Sometimes things happen...

So, that's probably the stupidest thing someone could ever say...

"sometimes things happen..."

No shit, Paige. Things happen a lot... good things, bad things, some things, no things... Things happen.

But sometimes, things happen that change you dramatically. Sometimes your heart gets broken into so many pieces that you don't know how it will ever be a heart again. Sometimes, you are betrayed in ways you didn't think were imaginable, and you somehow find a way to get past it, to move on, and continue as if it never happened. But it did. And somewhere in your mind, in your soul, it has changed you.

It's been six months... and I'm still broken. Completely broken. And I feel like a freak. There were three months of my life that we basically a tornado. I was in love, or so I thought. He wasn't, he lied and said he was. He did mass quantities of cocaine and lied and said he wasn't. He probably slept with multiple girls while he was with me. And lied and said he didn't. And when it ended, he said that he thought that I was the answer to his problems, that I could fix him. No dear, you can't fix that, but you broke me. Thanks for that. .... Then, less than two weeks later, I almost died, and I think that half of me did. Literally. And then, someone that I have loved since I was 17 actually did die, unexpectedly.

So, as I sit here on a Friday night, after being at a good friend's birthday party; after being hit on by multiple men, none of whom I would have wanted to be near, mostly just because they're men; after being told that I'm beautiful; and I wonder, why, if I'm so beautiful, am I always so broken? Why is it that every man that has ever been a part of my life, every man that was supposed to be there for me... was supposed to protect me... take care of me... and just LOVE me... have fed me to the wolves. "here baby, take this... I'm gonna go do some drugs" "Hey, I love you *snort*" "Hey, I want the best for you"... well, the best for me is not what any of you have done, ever. So, you could say that, tonight, I'm a man hater. Go ahead, say it.

But it's more than that... I hate people who can't stick to what they say. If you say you love someone, then love them. Don't leave them. Don't push them aside. Don't choose a high over them. Don't hurt them, repeatedly. That is not love. That is selfishness, manipulative selfishness. And, ladies and gentlemen, it sucks.

That was a tangent I had no intention of going on, but ya know what... that's how I feel. I can't trust or love anymore, and it's because people that were supposed to teach me to trust and love, people that I was supposed to be ABLE to trust and love, have done nothing but toss me aside. So, here goes. I'm broken. And I am healing everyday. But I promise that no one will ever break me the way that the people in the past have. Ever. And with that promise comes the basic inability to love or trust anyone.

Thank you for that.

Oh How The Years Go By...

"How old are you?" ... "26"...
"How old are you?" ... "57"...
"How old are you?"... "18"...

As we grow older, we may have up to 105 different answers to the same question... "how old are you?" It's funny, because I don't think this question ever really hit me the way it has in the past 2 months. I know, I'm only 26, it's silly that I'm thinking that this question "hit me" a certain way, but it has begun to hit me. Maybe it's the recent realization of my mortality, or the ticking of my stupid biological clock, or the fact that 75% of my friends are married/engaged/have children/are pregnant, maybe it's because I have a billion things to accomplish and haven't accomplished them... I can't tell you why exactly, but somewhere along the way, I've started to take offense to the question. Yes it sounds silly, but it's the truth, so bear with me.



Thursday night I was in a bar in State College, PA with a dear friend and was surrounded by 21 and 22 year olds, and I felt old. They were all there in their overwhelming colognes, perfumes, tight shirts and push-up bras, polo shirts and ripped jeans, painted on make-up and bleached hair, hair gel and loan money... drinking shots of grape vodka and bud light... and I was there in a flannel and a santa hat drinking a jack and coke out of a mason jar.


This is not to say that at 21 I wouldn't have been wearing or drinking the exact same things... because I likely would have. Nor is it to say that I would've been any less overwhelmed by the primal mating rituals going on in that bar... and every bar for that matter, but this was different. This was a feeling of loss and inadequacy paired with a deep sense of loneliness and emptiness. I do not want to be 21 again. Not even a little bit. I do not want to be the person that I was at 21, because she was a selfish, needy (albeit, still fun) royal pain in the ass. But for some reason, that girl didn't understand that time was passing, and she didn't hold onto, or value things the way she should have... and for that, I would like to (even if just for a moment) go back in time and beat the living hell out of her. Not that a beating would change anything (violence is not the answer), but just sometimes I want to turn back time long enough to tell people that I love them; to take hateful words back; to not take that drink;to not kiss that boy (or to kiss that boy); to not act that way; to hold back tears (or to let them out); to say what I mean and mean what I say... and I'm sure that somewhere in the back of our minds, all of us do. The sad part is just that the years are passing and passing and passing and I can't hold onto them, I can't make them slow down, and I'm just running along side them hoping they don't beat me to the finish. But they will... eventually.

