peace with myself feels so elusive

today, i feel afloat in search of grace but it’s nowhere to be found. i want it so bad after the series of events in my life. i called L immediately after I heard the outcome of the interview process and i didn’t get the job. i was disappointed, upset, but more upset about how everything in recent memory has turned out.

i sobbed, bawled on my way to TJ Maxx and Whole Foods, out in the open for passers-by to see. i didn’t have a kleenex but that didn’t matter. i was thinking about how the job hadn’t worked out and how differently i would have processed it if everything hadn’t happened like it had. i was thinking back to the concept of grace and how it has nothing to do with whether we deserve it or not (we all deserve grace) and how i’ve realized that i’ve felt like i never deserved good things. like is it just me? or is the universe? like when i had a hunch or suspicion or maybe it’s all in my head that i thought there was a cost to july. that july was too good to be true, that people like me don’t get things like july for free. we don’t get to feel that happy. we don’t get to feel like things are falling into place. we don’t get to feel like things are going to be all right. we don’t say “wow. here’s some grace for me!”. i always felt like it came at a cost. and when everyone said “you didn’t DESERVE what happened to you!”, i kept wondering if that was true. like i’ve always felt like i couldn’t have it all. like i couldn’t be happy in my personal life and also my professional life. that when things seemed like they were really good in july, it all got taken from me.

that’s the resentment, isn’t it? that’s the resentment. it’s not resentment that someone treated me like that. no, it’s that he snatched it all away. by it, i mean all the good things. things were going well. because i was never sure if i deserved good things. i was never sure if i deserved to be happy, to feel like i was in love and that someone else loved me too. i never thought i could have it all. always weary that something else would happen and spoil it all. like i could only have one thing at a time. no, i resented that so much. because i thought i deserved that, that i could have it all, but it didn’t matter in the end. i had to fucking heal this wound myself and i wanted something to come back my way, to say “sorry this happened to you” and i wanted it to be that job. that things would fall into place when i had just started piecing together the puzzle and then someone fucking sandblasted it all. and here i am now.

and i thought the other day how even now, even after everything, in the group chat, he is funny. he made me laugh and now we are not friends. and i guess maybe it made me remember what i was missing by cutting him out of my life. and maybe he is down too but he brought me down with him. and i have tried so fucking hard to “work” on myself and i am so pissed off. i am so frustrated that i have to do all this fucking work on my own. i have applied for so many fucking jobs, i have invested so much time in my friendships, spent so much time interrogating myself, going to therapy, journaling, going for walks and runs and everything in between to try to make sense of it all. and the worst part is how alone i feel. even now as i called my parents, i feel so fucking alone. i feel like i was abandoned and i was. i was abandoned in august and i’m told all the time i need to find some fucking compassion for myself. do you know how fucking hard that is? doing all this shit and it feels like it’s for nothing. like what is at the end of this fucking tunnel? people’s well wishes, telling me to “stay strong”. god, i am so fucking tired of all of this. i am so fucking exhausted. i am depleted. i am empty. nothing has made me feel fulfilled. absolutely nothing.

everything is fucking fleeting. everything comes and goes and then at the end of the day, i am left remembering that i was abandoned when i thought things were getting good. i lost my partner in crime, i lost my person. and now i just have myself and i work so hard on trying to be okay and it feels like all this hard work bears no fruit. like i am bitter. of course i am bitter. i am bitter that all my plans for this semester went to shit. you don’t know how fucking exhausting it’s all been. the number of phone calls i’ve made just to emotionally heal. like have you seen my fucking face and how bad my skin looks??? have you seen me walk to school crying? looking absolutely dead? looking so empty? i want compassion for myself! i want some grace for myself! I want something to come my way that makes me feel like things will be all right. i wanted that fucking job. i wanted it to solve everything. don’t i deserve it? like don’t i deserve good things? don’t i deserve all the good things?

instead, i feel like i am all by myself in this. i feel like the timing couldn’t be worse. i feel so much fucking resentment. because it could have turned out so differently but it didn’t. because i could have been happier and i’m not. all because of one person’s actions and decisions. all those things ruined my happiness, and i am so consumed with how i feel like i didn’t deserve to have it all. i couldn’t be happy and successful and healthy. like i had to choose or something. and maybe that’s on me. i don’t know. i don’t know. i just… it was his actions. it was his choices. i blame him. i have all this resentment.

but having all this resentment changes nothing. but i don’t know how to heal. i’ve been trying for so many fucking months. i haven’t healed quickly enough. not completely enough. i just keep thinking about how my life would have been easier if things hadn’t happened the way they had. maybe the grass is greener on the other side, but i feel so hurt. when i was walking to TJ Maxx, I reflected that why he still makes me emotional is because I still feel so fucking hurt. I feel so hurt by what he did and he was never really sorry. and that is infuriating but also i feel helpless, i don’t know what to do about that. how to heal my own wound, how to get over it, how to move on, how to be strong, how to find compassion for myself. this has been the worst crash course ever.

this ruined my life. i don’t think that’s an exaggeration. this ruined my fucking life. my physical health is worse. my mental health is worse. my mental health is SO much worse. like i actually experience depression in degrees i hadn’t previously. i wanted one thing to go right. ONE THING. and that couldn’t go right. and now i have been crying at my keyboard for over 10 minutes. i am still… flabbergasted. i am still in shock. i’m still in disbelief. why??????? whyyyy???? why can’t i accept the truth? because i thought out of everyone, he wouldn’t hurt me, that he wouldn’t let me down, that he wouldn’t betray me. and then he did and i am overcome with emotion.

and now that the semester has ended, i feel like i am always just short of finding peace and being all right. i make friends but i still don’t feel like people are there for me. i form a new relationship and something is still missing, something that doesn’t make me feel fulfilled. i get interviews but i haven’t gotten the offer. i get invited to events and get-togethers, but they’re all so expensive for someone who isn’t working or they’re events that feel like there are too many people and i feel sick. nothing is ever pure. i want pure happiness. i want something to go RIGHT. i want, i want, i want.

i am being selfish and i think i need to be. i just am so fed up with everything. i am so fucking sad all the fucking time. i am always miserable. life painted gray. why??? like why can’t i attain good things? why can’t things go right? why can’t things fall into place? i know i sound so entitled, but man, you don’t know how hard it has been. like i feel like i’m at the end of my rope… like why can’t things just go all right for once? why can’t multiple things fall into place at once? why is there always a caveat? why did something so sinister happen to me in august and i feel like i’m being an asshole asking the universe to show me some grace. like…. is there some good coming my way that doesn’t feel like there are stipulations to it? like…. is there some good coming my way that doesn’t feel like i should be weary, that i should count my blessings because they’ll be snatched away from me again?

