Clown Lover

You know that meme of boy and girl clowns that says something like "how you and your significant other look after breaking up on social media and then getting back together"? That meme always makes me cringe, because it is totally my boyfriend and I. So ridiculous over the past 7 years of on again/off again, very publically - as was completely my own doing. And after this summer when we broke up, albeit very briefly, I took to the internet for support more than ever. I was going through a devastating break up 2000 miles away from the people I needed the most. And the easiest way to connect with everyone was to tell the sob story of our demise all over social media. I did, and I felt so much better about it to be honest. But when we got back together a few weeks later I thought of those stupid clown faces and decided it best to not say anything about getting back together. It was embarrassing.

It's been 4 months since Vic moved out to Los Angeles to be with me. And it has been better than any time in our 7 year history prior. The brief breakup this summer was necessary for us to address and move on from some issues that had been plaguing our relationship for too long as it was. The reason we broke up, the things we said and did to each other, they happened.  All of it was real and true and none of that is lessened by the fact that we got back together. And the fact that I have held the healthiest, happiest version of this relationship so close to my chest was partially because I needed to keep it close to work on it, nurture it, and mend it to where it is now - and partially because I felt stupid saying we were back together. But I will no longer let that embarrassment stand between me and my truth: that my best friend sticking out this hard shit and working our way back to each other time and time again doesn't make us clowns. It makes us look like god damn love warriors who have too much love between them to say stop. Where's that meme?

I know this isn't the case for every relationship. And I am sure, even 2 paragraphs in, there are probably some of you thinking "sure thing, Katie - read back 3 blog posts and see how wrong and stupid you are". But the fear that maybe this blog will someday make me look foolish, or not stand true doesn't take away from the fact that this relationship is real and wonderful and worth being proud of now. Especially in a climate where the men we ARE talking about are the terrible ones that do awful things to women. I don't want to be in fear of talking about one that isn't a garbage monster. And I certainly don't want to feel ashamed of a relationship that is stronger than any I have experienced, and quite frankly seen around me. 

I am not going to go into our history - it's all splattered through the pages of this blog if you dig deep enough. But with the holidays being around the corner, and being just a few hours away from my first anniversary as a Californian, I am hyper-aware of how lucky I am to have him be my family here. The fact that no one could have been more scared than me of us moving in together, especially after a rather tumultuous summer, to find that we live together better than any ex-boyfriend or roommate I've ever had. That I get more excited to come home to him having only been 8 hours since last saying goodbye then I did when I would leave his apartment in Chicago unsure of our next night together. The boy that friends told me time after time wasn't worth my tears (and they were always warranted in saying so) has turned into the man that wipes my tears away at the end of bad days. The boy that couldn't let those walls down to let me in failed attempt at a relationship after failed attempt at a relationship, is my safe place and my family now.

I guess the point of all of this, outside of bragging about my lovelife which hasn't always been something worth bragging about, is to say it's okay if your relationship doesn't start off in some particular way, only have x amount of break-ups, or maybe comes with one too many passive aggressive sub-tweets at the other person; your love story is your love story. No one else's. If you are lucky enough to find someone you love through hell and high water - paint your clown face proudly. Because at the end of every day, we're the ones laughing. 

I Am Iron Man

My additive genetics have made the last 30 years a real struggle. For someone who has spent the majority of their life surviving through depression and anxiety, the body and mind craves anything that can replace those feelings. For better or worse, if you can feel anything but what you are feeling you'll pretty much take it. Which is why so many of my young adult years were spent drinking very heavily. And smoking a million cigarettes. But I have come a long enough way to recognize what I was doing, and why I was doing it.

What I am finding about my new life here in Los Angeles is that my predisposition to addiction is actually working in my favor. Over the last few weeks especially, I have become obsessed with feeling the high of the fear of doing new things all alone. It scares the shit out of me walking into a room of strangers to try something I never have before. But oh my god, when you stick that social landing and experience new things with new people - that's fucking crack to me. 

I give off an air of confidence that people often times confuse with the real insecure girl that lives inside me. But that insecure girl is becoming a really bold and brave woman. And chasing the moments where I actually feel that way has become so gratifying. 

