has been for him. So I could prove myself to him... and to myself as well. I don't feel completely without purpose though. Because of him I finally feel like I have a direction in life.

I know this break-up was probably for the better for both of us, but I don't want it to be. I love him. I don't want to let him go. He says this isn't the end of us, just the end of our romantic relationship... but I don't know if I can. I gave him back his house key. That was one of the hardest things I had to do. I don't know if I can go back to his house again. There are too many memories there. How am I not supposed to look up the stairs to our bedroom and not imagine him with someone else up there...?

I'm shattered and broken and feeling so lost without him, but I refuse to break down again. I had to de-Chris my bedroom last night before I could sleep. Shove all his things into a trashbag to be returned... though I don't know when I'll be able to do that. Even when I thought I got all of it, right before I laid down I saw a picture on the wall from Disneyland- my birthday, our third month anniversary.

I really don't know where to end this post. I guess here is as good a place as any...

Number 2... and a tattoo?

Alrighty then, blog post number two.

I have always been number two in my family (I'm pretty sure it's because I was born second). And having one older sister and one younger brother, I also suffered from that so called "Middle Child Syndrome". Tiffany got to do everything first, because she was the oldest, and Matthew, being the youngest and the baby of the family, got all the "special treatment".

I was always told to learn from my sister's mistakes. My parents rules always applied to her first. "No boyfriend until you're 16," "no piercings other than you ears," "no tattoos!!!!!," "no drinking," "no smoking," etc. All pretty normal rules for children. Well, since my sister was the oldest, and I seemed to be the "goody-good" as my little brother always referred to me as, Tiffany got the most preaching done to her: "Stand up straight!" Tiffany, being well over six feet tall, was always getting told to stand up straight. No one ever told me, because I wasn't tall enough to be bothered with, and so I developed a slouch (which I've been trying to correct -sits up straighter a little straighter-).

But that's the way it's always been. I would hear my parents telling Tiffany the things she shouldn't/isn't allowed to do, but it was usually directed at her and not myself. Now I know I can't use that as an excuse for what happened on my 19th birthday, but it really sticks out in my mind. When I turned 19 I got a tattoo without telling my parents. Now, it might not seem like that big of a deal- a 19 year old getting a tattoo- but for me it was a big step in establishing my "adult-ism". When I came home and showed my parents, one of the first things they said was, "How many times did we tell Tiffany no tattoos?". Well that's nice, but you never told me no tattoos. Of course I didn't say that to them, but I was definitely thinking it.

But that's all in the past and since then, I think my parents have been more forward with trying to lay down the law, so to speak. I'm 21 now, still living with my parents unfortunately, but plotting my escape. As soon as I can afford it, I will be free.

Organized Chaos

ox·y·mo·ron /ˌäksəˈmôrˌän/
Noun: A figure of speech in which apparently contradictory terms appear in conjunction (e.g., faith unfaithful kept him falsely true)

I've always loved this word for some reason. Oxymoron. Haha, even the word oxymoron itself is an oxymoron. Anyway, what brings this to mind has to do with my weekend plans. I'm going camping with my family. Whenever there is a big family trip planned, there is always, always organized chaos! My mother will try to her hardest to get us kids ready to go, and will always try to organize the supplies (and us) the best way she can, but it always ends up being pretty chaotic. She'll end up yelling, and we always end up packing last minute anyways.

I've learned over the years to just ignore her impatience. I know she doesn't mean anything by it. I try my best to stay on her good side, but sometimes you've just got to sit there and take it. This time the chaos has been kept to a minimum. Everyone was on their best behavior! We've got our bags mostly packed and a bunch of camping supplies sitting out in the living room.

Don't get me wrong, I love going on trips with my family, it's the getting ready for those trips that is the difficult part :P Once we get going on the road, everything gets settled! I guess it's a good thing that my mother can be so strict at these times, that way we don't end up being completely unprepared [<--oxymoron (; ].

Well, this is my first post, and I'm leaving in the morning to go on another adventure! Hopefully I will be able to stay on my mother's good side. Wish me luck!