With L, I am very flattered and happy that he wants a relationship with me. But I’m not there emotionally. Or maybe it’s not the right relationship. I can’t tell. Already, a stipulation. Already, if I get a different job and it happens to be in a different state, it’s like I won’t know what could happen afterward. I feel like for so many people, things have worked out and I want that so badly for myself. I want that. Oh my goodness.

alternative trip to orlando

in this hypothetical trip to orlando, there is no trek to disney world, which means that yes, this trip is blasphemous, yes, this is for ulterior motives, no darling, you shouldn’t have done it, we all know why you’re here. but then here i am, in this thought exercise. i land at the orlando airport flanked by children on vacation and strollers and mickey mouse ears, and i am here for self-inflicted pain that i call closure. i am not sure what to call it, actually. maybe a fanatic. maybe that’s what you call someone who wants to see the scene of a crime for the first time where she is the victim.

the first stop is the ice factory, i guess. that’s where there were three days spent. maybe you go in, you walk around before they ask you what you’re doing, but as someone who is familiar with hockey rinks and other winter activities, you know how to lie. you say you’re here to watch a friend on the ice and they lead you to the bleachers and you sit by yourself amid the dim florescent lights where all the good light has been trained onto the ice, and you imagine you are her, sitting there watching your ex-lover do what he told you he was doing in this city. you sit for a while until your cheeks are comfortably numb and you go back into the humid cover of florida to suffer further.

the second stop are maybe the homes where he has stayed. both from the trip of the infamous betrayal and also his college house. you drive slow, you park, pretend you’re looking for directions. no one would suspect you to be a trespasser and you’re not really a trespasser, merely a curious tourist, an observer really, with morbid curiosity of a trivia fact that’s only relevant to three people. what are you looking for but peace with yourself? you would never find it here.

afterward, you go to the bars. the restaurants. i don’t know. the shops. not the touristy places. you’re going where the locals go. you feel numb. you’re not looking to drink. everybody doesn’t understand why you are there. you sit in the noise, you close your eyes, you sway to the top 100 pop music that’s playing dully through the speakers at some american bistro with mediocre chairs and bad lighting. you decide you’ll probably need to apply sunscreen. you realize you’d hate moving here. you are mad at him, you are resentful. you remember that you’ve told the other boy that you’re not ready for a relationship yet because you still harbor too much emotional resentment over what happened to you. and so what do you do? you go to the scene of the adultery. you go to the scene of the crime and you immerse yourself in it. you are convert and you’re being baptized in it. drink it up then, baby. that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? What closure are you seeking here? to feel like you’ve seen the crime scene and now you can imagine scenarios in your head better? clearer? more realistically?

you cry. you sob. you spend three nights in some marriott-brand hotel and you write in your journal, you sob some more, you listen to music you shouldn’t listen to. you brush your hand against the humidity that seeps into every crevice of your soul, hoping that the answer is somewhere there, that salvation is there, that peace with yourself is there in self-punishment, in self-endurance, which by your definition is simply enduring yourself, enduring the pain of living with yourself.

but love, that is not peace. you will never find peace with yourself here. imagine yourself elsewhere, ideally where you are now in grey, damp, new york. with its damped sidewalks and barren trees. with running shoes dodging dog shit, jaywalking on main streets and little streets, throwing out trash that stinks up your entire apartment. you are in the now, you are here, this is where you are, this is reality and where it hurts the most. you want the scene of the crime? follow the victim. you want to wrap it up? hold yourself tightly. peace with yourself comes from acknowledging the hurt and then letting it go. the scene of the crime will get cleaned up one day but the traces of it, the memories… they will always be there. they will feel crystal clear in the first few weeks but slowly they will fade. and life continues, life goes on. don’t you remember that brutal fact? the city will move on and charge forward where the yellow tape has been taken down or it’s billowing in the wind. people will move on. people have places to go, lives to live. you’ve got a life to live too. you’ve got jobs to apply for and jobs to secure! you’ve got phone calls and emails with good news to answer and open. you’ve got a life that is in the now whether you like it or not. the pain of remember what happened makes it feel like suffering through it is necessity, and it is, but you always can’t stay there, stagnant. you have to move on. hotels and motels for life! life is transient, life moves with or without you. it won’t wait.

the tomorrow, the someday you desperately kept wishing for is here. it’s now, baby.

so unpack that suitcase. don’t get on this flight. this alternate trip is one for locked up dreams. let’s not revisit scenes of long-ago crimes. you hate ghost stories anyway.

alternate universe for this moment now

i am happy.

i am happy and we are still friends. we meet for coffee after my run and i tell him about my day. i tell him about the man in my life and about restaurants i’ve been trying and i do not worry about how i come off to him in case he labels me elitist, privileged, a “downtown” person. i’m not careful to tread invisible waters where sharks swim and he doesn’t judge me for everything that makes me happy. he is not seething in jealousy and judgement. i pay for coffee; i do not go home with him. i host a party on friday and he is invited and i am too busy hosting and mingling to notice what he is up to in my small apartment where there is no space to hide. i go out with all my friends dancing and we are happy, elated.

i go to dinner with another group of friends for new years celebrations and he is never mentioned, unrelated to any taboo. we are friends and we are happy and there is so much peace, so much that my neighborhood and all my friends are sick of it. in this universe, i do not cry at the tail end of my run. he does not avoid my neighborhood as he meanders through this city. our names slip out of each other’s mouths carelessly, non-chalantly. there is no gravity to those names. i’m not even sure what charade we’re doing, what dance we’re doing for there is none. we are happy because we never ended up together, i never fell in love with him.

i am yearning for something though. in this universe, i feel this great sense of loneliness and emptiness and i can’t place it. i can’t find it in the man i’m with. i dance with my friends and i don’t cherish how special these friends are, how much they’ve got my back when things get tough. i go home to see family and i have nothing remarkable to tell them about my life. i don’t ever cry. i don’t ever cry. i don’t ever cry. at night. during the day. outside on a walk. i am never wiping my eyes. i am never avoiding sad songs. i am never avoiding songs about betrayal or moving on or heartbreak. i don’t put on headphones late at night and sob. songs don’t remind me of him. little things don’t remind me of him. i don’t count pimples on my forehead that never existed before, cortisol levels oscillating wildly. i don’t swing fire doors open and anxiously wait for them to bang close as if it’s some type of omen that things will be all right. i don’t chase street lights or walk around outlines on the sidewalk like superstitions for better things. i don’t write this. i don’t write alternate universes where i am unfazed and unscathed by men who show me through 70 acts how they don’t love me.

i am not hurt, i am not hurt. i am not hurt. there is not this deep wound that i’m just supposed to heal. i don’t think back to quora answers about how yes, the wound was created externally, but it’s my wound now. i don’t know what this, what this feels like. i don’t move closer to salvation though it is so, so, so painful.

it’s been three and a half months of no contact and i count the days carefully. i wish it hurt less than it does, i wish i were happier. i don’t regret it, no. i don’t wish i were in this alternate universe where i’m not hurt. i want something so bad and it’s not that.

i want peace with myself.