I went to a puff and paint event last night. I heard of the event through a fabulous artist I connected with on Facebook. I have never met this woman, and I certainly didn't know her friends. But I bravely walked into an art gallery last night, extended my arm, and let my name out in a shaky attempt at an introduction. Over time the room had filled with people I had never seen before, and slowly with each exchange I started to grow confident in my ability to fit in there. 

The thing that always amazes me, and I would compare to the first time you stand up after a few glasses of wine and realize the intoxication is hitting you, is that in a group of strangers feeling as nervous as can be I manage to make people laugh. Like real belly laughs; getting a moment of joy through a comment my clever little brain came up with and released without much thought.

Outside of being charming and hilarious, I am also really good at caring about what people have to say. This quality, like addiction, has certainly made life harder in some regards. But when in the process of meeting new people and making new friends I want to learn about who is standing in front of me. And not to live up to some social expectation of conversation, but because that human right there has done things and seen things I never have and never will and I certainly want to know as much about that stuff as I can absorb in a brief encounter. People often times seem taken aback by having someone show interest to that level, which to me personally is sad, but it's nice to validate people's existence through a quality I naturally possess.

My other new addictions include trying to drink at least 64oz of water everyday. The feeling I get in my thigh muscles as I walk up a god damn mountain on my way home every day. I'm addicted to wearing my hair curly, as curly as the good lord made it because I don't have time to make it be something else all the time. I am addicted to seeing how many days I can go without a cigarette. And I am addicted to being able to look at my life through eyes that don't criticize and attack the decisions I am make each day. I am addicted to forgiving myself. 

Life isn't always rainbows and sunshine. And although I pride myself on being the eternal optimist, we all know I get down and shit sucks sometimes. And I am going to emotionally reach for a bottle of wine for time to time when I want to feel something besides the bad stuff. But now that I see what my mind and body are capable of turning my weakness into, I feel like a god damn superhero. A superhero with an addiction disorder. So basically I'm Iron Man. 

But Did You Die?

I am right on track for a post break-up blog. The night we broke up I had a girl's night-in with a couple bottles of rose and more than a couple tears. Last night I put on a dress and went dancing with girlfriends and ended the night stuffing my face with chili cheese fries. It seems the next step of the cycle has usually been to put it down on paper. I have had 48 hours to step away from it as well as run the gambit of emotions by submerging myself in it. Now I sit down and tell the story to get it out of me and start doing my best to move on. There is a lot of familiar and comfort in heartbreak for me these days. That's probably sad if you think about it too hard, but I'll take an advantage any where I can find it. 

I'm not going to waste time with the back story. The history is different every time I look at it. I know his history is vastly different from mine, which is vastly different from what it once was to me. My interpretation of how we got here makes sense for me now, and it doesn't change the outcome anyway. The man I love came to come see my new life in LA, with the prospect of making my home his and starting a new chapter together in a new city. The chemistry between us when he arrived was as we'd always left it; completely electric. No matter how much time had passed, we could always pick up somehow more sexually charged for one another than we'd last left it. The days and nights were spent tossing around in sheets, laughing, and affirming our love to one another in every kiss, touch, and dream we shared. 

When we had first started entertaining the idea of him moving here, it was important for me to establish that he would only move here if he saw us being together longterm. Forever. It wasn't that I needed a ring on my finger tomorrow, or him to even have a timeline for us to get there. I have just become really protective of my life here. It has taken all the courage I've ever known to move here and force myself to create a new life from very little.  And now that I have my feet planted firmly enough to know this is where I will thrive and the rest of my life starts, I don't want that to be derailed by someone carelessly coming in and out of it. I wanted to know that we were moving forward together and I wouldn't be taking any steps back for him or us to play catch up. I didn't want him to move here and then be blindsided if he came here to find he didn't want me at all.

The last night he was here the topic of his family had come up. I had enough beers in me to be emotional about the fact that I'd never met them. He is 26, we met when he was 19. And in every year we've spent growing together and sharing big parts of our lives with one another, he never brought me around them. But I had made a big enough impact on his life that I know that they at least knew I was an important part in the success he's had. It was very casually then that he said "they don't even know you exist!" with such levity in his voice you would think he was poking fun at an inside joke that I was just not in on. 

