I Could Be Brave or Just Insane

I started telling people I was going to move to California very prematurely. I have more or less been threatening my move for 4 years. But I said it knowing it probably wasn’t gonna happen. But that’s cool, because sometimes Katie Keller tries something, and it doesn’t work, and then she moves on. So I said it because it sounded nice. I liked talking about what I imagined life in Los Angeles would be. I had visited enough times to make it seem like I knew enough about the city to pull it off. But I didn’t really, because I wouldn’t really allow myself to retain more than romance and awe because I probably wouldn’t end up there anyway.

I decided to get a bit more serious about it at the beginning of last year. I knew I was running in circles for a few years prior to then and if I continued to be complacent I would most likely die there unhappy. So I entertained the idea enough to get a second job to save money.  Which was more or less a joke because there’s never enough money, ever, to do like, anything. Ever. So I continued to believe it wouldn’t happen, but still occasionally said it would because I have low self-esteem.

I feel like the point of this story is little to do with how I got here, but more so that I got here. Against the negativity of my worst enemies (mainly myself) I found a job and moved to Los Angeles. I knew I was going to be scared forever. Because I have been scared forever. I knew that I was going to be anxious and sad and needy and lonely sometimes not because I’m not capable of overcoming fear, but just because I am a human. And sometimes humans feel those things. It the only thing I can imagine falling out of a plane would feel like. It's never not going to be scary, 

I always tell the people I meet here that I was hesitant to make the move, but I had been here enough times to know I really thought this was home. It’s been just over 2 months now. And I am happy to report, while sitting in my garden writing this blog and listening to Jack’s Mannequin (and maybe I am speaking prematurely again) but I am home.

My favorite quote about Los Angeles is that “it’s a reflective surface. You get back from it what you shine against it”. Los Angeles will let you have whatever you want if you just go get it. Not money or fame or superficial things. But like community, and sunshine, and starry nights, and live music, and little bars. You can be alone whenever you want without it being sad, gloomy alone. It’s alone tucked-away-next-to-a-palm-tree alone. Where the sun is shining, and every song running through your headphones fits into a somehow perfect soundtrack of where you are and what that feeling would be if it were sound.

There is also an electricity flowing through this city. A buzz that summons you to explore its origin. And it’s from everywhere. In plain sight. And you just must go to it. Whatever it is. The ocean, the farmers market, the bar down the street where everybody knows your name. To see the real nice older man that looks like Paul Giamatti. You get to have girlfriends. Other just, you know, cool women living in LA. Figuring it out together. It’s not hard to connect with people if you follow that buzz. Because that buzz is the thing that brings us all there in the first place. So, we already have at least that much in common.   

I guess the biggest thing that makes this feel like home is that I am going through some stuff. Like I do. Regularly. And I truly believe if I were back in Chicago and this was happening, I would be swallowed whole in my little home tucked away from light and love and music and air that smells like warm grass and laundry sheets. I certainly know I wouldn’t be writing about it. And that’s my favorite part so far. 

Swept Off My Feet, Almost.

I went on my first date since moving to LA this week. I have been hesitant to do so, because I left a big love back in Chicago., For my avid blog readers, you know the guy, the HSF. We were on again off again for over 5 years. He broke my heart more times than every ex boyfriend I have ever had combined. I wanted to come out here, settle myself into my new job, my new home, and my new life before starting to close that chapter and move on to something else.

I downloaded Bumble. For those of you unfamiliar with this dating app, let me explain. It's like Tinder as the platform has you swipe left or right on profiles that you are or are not interested in. If you are interested in someone who is also interested in you, you make a connection. What makes this particular app different is that once connected it is up to the girl to reach out to the man first. You have a 24 hour window to contact them, or the connection is lost forever. I like this for a variety of reasons. But the biggest being that I don't have to wait to be contacted. Or worry that I'll come off as aggressive if I show interest in someone before they do me. I don't come off as too bold or overwhelming because it's the only way you can move forward with anyone else on the site.

So I am on this app now, it's been less than a week. I have connected with quite a few dudes, but I'm still not totally feeling dating someone else right now. I still miss Vic. There is still this dumb little voice in the back of my head telling me to not give up on us - that we'll find our way back to each other. But deciding there is nothing wrong with a free meal and some conversation, I reached out to a guy named Jeff and he asked me out.

My frustration with dating sites is that I feel like the implication is that you are looking to hook up and less interested in forming a real bond. Which is not what I personally am looking for, but find me an alternative that isn't Match.com. So I am very honest with Jeff about how if I was looking to hook up I would just go to the bar and meet someone. But I am using the app as a way to genuinely connect with someone that shares similar interests. He appreciates my honesty. Says that he too is looking for a real connection. He wants to fall in love, make a girl feel safe, and have all the wonderful benefits of a monogamous relationship. Solid, right?

So we meet at my favorite bar in LA. I am in a cute dress. I know the people here. I have home court advantage and I'm feeling good. He walks in. He is tall. He looks just like his picture. He is dark and handsome. He dresses conservatively, in a plaid button up and nice jeans. He just got off work. He is a camera man for a sports network. We introduce ourselves, we engage in a long hug, and for the first time since December 1st, I feel butterflies in my stomach. We sit down. We toast, his tap beer and my glass of Sav Blanc. We laugh and exchange stories about dating disasters, our families, our love/hate relationship with Los Angeles. It is going really well.

"I have to tell you something about myself you may not like" he says, the words falling flat on the table between us. Leaving my mind to wander: he has a wife, he has a disease, he has children, he lives with his mother... I told him we'd see if I liked it or not and he continued, "I have a foot fetish. I really like women's feet."