how much i’ve learned and changed

i realized something the other day and i had thought about writing about it in my physical journal but i thought in the end, it didn’t matter. it’s easier sometimes to write long posts here. the truth is, i realized that I was in love with him. that my love was enduring, it was a slow burn, that it was unflappable and steady, never capricious, never extremely intense. that i only realized this not from how i felt about him in moments, but when i realized that when a different boy had the same flaws i couldn’t look past them. talking too much, taking up all the conversation: something that bothers me about the new boy, but with the old one, the one who betrayed me the most, i adored it. he even would call himself out on it, apologizing for talking too much, and i always said it was fine and i meant it. i could hear him talk for hours about anything, even if it were super pedestrian, i loved watching him. i love watching him talk, i loved being in his presence. i adored spending time with him. so much so that i told him this one time and he didn’t say it back. he felt like mine but now i see that i imagined it and it was on me. i loved every part of him. his scent, i still miss dearly. his skin, his hair, all of it, his blank stares into space in my bed. his snores, his sighs, his laugh, the way he gave me awkward back rubs that would leave me hurting the next day, the way he naturally clenched his hands. all of it, i wished i’d savor it just a little more, just a little longer. i’ve thought about why i didn’t touch him more in his sleep, but you never think you’re about to lose it all.

dirty feet perched on my walls, i forgave. i remember cleaning up the marks after he left so my roommate wouldn’t get annoyed, and i didn’t mind at all. everything, absolutely everything, virtually everything, i loved about him in the quietest, most serene of manners. i was in love with this man, this boy. i’ve realized that. i really was. this justifies nothing, it proves nothing in the non-existent quest to convince him that i mattered, that i was worth respecting.

today i went to K’s birthday brunch and afterwards we went to Union Square to The Strand. i realized i’ve lost a lot of weight because i noticed how everyone was bigger than me. something i would never have remarked on in the past. but D brought him up, and I told her that i haven’t talked to him since Oct. And then “I” was so sweet, telling me that it’s on him if he can’t muster up the courage to admit his wrongdoing against his ego. All my friends had my back. I feel angry about this entire situation. I see it differently now. The prism turned slightly. I deserved better, I really did. I deserved to be treated way better than I did, and it comes down to what I do with that knowledge. It’s letting it go and moving on. It’s writing all these notes and slipping them in an envelope to read someday down the line and just moving forward.

i cried on my run today. that’s what i want to start with, the crying, even though it was on the tail end of my lengthy run and coffee-laden meander. it was gloomy today with a small threat of rain, but i was adamant on running because i think i’ve been gaining back some weight and wanted to keep it at bay. i’ve been doing a lot of reading: yesterday i spent 3 hours at the library, but one hour was dedicated to a call with an old co-worker while the rest was an intensive study of Garden State by Rick Moody. I like the book. there is a great sense of place and time like a different reviewer mentioned. There is this angst stemming from economic decline. i like the way it’s written, the word choice, the short sentences. it’s like a distinct writing style like you’re only witnessing moments of the characters’ lives. you also get the sense that the characters are holding back their true intentions, dreams, and desires and they’re slowing being revealed throughout the book. like a slow burn though it always feels like it’s against the backdrop of wooded lots, dreary skies, and unremarkable 90s cars.

I went for my run and redeemed my free coffee. and they gave me 4 complimentary stamps (hush! just between us!), which was very kind of them. an act of goodwill. i needed that. i am thankful for it. maybe it was because they weren’t busy, maybe i seemed nice, maybe he just did it just because. the reason doesn’t matter, it’s the act that matters. it was kind. that’s what i should remember amid all the irony. the act says the most, no reason need be justified.

I walked to the bank and withdrew $50 in anticipation for the comedy show tonight, which i had read on Google charges extra money for credit card transactions and I wanted to keep my expenses at a minimum. I spent part of my run thinking about all the things I’m at the cusp of using up, makeup and hair products that i’ve had for over 5 years or just close to it, how i’m rounding the bend on them. how it’s new beginnings. how i also need to learn how to hem my own pants so I’m not paying $22 – $25 to do so. i’ve been wondering if the old Glossier Haloscope was causing me to break out because i’m pretty sure i’ve been using that one since before the pandemic. there are other beauty products like my Benefit Dr. Feelgood and the very small and stubborn remnants of my Nars bronzer that I should try finishing soon since I was using them well before the pandemic. Not sure if they’re causing breakouts? I’ll take a break from the Dr. Feelgood as these pimples seem to break out and subside and see if new ones pop up without me wearing a lot of makeup.

I browsed Unsubscribed and Rebecca Taylor, the latter to see if more of my pants sold and whether or not they have steeper discounts now. There was a woman there who was buying 2 full racks of clothing, which I suppose is a good deal since the discount is 88% for her. I then walked to Central Park and finished my run and that’s when I cried. I cried because I started listening to So Close by Georgia Ku and NOTD. Then I thought about how I’m supposed to have coffee with J when he comes back to town and I was thinking about what I wanted to tell him. And in my head as I was rehearsing, I thought about how after five months, I am still not over this incident. The cruelty, how someone who was my best friend in New York could do that to me, how betrayed I feel. Then I started tearing up and I couldn’t stop.

Came back and my old coworker texted me about doing a call to catch up and that was actually really nice. Made lunch with avocado, herb salad greens, apple cider vinaigrette, and chick peas. Added a sprinkling of everyday seasoning from TJ. I made more food thinking I would be hungry but after eating my salad I feel full. Maybe I am also sad. Also sad, always so fucking sad, and I don’t know who to be mad at. I guess just myself. Have thought less about him, isn’t that nice? Have wondered if he’s moved on from me and that still hurts, but it’s inevitable. That’s a sign of my holding onto something that I shouldn’t, that I can’t.

Going to shower and maybe eat some of the rice I made. Still awaiting some good news from a job interview I had last week and this week. Oh God. This is so overwhelming. Bless us all.

taking inventory of life after school

it’s been three weeks since i finished school and i’m trying to think what i’ve been up to. I guess the first week started on a wednesday since my thesis was due on a tuesday. after i just took days off to do nothing, run errands, i suppose. I’ve been reading. I’ve been applying for jobs and have completed a few interviews in the interim. I’ve gone skating at two different venues, went to Governor’s Island. I rode my bike to brooklyn to drop off dry cleaning. I’ve been running. I got groceries downtown the other day.

I’ve also been spending time in a different library when it’s dark just to read. I’ve been very depressed. I made steak yesterday morning. I guess I went to New Year’s Eve and I’ve gone running for coffee, and I got dinner with the ladies on the week of Christmas. I’ve also gone to TJ Maxx and scored a Glossier serum. There’s something wrong with the skin on my fingers and I’ll need to get it checked out when I’m back at home.

I suppose that’s the surface level stuff. I keep coming back to how he screwed me over the most. Like life is already hard enough. Without health insurance, the stress of job hunting, worrying about money, worrying about my health especially after my pap smear results. It’s like will I catch a break? I really need it. I want to go home for a week or so but I want some stability and certainty over my financial and professional prospects. It’s been so stressful. So many things unresolved and I must make peace with them. I stopped checking certain people’s online activity and that’s a first step. I want to keep it up. I think that’s a major part of healing. I was in the bathroom today thinking about why I haven’t let certain things go, and I’ve realized that it’s because I’d have to accept that they’re over. That something that was valuable and important to me is no more. I want to honor it, I don’t want to let it down. But the brutal truth is that I must. Otherwise I am stuck where I am.