This escalated quickly. He got defense. I was so shocked I couldn't do much but cry. It brought three days of security and romance to an immediate halt. We cried and yelled until the sun came up. Then, exhausted, we held each other for a few final moments, kissed, and resolved to figure it out later. He left and I laid in the exhaustion on a vacation ruined for the next 2 days alone. 

I understand him not acknowledging me to his family is shitty. And it was important to me that he understood that I truly believe I deserve to not only be acknowledged, but to be recognized for everything I have been willing to do to contribute to his life in a positive way. He should want to tell his family about me knowing that's something that would make me happy, but in addition to, he should be excited to share with them that he's able to be supported in a move across the country by someone that loves him so much she will do everything in her power emotionally, fiscally and otherwise to help him through it. Fuck, I have non-romantic partners who have supported me getting out here and I fucking stop strangers on the street to talk about them. It's an incredible thing. Why would you not want to share that with the people in your life? 

As long as I've known this man, his defense to every problem that could come up between two people is tearing apart any benefit of a life shared. He has always looked at needing people, commitment, and relationships as a weakness. And that if you don't get close to people, if you keep everyone arm's length away, you can protect yourself from everything and you won't get hurt. So his response to me saying I needed more was that he didn't want any of it. He didn't want to be forced to make a long term commitment to me, he never wanted that life at all, despite being asked only that thing before agreeing to come out here. I was forcing him to make a decision for US instead of just for HIM and he couldn't risk it. Or maybe it wasn't worth it to him. Or maybe he truly thinks he is going to be better off walking away from someone like me. 

It could have been different. And as heartbroken as I am, I don't want to think that I am breaking free of some horrible abusive relationship. Lord knows the hardest part of this is that I still think that version of my life with him would be an incredible one. But if he doesn't see that, I can't make him. And I don't want to let someone infiltrate my life here without making at least that commitment to me. I do believe our lives are better shared. And I do believe that I am going to be able to love a man until the day one of us dies in such a big and wonderful way it will be the best thing that's ever happened to both of us. I really thought that was going to be him. But if it's not, I'm not going to risk the chance of getting to have that somewhere else in my life. 

I miss him so much some times I get dizzy. It's when life dips back into normalcy for just a moment and your finger goes into autopilot to send over that meme on instagram. It takes my breath away how crushing it feels to remember he's not there anymore. We have been through a lot in 7 years. And the thing I was most proud of towards the end was I knew we would always find a way to make it work. Because our love was the big love. Our love is a big love. This one definitely rocks my foundation harder than any heartbreak before. But heartbreak is heartbreak, it'll be a fucking beast until it's not anymore. Until the absence of him becomes the norm and time blurs the memory of every raw feeling I am suffering through now. Because a broken heart is the absolute worst, but not once has it ever killed me. 

Dream Job Nightmares

You learn something pretty quickly when you start going after your dreams. You learn that there are so many thing about your dreams (specifically the difficult parts) we tend to look past as we fantasize about our perfect lives. I moved to California and yes that was a big part of living out my dreams. I live on a mountain overlooking the most beautiful city I have ever seen. I am a quick ride to the ocean, were I can lay against the sand and sync my heart beat to the tide and let the water calm me. And I love nothing more than the irony of this vast, unknown, potentially panic inducing body of infinite water being the thing that slows my racing heart and brings me a sense of peace and calm when I need it most.

So you find the place your dreams live. And you rent a house, an apartment. You try to sign a lease for a determined amount you can only hope to be able to maintain because getting to your dreams does not always offer the most consistent cash flow. But you know you are where you are supposed to be, so you find a way to make it work. And though you dream of eating great food, and drinking great wine - but you will more often than not have to eat ramen and hope the few social outings you have per week include someone you know bringing some sort of alcohol or maybe an herbal treat to give us calm to enjoy what we do have - which is ramen.