Okay. I can handle this. Everyone has their kinks. Lord knows I have some real weird ones myself. I have never indulged a man with a foot fetish before. But people like what they like, who am I to judge. I tell him that's fine, we talk about it briefly and we move on. I place my open-toed heel in his lap under the table, but we move on.

I should tell you before I left the house I determined I would not sleep with him regardless of how well it went. Because I wanted to find something real, and I wasn't looking for a hookup, and I wanted to hold myself accountable to that. So I left my bedroom a mess. Like, judge-me-I'm-real-disgusting kind of mess because I knew that removed the option of returning back to my house that was mere blocks away. But after three glasses of wine, light touches of each other's hands, exchanged smirks and his hand rubbing up and down my heeled foot - I didn't care how messy my room was. I invited him back to my place.

I made him stand on the front porch while I threw everything that covered my room into closets and into drawers. I threw the comforter over the bed in a way that almost resembled something I had made. And then I invited him in.

This is where I am happy to report that I did not actually sleep with him. I wanted him to respect me. I wanted him to know I was serious that I was looking for something more. We held each other. He was so affectionate. He was like the dad on This Is Us affectionate. He kissed my forehead, he called me beautiful, he rubbed his forefinger up and down my hand as we watched La La Land and melted into each other. We did fool around. I am not a saint. But I didn't have sex with him. And I fell asleep with him holding me tightly in his arms. It was real nice. I didn't realize how much I needed to just be held.

He went home in the morning after sweet kisses were left on each other's mouths. I felt so good the rest of that day. I found someone who is truly interested in me. And maybe also kind of my feet. But it felt good. He wanted a girlfriend, I wanted a boyfriend. One date in and I can already tell he is proud to have me on his arm in public and it's going really well. But then I didn't hear from him in 2 days. Until last night,

"Hi there"
"Hello" I respond,
"I'm not going to lie, I am really horny for you right now,"

GOD DAMMIT DOES LITERALLY NO MAN LISTEN.

Dude had the opportunity to woo a girl who would let him do weird things with her feet. A girl who respected herself enough to wait, to wait for something better and more than just a hook up. One that no longer gets weeks worth of validation from someone telling they make them horny. Even the different ones aren't different. Even the ones who express they too want something more are just trying to fuck you.

I am not defeated by this though. I am not throwing in the towel, I am just going to continue not actively looking for anything. Because using dating sites the implication is there. I think just being a single 29 year old woman that the implication is there. I think by being Katie Keller for the past 29 years that the implication is there. But not anymore. I know how to get laid. I have been doing that successfully my whole life. I am ready to be loved. And anything besides that is just time wasted that could be spent making myself more whole.

Just Keep Your Head Above ... Swim.

I didn't think I could escape my depression. I didn't think putting five states in between me and my past would change the chemical make up of my brain. I think I was just so distracted by new adventures and meeting wonderful new people to realize I was still walking on a shaking ground. This past January, as the past two Januaries have been, a dark film got pulled down around me, and my body started to weigh heavy. The same girl that would jump out of bed in the morning to soak in sunshine before going to work was struggling to get out of bed. I opened the windows, though. I don't think any amount of anxiety or depression could stop how much I love the smell of the air here. But that was the most I could really do for myself. Correction: that's the most I can really do for myself. I'm in it again, and though I know it will come to an end, it doesn't make it any less exhausting.

It's hard to be in a place where people's perception of you is based off of your cheery disposition in a bar, or your laugh at a comedy show, or the way you smile at the little kids that come into work more excited about cupcakes than any adult you have ever seen in your life. I'm depressed, I'm not dead. The times that I appear to be happy, I'm usually happy. Enjoying myself, absorbing all the experiences and stories of the strangers around me. I can come off as perfectly fine, while inside maintaining an inability to want to keep fighting It takes me back to a time before people knew I suffered from clinical depression. You know, when I was 18. So some of my actions just come off as erratic because the disorder doesn't fit the girl.

It occurred to me how little LA knew about me when I walked into work the other day and said "I am so happy I made it to work on time." Something I had failed to do my last 3 previous shifts. And my boss immediately turned to me with sarcasm in her voice saying "Coming to work on time? That's your big accomplishment for the day?" Yes. Yes it was. And not walking out of my job after that comment was the second biggest accomplishment for the day. I don't think I appreciated how much I was supported and loved back home. I like to think I did. That I said thank you as much as possible. That I framed phrases that could accurately communicate the fact that I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for my friends and family. I could pick up the phone anytime at my last job and with my voice shaking from holding back tears explain to Julie I couldn't come in that day. Or I was going to be late. And instead of getting frustrated with me she would commend my ability to call and communicate my struggles as opposed to hiding and running like I am so used to do it. The people here don't know to be proud of me for coming to work on time, because they don't know how much my heart and head ache every day.

I am still on medication. I had a great doctor back in Aurora who made sure to give me enough refill prescriptions to get me by until my insurance kicks in. And I made the effort of calling counseling centers today to talk with someone while I wait to be able to find a new doctor out here. Like I said, I know how this goes. I know that this ends. I know that I am this self aware enough of what I need to do to manage this and get through it to not take action. As hard as it is, as little as I want to. Want to know the worst part? Part of me misses that time before I understood my depression. Because then I wouldn't have the responsibility of doing something about it. Be ignorant to how or why my brain worked this way. Because then I wouldn't have to wage a war in my head every god damn day.

I moved across the county. I packed up my cat and flew away to make my dreams come true. They are coming true. I am grateful for the journey and I discover every day a new strength I have that I didn't know of the day before. But I'm still depressed. I still don't think very highly of myself. I still accidentally fall into bed with someone with the hopes that those few hours of validation with shake me out of myself. They don't. They never will. No man, no job, no state, no weather, no millions and millions of grains of sand under my feet will have a greater effect on me than my own sick mind. But you don't get to give up. You just have to keep going.