So maybe I will write some type of post about farewells. I’ve been writing the wrong types of elegies and eulogies. The one I need to write I haven’t. I can pretend it’s not over. I really do pretend that things aren’t over. It’s been 3 months since we said goodbye and counting. That’s as long as the good part of our relationship.

I was reading something today about chemistry vs compatibility and he checked off every box for chemistry. It was like the most passionate love affair. Always on my mind, I could waste days, months, years with this person talking about anything. I never wanted the conversation to end. I would have listened to him forever. I am still not sure how I got there. How I became so enamoured. Maybe it was the mirroring. I saw everything I wanted because he made sure I saw what I wanted. I think. I don’t know. I made excuses for his behavior so that makes me think it wasn’t always calculated. Or maybe it was. To see how far I would bend over backwards. Ah, again. Hi, it’s me, rehashing and over-analyzing a dead thing!

Maybe I’ve already written a poem about mourning past the funeral. But what I never wrote was the goodbye, the true eulogy. That’s hard to write. I could write it but I think I need to internalize it, I need to lean into, I need to believe what I write.

january me

january me is done school. january me is a job seeker, a job hunter, the most serene thrill seeker. she goes down damp, winding metal slides by herself. she bikes around governor’s island and fears sunset on dreary, wet days. she asks the winter village assistant for directions, recommendations. she climbs to the lookout point by herself where she can see manhattan, the chains art installation, the industrial park to her left. she makes steamed eggs for the first time and it comes out perfectly glassy. she buys 8 ounces of a filet mignon from the same place she bought her first one in new york that the boy made for her. she bikes through a mild january, she hunts for glossier products at TJ maxx, she meanders around target, she helps lost tourists navigate the subway.

she waits and makes the new boy set up a date. she runs multiple times a week. she tries a new cafe and decides $15 for an egg sandwich and oat milk cappuccino is too expensive and she won’t get it again. january me indulges in aperol spritzes whenever she encounters them. she buys broadway tickets. she is still very careful with how she spends money — the broadway ticket is her only indulgence. she regrets things she shouldn’t. january me is very hard on herself, something she hasn’t shed from february me, a self-lacerating perfectionist who felt guilty about embarking on a spring break trip to miami. she makes the call to neiman marcus about why her skirt hasn’t been delivered and they give her a refund. she’s thinner than october me, who is thinner than september me, who is thinner than august me, and july me, and june me, and may me. and we could go on and on.

january me still writes a lot, both through her keyboard and on pen and paper. january me starts selling things on poshmark. january me reflects, reflects, reflects. january me has done all the work and she is at the last step, the hardest step. january me must confront self-validation or her lack of it. she hasn’t moved on –yet. she’s stuck at the impasse. she has checked off every box but that one: to accept the boy for who he is, not who she wanted him to be. she must realize that letting go requires loving oneself, and ah yes, the same problems that plagued her 10 years ago have arisen again. the concept of self-esteem, of being good enough for herself, has come back to haunt her. it’s a cycle and she hasn’t healed, and the Incident only highlighted it, ripped her a new one. here she is trying to heal by herself.

january me has been bedridden more than she has not been. january me has been very depressed and she can’t tell if it’s from hormones or what she has endured over the past several months. january me is not less sad than august or september or october or november me, she is sad in a different way. it’s hard to compare these sadnesses, these different strains of yearning and betrayal for their composition is different altogether. each one is an accretion of each other, there’s tug and push. new compounds were created from the old parts mixing together. january me is wiser, sure, because she’s spent more time dwelling on everything. but has she learned about herself and what she must do, that is the question. she has certainly learned more about the boy’s character, his disposition, now she is an expert on the boy and it helps no one, certainly not her in her own healing.

january me needs to learn to love herself. she does not know how to do that. it’s not like riding a bike because she has never even gotten on this type of contraption, even stationary. loving herself is not indulging in experiences, going to Governor’s Island, browsing Target, reading fiction, texting friends and calling them. No, no. she must not confuse that for self-love or self-care. Those things are mere distractions, endeavors to delay what she must do next, which is admittedly very hard. January me must internalize that she doesn’t need external validation of her worth, that she can’t be so hard on herself because then she will never let this senseless betrayal go. the betrayal makes no sense and the truth to be derived from it is that there is no more parsing that she must do. she just needs to accept it as senseless, that it didn’t happen because it was a reflection of her self-worth. what others do to her is not a reflection of whether she is enough. she must stop wishing that she would matter to someone who can’t love anyone, not even themselves. she has nothing to prove to this person and she must stop desiring to do it. she must stop trying to find external things to prove that she mattered to him, because those signs will never make her full, they will never be enough, because they were never meant to be used in that manner.

January me must accept that moving on and letting go is hard only because a core tenet of this act means understanding your self-worth. That she is worth a lot, that she’s enough, that she matters, and mattering to someone is not the same thing as mattering overall. Knowing january me is a privilege, spending time with january me is fulfilling and illuminating. january me surrounds herself with good people, she is weary and minimizes her time with people who don’t appreciate her for how she should be appreciated. January me must understand, embrace, accept, celebrate, cherish the fact that she is good enough. Otherwise she will never get over this ordeal, she will stay in purgatory, somewhere she’s settled in as home for at least five months and counting (and much longer, let’s be real!).

january me can take baby steps, that’s fine, but she must take steps in the right direction.

i am very depressed right now. it’s really the perfect storm. first, i am a few days beyond my period’s end and i think this happened last time too. i am SEVERELY depressed. nothing brings me joy, i have faint suicidal ideation or something. second, i haven’t interacted with people in a few days and also don’t want to. but this started before the holidays. I didn’t want to go home for the holidays because I literally didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to have to act happy and be engaged in conversation when I just want to stew in my unhappiness. Also, people haven’t been texting me back and I’m not mad at them about it or anything. It just means that I feel even more alone. And then when I was texting V and I told her I’m pretty depressed and it’s probably because of the “same guy from the summer”, she doesn’t get why I’m not over it. And yeah, I get that. I don’t think anyone is wrong in that. But I’m not over it and I don’t have to talk about it either. I can just lie in bed and sleep throughout the day and just sit with my thoughts and read fiction and then cry and then start again the next day. That’s what I did yesterday any way. I went to the library to read and then I came home and cried for like 2 hours while I stretched on tennis balls and my yoga mat. And today I went upstate to attend a seminar but the event got cancelled, which was okay. I liked the drive. It was soothing. I made coffee this morning and sipped it all day and we passed by his house on the way back to campus and I got nervous when we even passed his place. And then I came home, made pasta and chicken, and immediately took a nap and got sad. And then here we are right now, after scrolling aimlessly on my phone for a few hours. Okay, well I did laundry too but I was reflecting on how sad I’ve been while doing that. Nothing will relieve this. Maybe it’s hormonal. I don’t know. It really is the perfect storm though.