LA is it’s own planet filled with opportunities in pretty much any field you could want to work. You want to work in movies, music, television, be a writer, be a chef, be an artist, a personal trainer, a teacher, a curator - you can do literally everything here. But here’s the catch - all those jobs, though the are in the field of your dreams are not all good jobs. But you land a job in music in Los Angeles and that’s your dream right? So go live your dream, because you got it.

I dream of publishing music for a publishing house. I dream of selling/licensing songs to television, movies, etc. I dream of working in publicity, and continue to fine-tune my marketing skills. To use my love of arts and my strong communication skills to become a vital asset to the music industry. If I can do these things, some of them, any of them, I can then say I am working my dream job.

I got hired as a Development Director for a privately owned label a few months ago run out of the owner’s personal home in Encino. I was doing everything I loved doing. I was generating press for the artist, writing copy for press, creating press releases for single and video launches, I cast a music video, and then directed a music video. I got to hire a PR Firm and select all the assets that were eligable to be used by press. I was running social media accounts with 300k interactive followers. I was doing everything I wanted to do for a record label. I was working my dream job.

The problem was the woman who owned the label was also the only artist on the label. And she comes from a background with a lot of money and can afford to self produce her albums which is super for her. But because of her sense of entitlement and expectations that everything should be done her way despite it being detrimental to the label, she became impossible to work for. And it didn’t stop just at work related things. She felt she needed to have complete control over the staff in their personal lives and would become incredibly threatened if she felt anyone around her were creating any sort of connection despite us all working together 40 hours a week. And when you work with someone as frustrating as that, those people are vital in helping you maintain your strength to stomach the boss.

I found myself spending more time defending relationships she had made up in her head that I was going to have. That I was going to steal her personal trainer, or her gardener, or her driver - all relationships that never exceeded past an occasional hello if they were in the office. I do realize I was the only woman working for her and I think a lot of jealousy may have come from me working around her all male staff. But this would spiral into screaming fits where she just knew everyone was conspiring against her. She didn’t just share these accusations to the accused but she would tell everyone she could find to make sure who ever the target was that day was going to be put down in front of every other person around. 

For me it became humiliating really fast. I was carrying myself with the highest level of professionalism every day. And when she we go off on these tangents I would listen and shrug if off. When it was about me I would explain the made-up situation as best I could, and then usually ended up apologizing for things that didn’t even happen to continue doing all the previously mentioned things I love doing so much. But I’ll tell you what, if you are doing what you love but coming home upset every day - it’s not your dream job. You are doing your dream responsibilities, but this ain’t the job.

The important lesson here is that I have the skill set to get hired to do the job I want to do. And I know I will never have a work environment that’s perfect and doesn’t have difficulties. But you can’t just keep fielding emotional abuse and being overall unhappy to be able to say you have your dream job. It’s not worth it.

I am on a plane to LA headed back to no job as my monster of an employer decided to fire me. She also decided to stop payment on a check that was issued a week before she decided to let me go. She still hasn’t paid me for my last week work or reimbursed me for services purchased by me for the label. In addition to stopping payment on a week old check, it over-drafted every bill I had paid that week and I now have a negative bank balance for all those transactions along with overdraft fees per transition. Which, yes, is like super illegal for her to do as I was a contracted employer and the stopped check was payment for services previously rendered. So now I am fucked with negative money in the bank and no job with another first of the month rent due just around the corner. FUCK, right?

This blog isn’t to complain, it’s to hold myself accountable to seeing what I need to see which is that I am talented, strong, and driven. I recently had a conversation with a man named Albert Brooks II who won a grammy for producing Beyonce’s Lemonade. We talked about my passion for getting my hands in an industry that has kept me alive for my whole life. After I finished my elevator pitch he shook my hand and told me I would. He said I will do great things for music because I have “the juice”. I do have the juice - it’s a blend of passion, charisma, professionalism, follow through, and my father’s superhero work ethic.

I don’t have my dream job, but I am certainly closer to my dream life, and I know what I have to do to get there. And I still in my heart believe you get there through kindness and honesty and respect for the people around you. And I think in that way I will soon be eclipsing this previous job as people who don’t work like that can only get themselves so far. I truly believe that.  

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.