Theoretical Heartbreak

Do you ever just want a pair of arms to cry into?  Strong arms, or rather, a strong person who will comfort you and tell you everything will be okay.

My ships are sailing. Translation: Two of my closest friends have recently started dating the guys I’ve shipped them with for years.  I am really overjoyed, because they are really good matches.  But I am also saddened, because things must change.  It makes sense to go to your significant other for advice, to tell stories, and share secrets.  That will take precedence over sharing with your good friend, as it should I suppose.

What if all of my friends get married to amazing people, perfect matches for them, and I am left alone?  I guess I don’t have a problem being single until all of my friends have significant others. and are walking on air.

I wonder if my friends actually consider me an important person in their lives.  I wonder if any has been or will ever be in love with me, and won’t be put off by my excessive emotions, quirky habits, and all of my imperfections.

I could be a nun.  But I still need friends.  I have learned the lesson that I need other people, not just God.  Of course, I need God above all, but I have had to swallow my pride and accept that I cannot live without other human beings.

I love my youth group.  I truly, deeply love them.  I was imagining a what-if scenario where I had to be parted from them permanently, and I confess that I cried in the shower.  My heart would break.

I feel stupid for being so emotional.  Is any sensible person as emotional as I am? Am I a ninny? Will anyone understand what I’m feeling and not judge me for it?  Again, I feel ashamed of my insecurity.

Whew.  This is my most open post so far.  No hateful comments, please.  I just needed to write.  Thank you for your patience.

CollectorofsoulsandindependentIMG_20151210_064634_hdr

Time for Some Self-Reflection

     Well, as of Monday, it is Great Lent for me and all of my Orthodox Christian brothers and sisters.  I have stopped playing mobile games and watching humorous YouTube videos (though speaking of which, you should check out Studio C).  I am also effectively made a vegan, and rice, Oreos, and pasta are a great blessing.

      I have been thinking for some weeks that what I really needed was Great Lent.  I have repeated patterns of laziness, binge-watching Downton Abbey or Star Trek: TNG, being rude to my neighbors, and in general becoming an a-hole.  I need a change.

     And this time of fasting and repentance, to be ultimately followed by Easter, or Pascha, gives me the opportunity to slow down for awhile and really examine myself and what I’m doing.  It’s also an excellent chance for Spring cleaning and planting spinach, but that’s secondary.

     When I start taking my life for granted, I become careless and despondent.  I play Village Life and forget that my life is temporary.  I get wrapped up in domestic affairs and the rights and wrongs of my six siblings behavior, and I forget to analyze mine.

     So I intend to spend Great Lent working on self-improvement, primarily spiritually, but also mentally, emotionally, socially, and physically.  I will began learning new guitar chords.  I will write more.  I will get outside and listen to the birds, feel the wind on my face, and get some exercise.  I will spend time in silence, simply enjoying the aura of my life, and listening to every sound, feeling every bit of material touches my skin, and really appreciating both the fullness and emptiness of life.

     I may try to blog more before Pascha, but no promises.  Thanks for subscribing!

                                                                                            Peace Out,

                                                                                                          Collectorofsoulsandindependent

Sex? Meh.

I am now fifteen years old.  Which is kind of an awesome age.  It’s the first age that I truly feel secure with who I am and what my purpose in life is.

Thirteen and fourteen were generally sucky for me.  That was partly my fault, no doubt, and there was constant angst and anxiety.  And my circumstances supported instability.  My parents literally went to court and divorced the day after my thirteenth birthday.  Then I was in the path for an unending stream of events, including custody battles, a new school, mom struggling to find a good job, new friends, new crushes, new feelings, and in general, confusion.

Now, I hope you can see that this was an extremely volatile period in my life.  I was learning more about the world and about myself, and please be patient with me, I will get to my point.

Sex. I suppose nearly every teenager of that age is fascinated by that once-forbidden subject, which is now so glorified in the media, and so hushed up at home.  And now boys were so much more interesting; the knowledge that they are so fundamentally different from yourself was enough to have you pondering for days.

Of course I went a little boy-crazy in middle school.  And since I go to a tiny school where all ages are kind of lumped in together, of course in the Spring of 2015 I fell in love with an attractive, older, insecure, manipulative guy, right?  Ugh.  Let’s not go into that.

Anyway, now that my life and priorities have somewhat leveled out, I can honestly say that the idea of sex isn’t really appealing to me.  I am not asexual, and I do experience attraction, but I don’t particularly care if nothing happens beyond that.  Sex is weird.

If I marry, than of course I’ll have sex. I’m sure it will be delightful, if other people’s descriptions carry truth.  But I don’t look forward to it; I am not so perpetually fascinated by the secrets of the bedroom as I once was.  And I think that’s okay.

Au revoir,

Collectorofsoulsandindependent

 

 

 

 

Body Image

I recently have been struggling with my body image.  It’s odd, because I know fully well that it is what’s on the inside that counts, and that the only people who judged me by my appearance were the ones whose esteem I didn’t value.

Understand, I have never been by any means overweight.  I’ve always been relatively thin.  My fear was not so much that I was fat, as that I would become overweight.

I began analyzing my body in the mirror, looking at my thighs, my belly, my arms, etc.  I found flaws everywhere.  And I started paying attention to what I ate, and thinking about calories.  I guess I should mention that I get a lot of comments on my body from my family.  Let me give you some examples.

younger brother: You have an enormous butt…. You’re so fat…. her gigantic butt is in my way….

dad: If you start getting close to 130 pounds you should probably slim down…. You should probably be a little underweight, for health reasons…

mom: you’re too skinny… if anything she needs to gain weight… you are extremely skinny….  she’s like *this* big around… I was never that small… I never wore a size 4!

basically every female relative: YOU’RE SKINNY.

I officially don’t believe any of those.  On the 5th of this month, the day after I had been stunned and rather hurt by my mom’s accusations of “restrictive eating”, and staring in the mirror wondering if I really had lost that much weight, and if I was too skinny, I looked in the mirror again, and realized that I like how I look.

I know that I am a healthy weight.  I think I look good.  I will not give license to people’s negative comments on my appearance.  I do not want to lose weight.  I do not want to gain weight.  I will not eat past satisfaction, nor will I let myself go hungry.  Furthermore, I will wear makeup because I want to, not because I “have” to.  I will wash my face, but realize acne is a force of nature, not to be controlled.  I will wear clothes that I am comfortable in.  I will not spend hours on my hair unless I make the time and I want to.  How I look is hardly the most important thing about me.  And in my private opinion, which you all have the right to disagree with,

                                                               I am friggin’ sexy.