I thought about how it’s from a loss of control and a lack of it. Seeing someone else won’t relieve it; I should not be going to see people when I have depressive episodes because then I am just going to have to pretend that I’m happier than I am and that is so exhausting and something I’m actually terrible at faking because I am in pain the entire time through that charade and I’ll want to go home the entire time. This also reminds me of seeing C at the beginning of this week; we went for a run and got coffee and then we had an interaction where I realized that I need to stop telling her shit because she talks shit behind everyone’s back. It’s actually like toxic and I don’t want to call her out because then she’ll just spin it. But honestly, I really don’t want to see her any time soon. Like we literally had some innocuous conversation with her coworker that we ran into and then immediately when we left, she was talking about how much she hates him even though she seemed so friendly towards him at the cafe. And I just hate that. Because then it also makes me think (and I don’t think I’m wrong at all in believing this) that she talks behind my back and I wouldn’t even know it because she gives no indication. And this is not the first time I’ve seen her do this. And then I literally texted her to set the record straight on something I said in case she tries to talk behind my back about it. Like what kind of friendship is that? But that’s how she operates and I’m so fed up with it.

Back to the control part. So I had a job interview in the middle of the week and in my opinion, it went very well. But now it’s a waiting game and I feel like I have no control over the decision, obviously, because there are likely other candidates. And this period of time where I’m in limbo awaiting a decision has me very anxious and depressed. Like I want this to go right. Like out of all the things, I really want this to go well. I really want this job! I got two first round interviews yesterday while I was biking to Governor’s Island and that was nice, but I don’t really want those jobs. So now it’s just a matter of waiting. My roommate had someone over last night, which was fine, but I always have trouble sleeping because we have such thin walls. And something that I mused, although not super seriously, was that he’s likely heard me and Z in my room all summer and I think he’s changing things up because this girl was LOUD. another thing I wanted to text him but can’t since we aren’t speaking. There was also this shop called Blazing Saddles at Governor’s Island and I wanted to take a pic to send him (a passing moment, really) but obviously I didn’t. Loss, it’s just everywhere isn’t it!

I keep returning to this theme that he let me down more than anyone else. And it eats away at me. And I’m back to my little imaginary games where I vow “If I do X before Y, then Z will happen”. Not a real causal claim! No faith in these games. Whimsical, flimsy games. I used to do them all throughout our relationship because I never knew if I had him and it turned out I didn’t. I was reading something today about how people like him don’t actually think someone is going to leave them, that this person will come back after a few weeks or days, but when it sets in that this person has abandoned them, they will call them names and get angry. And I have no proof but I’m sure that has happened a long time ago anyway. And I guess I think about that a lot. Like how this is like a mental illness and it is untreatable and I still hold him to standards, I still assign him these imaginary traits that he is a decent human being when he’s just pretending to be one and has told me to my face, explicitly, that he can’t feel empathy and that he views women as objects. And even knowing that, I feel this all-consuming loss. Loss of a friend, even if that loss was at his hands and happened long before I cut off contact. But it’s loss nonetheless! I can’t deny that. I miss texting him, I miss talking to him, I miss walking down the street with him, I miss watching sports games with him. I miss us cooking together, watching TV, exploring new parts of New York, talking about anything, talking about the stupidest shit. I miss the ease of talking with him. He brought out the best in me at one point. Maybe I miss myself. I think if that were true, what I miss the most is how comfortable I was, how happy I was when things were good, how I could talk to this person about anything at any time. But you can’t have ying without yang, and today, I was thinking about how he kept me like a dirty secret. Like our friends knew we were “together”, but when we’d run into other people and they’d ask him how his summer was, he would never mention me. Like how he needed to hide me from his story and I never understood why. Even now. It didn’t have to mean that we were together, but I guess it would insinuate that and he must control the narrative at all costs!

On a different note, I read through my old Xanga posts from 2013 and I realized how much of a fucking loser Justin was. Like he did genuinely play games with me, he strung me along. Like what a loser! I was 20 and he was 25, and he should have just left me alone. I realize that now, but that took a decade! And he must be toxic as fuck since his amazing ex-girlfriend (and I remember meeting her one before they got together) made a fucking YouTube video about healthy relationships vs toxic ones, and about how her experiences inspired the video. And they don’t follow each other on Instagram, confirming that she fucking hates him because she seems super nice and understanding; honestly, she is so lovely and I sometimes watch her YouTube videos. But I am sad that his dad died, because his dad was funny and super easy-going and lovely whenever I’d see him in the office. But Justin was… wow… just honestly, a loser! In the same way that Z is, maybe, and it’ll take me time to really internalize that. Like Justin is a failed actor… he had wanted to be a star. And then he did his undergrad late, ran for campus president (and won), and I guess started his own business, but his business doesn’t seem that high-profile. And he doesn’t post as many photos of himself, which makes me think that he’s not happy with how he looks. Welp. Like that’s someone with whom I’ve reached indifference: I’m not curious on what he’s up to or who he’s with, I have no desire to impress him if I were ever to run into him. I know I’m doing well, that I am happier than when I knew him.

So I guess that’s to say that there’s hope for me. I really do look forward to the day that I reach that same level of insouciance with Z. That the betrayal made me stronger and that it’s not something that takes up so much time and space in my mind. Z is much more emotional manipulative even if if he doesn’t do it on purpose. Z is super toxic, but at least I know that much earlier than when I was with Justin. It’s funny that I just head this dread that Z is happy without me, that he moves on. And life is long, so that will probably happen. And so what? I’ve got to remind myself that. Like there will be someone new and the cycle will repeat, and whatever I think I’m missing out on is like a bubble blowing in the wind. It will inevitably pop like it did with me. I’m just constantly chasing a new bubble and getting excited that I’ll get to hold it and behold it in the palm of my hand.

The money thing is also stressing me out. Like just living my life without a job, which is what I did before school started, but at that time, I had a plan. I knew when I would head to school, I was applying to scholarships like crazy. Whereas now, I am applying for jobs like my life depends on it, because it really does. And there is just this vast expanse of unknowns, it feels empty but I’m looking at it wrong. It’s brimming with opportunity and what-ifs. It’s being determined and forward-looking and believing in myself, that the universe has a way of catching me when I fall and helping me run along afterwards.

I think for myself, what I need to do to instigate this trajectory is to let him go. To stop checking the other girl’s music history, to stop checking his online chess history, to stop wondering what he is up to, anxious for absolutely no reason that he is talking to other people. Because he is, and maybe there are new people because of course there are, but hellooooo that is toxic behavior! And it has nothing to do with me. And everything to do with him. And I cannot control what I literally cannot control, and that is that person’s actions and behavior. What I can control are my actions and behavior and goals, and I must realize that he really has no space in them. That he is the past, he really is. He has demonstrated that he doesn’t want any type of healthy relationship with me based on what he did in August. And I must accept that. I must accept that and move on with my life. Sayonara! Salute the troops! And then turn around and head off into better stories, better beginnings.

Book List 2023

1. Hotels of North America – My first reread in like… forever? I think the only other book I’ve ever reread was The Truth about Forever. With all the emotional turmoil in my life, I decided to read this again. I realized I hadn’t remembered many of the details of this book but I have so much more clarity from this re-reading in terms of what happens in the book. I’m also at a much different stage in my life, I’m much older. The book resonates in different ways. It’s still funny (I actually forgot that this book is very funny), poignant, and delivers a certain elucidation of growing up, being alone, love, and what home means. The theme of hotels as a symbol of transience in life (it’s never a place you settle, it never feels exactly like home even if it’s fancy or comfortable), as an escape that is never quite satisfactory when you’re trying to run away from your life, as a symbol of how moving forward is commonly mistaken for progress when it’s not necessarily true, still remains one of my favorites. Reading it again, I remarked on one of the lines in the afterword about how this book is about being alone, because it reminded me of Lorde’s description of Melodrama, which was that it wasn’t a breakup album, it was an album about being alone. Because even when are surrounded by others, yearning for someone or something is a very isolating experience. For R.E. Morse, no hotel or motel experience ever seems to describe him at a point in his life when he is truly satisfied, when he feels least alone. When he is least alone, perhaps he is truly at home and not at a lodging. I think I needed this rereading; it wasn’t life altering for me though there are days lately when I wish there were signs. It reminded me of what matters: love, like his love for his child, and how life can pass us by when we’re busy distracting ourselves. And for myself, as someone who desperately wants to move on from tumultuous heartbreak, it’s a stark reminder that I must cherish the people I have, the ones who love me, and hold them close, and like Mary Oliver said, to hold things mortal like my life depends on it. And when it’s time to let it go, to let it go.
2. Garden State – Another Rick Moody book! Now I’ve read three of them. Like many other readers, I initially thought this book was based on the movie. I actually liked this book for the very reasons that other people didn’t like it on review sites. I liked that it’s written like you’re in a trance. I considered the book to be written in moments, I liked the stream of consciousness. It wasn’t even that bad if you’ve had to endure Milkman-levels of stream of consciousnesses. Anyway, I liked all the characters, because they were so human and flawed and misguided. Alice is at the cusp of figuring herself out, you just know it. It’s like she’s down to her last few cards and she’s now reckoning with having to grow up. Lane provides great insight into why institutionalization creates this fake safe haven that becomes addicting like prison. The book has a great sense of place and time. When you read it, you feel like you too are stuck in these declining suburbs where everyone doesn’t know what to do with themselves so they resort to rebellion but they too know those days are numbered. No one has bad intentions even if they’re just fucking stupid. A lot of this book takes place in cars, and I liked that. Just really captures a big part of New Jersey culture. As an additional note, I wanted to add that Lane’s experience in the psych ward is perhaps supposed to be a representation of or metaphor for New Jersey: everyone wants to stay and everyone denies that anything is wrong (Alice staying at home, the band thinking they have a future, Elaine/Ruthie enduring their kids’ many problems and trying to lead normal lives and pretend everything is under control) but so many external factors push them out of their comfort zone in the same manner that Lane knows he will eventually have to leave the Motel, that he will graduate from there or his insurance will run out, whichever comes first. So Elaine sells the house, Scarlett leaves… the people who are most lucid or who see the writing on the wall that they must adapt leave. But the rest of them want to hold onto not only the times and pretending that their suburban New Jersey hasn’t declined, but that their home is where they plan to stay forever.
3. The Long Accomplishment – I really liked this book! I really completed a Rick Moody trilogy/triptych, huh? It took a while to finish it though, as it doesn’t read super easily but I savored the writing, the insights, the story. It’s autobiographical and chronicles Moody’s first year of marriage to his wife, Laurel. What resonated me with this book were two things: First, Moody suffered from sex addiction, and he talks about how he almost couldn’t control the impulse, how addiction works, how he “got clean”. It reminded me of my ex in terms of the general sense of addiction and how many relationships he has ruined, especially the one with me, and I wondered if he will ever reach the level of self-reflection and actualization to get better. I also do think Moody has narcissistic tendencies as to explain how he is the way he is, and how I never feel like he really accepts or that he takes full accountability for his flaws. Especially his flaw that he under-reacts to things and doesn’t think rationally in accepting the severity or gravity of certain situations, I view this shortcoming is much more negative than he expresses, as if he is justified in his behavior. And then the second thing that made me sob at the library was about holding onto grace in what feels like impossible moments. That Moody talks about all the bad things, all the hardships that he endured in that first year: struggling to get pregnant, having miscarriages, watching his stepfather and his mother-in-law deteriorate, getting robbed, getting robbed a second time, enduring difficult neighbors that affected their health and peace of mind. And in the end, the universe doesn’t owe you! It’s not tit for tat. But it will show you grace. And you have to believe that. After everything, that’s all you got. That there is grace coming your way, that things will have their own way of working out. And I wanted to believe that so bad, I’m trying to believe that so bad. I think of how bad everything went in the summer, I think about how I have lost my best friend in New York due to something terrible he did but that we both had to live with the consequences of that shattering decision. How my skin has been terrible for the past few months… which I’ve now ascertained that my body and health deteriorated tremendously during this break up. I have “balding spots” where my hair has fallen out, my forehead is marked with so many breakouts that never seem to go away… new ones just always pop up where they never ever existed before July 2022. How I think my gums have also been affected by what happened, and I think I knew that too. How I was getting so much food stuck in them after what I was apprised of, which only happens usually when I’m on my period, but I was so stressed, nothing was going as usual. I cleaned out my drain yesterday and remarked on how stressed I’d been in August and our porter had to remove SO much hair from our drain. I just think of all of that, and how now I just want this job to work out. I want this job to call me back and tell me that I got it; I want that grace, I want that to be the comfort, part of that salvation, that in ways I’ve been demanding, that I’ve been begging for. The universe, after all, doesn’t owe me. It has no contractual obligation to do so. But I want to believe that good things will come my way, that things will be all right instead of me trying every day to do this charade and hoping one day it not only sticks but it feels natural, feels like I’m not trying so fucking hard to be all right, that I just will be. Moody says you just have to believe in the process that’s out of your control, after you’ve done everything in your will to turn things around. And like Moody, where the silver lining of his home burglary is that he got money to pay for two additional IVF rounds, I hope things will be all right. I’ve been interviewing for jobs and making sales on Poshmark; I’ve just got to go with the flow. I’ve got to have some grace for myself too and take care of myself, because nothing, no one else, no time is guaranteed to do that for me.
4. The Master and the Margarita – I read this because it’s the favorite book of the boy I’m dating. I liked it better than Crime and Punishment; the story flows pretty well and it’s constantly exciting because you feel this anxiety as you brace for whatever creative chaos Satan’s squad will be up to next. I thought there were very good themes around the ambiguity of good vs evil (the book clearly makes the argument that greed and lying are among the worst sins you can commit and that they are justified for harsh punishment), and I really liked the commentary around the state’s push to control discourse on atheism, how it chalked everything up to the fault of the citizens (it was hypnosis! what YOU see is not real! Suspend your disbelief of yourself!). It was quite hard to finish this book despite the fact that I currently have so much fucking free time; it’s important to pay attention to all aspects of the book so that you don’t miss a hidden detail. I don’t mind philosophical novels but it’s just not my cup of tea.
5. Babel – This was such a long read. I am…. unsure how I feel about this book. It’s not profound, it doesn’t feel like an exhilarating punch in the gut, which I so badly seek all the time. The book is good, don’t get me wrong. I suppose Kuang is not that type of writer, and she’s never advertised or fashioned herself that kind of writer on the human condition. She is a writer about etymology and she’s great at it! I liked the book… it could have been shorter and still covered everything. She writes well, she has a firm command of English and flow. The story is original, I like the concept of silver bars and their parallels to technology in general. I have no opposition to her thoughts about violence as the only way to combat colonialism, about the complacency of White people and how this manifests frequently into malevolent ways. I don’t think I would read any of her other books because I don’t believe I am the right audience for it. It was so fucking long, which I didn’t appreciate. I felt like I was trying to endure through it for the last half.
6. Harlem Shuffle – I read this as part of my local library’s book club; I got two thirds of the way through when the book club meeting occurred and then finished the last third last night. I really liked this book and it really picked up halfway through. The characters seemed generally very human, and there were no characters that you felt were particularly dislikeable; everybody seemed to have something worthy of redemption. You really do become curious what Carney’s revenge plot is and how the ending plays out. The ending is a bit sad of course. I really liked seeing Carney succeed in his family life and work life.
7. The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On – I just love Franny Choi! I loved this book more than her other chapbook, which I had bought. I realize I am a different person reading this than her previous chapbook; I’m older, I’ve fallen in and out of love. My sense of loss is not as devastating as hers, but the boy in my story did not sour my outlook on life as much as hers. I loved her poems around climate change and the world that we live in, and what we savor about it or that we can salvage through human feeling as we helplessly watch it slip away right in front of us. I loved the poems about the napalm cannisters being used as fuel and about her mother, because you could feel her sheer rage and indignation about the injustices of history that will always scar, will always be felt. perhaps the message of these poems as that yes, the world will go on: we will move on from death, we will move on from disaster and sadness and grief, at least someone will. but the feelings will always stay. the memories will always stay. love will always stay. nature will have its way of delivering justice.
8. Happy Hour – Loved it!! A book that glides through New York on vibes, whims, and potent observations? Take me. Loved it. I mean… I’m not sure if I would read 10 of these books by Marlowe Grenados, but I would certainly consider reading another one if it came to it. It’s a book about two friends, Isa and Gala, as they try to make ends meet even though they hang out in the “in” crowd. Isa as a character.. I love. I love her observations, I love what she says. I love her so much. She is so funny and witty and effortlessly charming and unassuming. Pretentious, sure, but in the most endearing manner. A book of straight vibes. Loved it!
9. The Netanyahus – I loved this book! I think this is my favorite book so far this year. It was super funny, absurd, subtly caustic. I think I liked this book because there is so much about Judaism and Israel and Zionism and reminds me of the boy who used to be in my life and the conversations we would have. I would think he would have liked this book but maybe it would have fallen on deaf ears to begin with. I recommended this to my boyfriend and said I thought he would like it because there are elements of religion in the United States more broadly in this book and my boyfriend loves history. Well anyway, I really loved the protagonists. I both loved and hated Judy. I loved the passage about her breaking her nose and about fairness, and about whether suffering is the fairest way to get what we want. I assume this is commentary about Israel and how the Holocaust, undoubtedly horrible, has been weaponized to change any type of disagreement on the topic of Zionism or Israel politics to become anti-semitism. There was a great sense of place in this book, the characters were so amusing. Just a fun book to read and very well-written. Cohen loves his GRE words, I must say!
10. Ma Vie de Limonade Epicée – 10 books so far this year! I’m not really sure if it’s impressive since I’m not fully employed right now. But I’m getting there on both counts and fronts! Anyway… I really liked this book! I wasn’t sure if I would but I liked the story and it really helped me refresh my French. I found the story engaging (like what is wrong with Alice? What is she hiding? Who is Maelie, the beautiful mystery friend of Louane’s boyfriend? Will she get accepted to her dance school? I thought the story was extremely nuanced and straightforward to read. Parts were actually funny and I loved some of the word play. I liked that Lou realizes a lot about herself like how she feels a compulsion to fix things, to be the best friend ever, to be the best always. She is young and frankly bold, unapologetically herself, take what you will in terms of what that means for a teenager).
11. Sorrow and Bliss – Absolutely depressing book. I was recommended it by a friend and I really did not… I don’t know how to really describe my emotions towards this book. It was all right in terms of the plot and the character development and a unique premise. Relatively fast-paced, clearly written. Um… I just felt so gloomy reading it and maybe I shouldn’t read it in the mental state that I’m in. I feel like I’m flirting with depression… like I’m going to fall down the rabbit hole again and I didn’t like that. I guess… I couldn’t relate to her behavior and rational thinking, and I guess that is what mental illness can be. It reminded me of one of my friends J and I think it made me feel guilty as a friend but also so frustrated… because it’s hard to care for someone who has mental illness when they treat you like shit too! She doesn’t treat me like shit, but I think it’s hard to feel like you’re not allowed to give up on someone.
12. The Glow – A very amusing read about a girl named Jane who is kind of bankrupt in so many aspects of her life, who’s always trying to find herself though none of it is ever truly fulfilling or authentic, and how she turns around a wellness retreat called Fort Path into Opeia, and how intrigued she is by its owners Cass and Tom. Even from the beginning, I will say that I didn’t like Jane and I think the author wanted that. She’s opportunistic, she has nothing going for her, she really has no redeeming characters. And I do think it’s a great satire of both the wellness industry (super white, most of the stuff is gimmicky and it seems like sheer luck that it works), and of people who gravitate to it, who are intent on commercializing it.
13. A Perfect Vintage – Great book, it’s very Chelsea. I enjoyed the story and the physical book was an impressive quality… you can feel it in the pages. Just wonderful. I really liked all the characters including Lea, and could definitely see the Chelsea in all the elements. I wished she talked about the characters’ outfits more because I love details like that. I liked the plot and I felt like I really got to know French culture better. I also loved all the logistics and details about renovating a chateau and felt like it’s a cool project that’s a lot of hard work. I liked the ending, actually. I think the book deals with a lot of themes that resonate with me like getting older as a woman, being bullied by people who try to intimidate you and think you have something to prove to them. In many ways, I’m like Lea, which may be why I liked her so much.
14. Tampa – If the record needs any repeated reminders, I loved Lolita when I read it. So when I read Tampa, through Chelsea Fagan’s recommendation on TikTok, I also really enjoyed it but for very different reasons. I think Nutting did an incredible job capturing the mind of a mentally disturbed woman who preys on pre-teen boys, the way she really feels no connection to anyone but is obsessed with her youth, beauty, insatiable libido. Our villain protagonist Celeste reminds me of someone I know; the book also made me think of my own childhood having been a student in a portable. I loved the pace of the book, you really didn’t know what was going to happen but you knew things couldn’t keep going on forever the way they were. And I liked the ending, how it’s realistic, how there’s no happily ever after, how she learns nothing from the experience because she never sees anything she does as wrong. Or maybe why I liked the book was because I saw parts of myself in Celeste, how I won’t listen to any authority but myself, how I know when I do something wrong that I am doing something wrong but I never feel guilty about it. Maybe that was really the most alluring part: how I would never do what Celeste did but I could see elements of her in me. The way the book is written is also extremely graphic myopically through the lens of Celeste’s pleasure, and I think you as the reader get swept up in the lust of it too. You don’t feel like it’s wrong, it even seems erotic, because she is so focused on her own pleasure, she is so focused on the task at hand. The boy is but a vessel, and when you emerge from the waters of Tampa, you remember why it was all so disgusting.
15. Extremely Online – I have a lot of mixed thoughts about this book. First, I did learn a lot from this book in terms of how things came to be today, and I found that enlightening as I was a very avid Vine user, firmly entrenched in the zeitgeist of it. I never knew the origins (or at least the original purposes) of YouTube or TikTok, and just how much users really have shaped the apps into what they are today. I can see there was a lot of research done to map the chronology of everything and in reaching out to the people who were involved in all of this for comments. What I didn’t like about the book… I feel like that list isn’t extensive but the sore points really do feel more sore. So the book’s narrative brings up so many opportunities for cultural critique: why is monetization so important to creators? Yes, the platforms benefit from this, but there’s also a broader trend of why everything creative has to be monetized and how capitalism is so entrenched in something that could be seen as an art or as a form of human connection, and how that really perverts/affects the content that people create. Something else I’d have loved to see is commentary on whether these technologies and trends are detrimental to society and the way that we as users “use” these technologies going forward. Like yes, it’s good that new technology will hopefully respect and value its users and creators more but it doesn’t really give more power to the people. It simply runs a compensation scheme that’s “fairer” but people still navigate the maze of monetization in whatever way that YouTube dictates.
16. The Street – I don’t know if it’s because I was very depressed when I read this book or if this book made me depressed, but I had such a hard time getting into the book. It makes you feel claustrophobic, it makes things feel bleak, hopeless kind of. Petry does a great job crafting a sense of place on 116th St and Harlem, and creating characters that you sympathize with. I felt so much for Bub and was so sad to think of where he might have ended up, whether or not he was able to “make it” or become defeated by circumstances. Maybe this book was supposed to be a book for the right time, right place, and if that’s the case, I feel resentful and I want to cry. I have felt like all the circumstances around me have wanted me to fail and I’ve been fighting so hard, just like Lottie Johnson, to escape poverty, racism, sexism, to make a life for herself especially because she works so hard and she’s good at what she does and she’s well-meaning and independent and fierce. And at every turn, people are trying to take advantage of her except other women. And through this book, I saw the message that sometimes life is unfair, sometimes we are dealt bad cards and there is nothing we can do about it, and we can get frustrated by it and we can even fight it, but it’s a TOUGH fight. And that’s how I feel. But I do wonder if I’m also losing sight of the bigger picture by doing that. That there are many things to be grateful for. That Lottie’s weakness is similar to mine: that I care too much about other people, that I worry for my parents just like how she was afraid to let her dad stay on the street, and by being helpful, we also hurt ourselves, being kind sabotages us. And that we don’t expect much from others because they have disappointed us so many times, and so we put the entire burden on ourselves and we can’t juggle it. But where I differ from Lottie’s circumstances is that people are willing to help me, and I should remember that. My boyfriend would do anything to help me, I have resources that Lottie doesn’t. And maybe if I remember that, maybe that is a Northern Star that this book is trying to tell be for me: that I should have empathy for Lottie’s character and learn about myself through her flaws, but also know that maybe somebody out there is giving me a second chance that the author didn’t grant Lottie.

what i feared in the lullaby came true

i wrote a while ago that i was afraid of certain things happening, and it turned out, it came true. i hadn’t really thought it would, thought it a dramatic throwaway thought. yet here we are, almost five months after everything burned and i have arrived at the sentiment of resentment. i have a lot to resent even though i know it’s unhealthy. i resent all the time i wasted. i resent that it has ruined future relationships because i still haven’t healed. i resent how i was treated and how he got away with it. because he was always going to get away with it in the sense that there was no punishment i could have given him that would have matched the magnitude of hurt that i still feel even now. the sheer betrayal. i haven’t been able to get out of bed for the past few days. i just lay there and think about all the cruel things he’s done. i think back to when i arrived at the airport back to new york in october and how i imagined him picking up someone else from the airport, and how he did that for her but never for me. and how at lion’s head he had kissed his girlfriend at the time and how he looked at her even though he said he didn’t want to be in that relationship, and how i never got that treatment, that false reality even if it were fake. resent, resent, resent. i resent how i was treated, how i was not enough. how when C told me today that Jimmy asked S’s roommate K for her number in front of the other C, she got upset, and how I understood how that felt. that if anything, i understand that feeling more than anything. how you’re disposable, how you’re in this no-man’s-land territory of not having the authority to say that’s uncool to flirt with someone else in front of you. how you wonder why you aren’t enough. why you’re never enough. because that was how he made me feel ALL the time. i think about how i am not sure about dating even now because i’m afraid that anything that resembled my past relationship will just be a giant red flag that it’s all a sham.

i resent how much i have had to work on myself and it’s still not done. i resent that i still take this situation personally, that i haven’t reached some higher level of nirvana or something where i’m unfazed. i want to be unfazed so bad. i want to move on from this and not have it affect me. but it does, because i am human, and i am a human who has been severely hurt. i went to five fucking months of weekly therapy talking about this situation. there is not a single appointment that passed where this incident was not brought up. i have journaled like a fucking INSANE person. and none of it has fully healed me. it’s been almost half a year. and it’s been unfair for my friends who have had to listen to me, had to deal with me through all of this. it’s been unfair for people i’m dating that i can’t put all my emotional being into a relationship because I am still resentful over this situation, I am still not over it. I am still in disbelief how someone could treat me like that, and how I could tell those exact words to their face, and there is some excuse, there is fake remorse, I am stonewalled. I am in utter disbelief. I am in pain. I am so resentful. I am so fucking resentful.

I am so fucking, so fucking resentful over what happened. i never used to get breakouts on my forehead and all over my face, and now they still haven’t gone away. new ones pop up like once the gate opened, it won’t close. the wound won’t close. the wound won’t fucking close. i am supposed to make peace with the fact from articles that he will never get to experience true love and that he will never feel fulfilled and i’m just supposed to make peace with accepting that fact! and it brings me absolutely no relief! i can’t settle for that. i haven’t gotten there yet. i could move across the world and it would not heal me, i don’t think it would. i sit here in my apartment and i think about how i didn’t go home for christmas because i would have been a burden for everyone, just fucking sulking all the time, crying all the time.i didn’t want to see anyone, i still don’t want to interact with anyone. i am exhausted from putting on this chipper mask and pretending i’m happy when i’m not. so i stayed here. and i am so sad. i could have gone home, and the scenery would have changed but i’d still feel so sad.

there is no antidote for resentment, is there? it’s not revenge. revenge doesn’t address resentment. the opposite of resentment is peace. peace with yourself. i am not there. i don’t know how to get there. i really don’t. i don’t get how i am supposed to make peace with this situation. even if i don’t tie my self-worth to this person (i’m slowly extricating myself), i feel so betrayed. i am not sure how i get over that. i cannot just “brush it off” or “shake it off”. is that what i have to do? I have never been betrayed to this scale. I sit with this resentment and I stew in it and wish I weren’t.