Oh how the years go by,
Oh how the love brings tears to my eyes,
All through the changes the soul never dies,
we fight... we laugh... we cry...

Basically, all I'm trying to say is "wow... time flies" "seize the day", and about 10 million other cliches, and am doing a rather poor job of saying it. Anyway, I just hope that when the years do beat me to the finish, that I've taken the time to say "Hey, I love you" to those that I do, to kiss that boy (or not kiss that boy), to laugh at that joke, to laugh at that mistake, and to be able to say... "wow... that was awesome."

I have loved you

I have loved you since the day I met you...
It has not stopped.
There have been lulls... there have been waves,
other boys and stupid mistakes, but I have loved you.

I have loved you through stupidity, stubbornness...
I have loved you through honesty and laughter...
I have loved you through vodka and cigarettes;
through tattoos and bad ideas...
There have been days when I have hated you,
days when I have wanted to push you away and never speak to you again...
and days when I've almost succeeded in that...
But I have loved you.

This is more than losing battles, and I could probably stomach losing a war.

I have lost clothing and keys, I have lost love (only to realize I never had it)
but this...
This is more than losing flesh and blood;
more than the end of a constant, steady rhythm;
more than the stop of subtle breaths...
This is the losing,
the breaking...
There are so many things to say...
and I would've said them...

tomorrow;

But you won't be there tomorrow.

This is the losing, the breaking.
I have loved you since the day I met you...
It has not stopped. It will not stop.
There have been lulls... there have been waves,
other boys and stupid mistakes, but I have loved you.

And will, always.

Goodbye, my dear friend.

Itchy Sweaters: My skin is too small

I got the job! I started last Tuesday at an Immigration Law Firm just outside of Philadelphia... now I wake up at 5:45 every morning, get ready, drive an hour and a half, work for 8+ hours, drive an hour and a half home... see my boyfriend, and hopefully a friend or two... the end.
I spend 14 hours a day sitting. Those of you who know me know that sitting still is not necessarily my strong point... but I'm doing it. And I'm learning. But the thing is... I'm still confused.
This stuff fascinates me. I know that when I go to law school that this experience will be invaluable and I will know so much, not only that, I'm surrounded by people that understand the importance of appreciating those who are different from us, which is a beautiful thing. But I haven't played my guitar in a month. I have no inspiration, and no desire to have any. I wear sweaters that itch... and itch... and itch... and I constantly feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin and find myself in some alternate reality where my dreams actually meet my reality. ... constantly.

I never do. And the itchy sweaters still itch. Bad.

10-4. Over..... Copy That.

I get right now. I ended my last entry with that... "I don't get a do-over, but I get right now". There are posters that say things like this, with encouraging pictures on them, like a silhouette of someone running set up against a bright orange setting sun; "It's not the destination, it's the journey". Well woohoo! Thank you Mr. Hallmark for that insightful tidbit. I truly appreciate that. It's not about getting a meal on the table, or a roof over your head, it's about enjoying every single self-deprecating, alienating moment of being unable to do so. Yippeeeeee!
Despite my sarcasm, I do believe that I don't get a do-over, and the only chance at "redemption" I really have is in attempting to make the best of what I have learned from those mistakes. But I have a question for you... why is that always so damn hard?
I have trained myself to be a certain way, and now that I have learned, logically, how to handle myself differently, how do I make my emotions do it? And how do I make others around me see that I am different if they are unwilling to believe that I am not the 12 year old, over-weight, attention seeking badass? How can you change, and be that changed person if people constantly force you into the corners you've always been in? How do you change the way you react?
I have tried. I don't yell anymore. I don't fight. I sigh, calmly, and hope that they back away and let me breathe. But they still yell the same, throw words like punches and jab their teeth into my skin, pouring insults directly into my weary bloodstream. I try to keep quiet; I hold my tongue so far in the back of my mouth that I think I may lose it forever. I swallow my opinions, convince myself that my emotions are invalid, convince myself that I am the issue and that they are justified in their constant antagonizing. I roll over and submit to the beating.... sticks and stones may break my bones, but let me tell you something: Words hurt the most. And I am tired of words. I am tired of choking down the pain and the hurt to keep from doing the same, when all that I want... all that I have ever wanted is peace.
Those of you that know me, know that I was not built to be a fighter, but a laugher and a lover. But when you are brought into a fight, you either come in swinging or you end up dead. So I have swung, kicked, punched, elbowed, bit and scratched. I have had broken bones, bruises, but they heal. Broken spirits take a lot longer, broken hearts take a lot longer... especially if you have a hard time remembering where you left yours.
So, my question is... how do I rise above my surroundings in my attempts to make real change? How do I love these people who can't love me enough to let me be happy, to let me have peace, to not break my heart every.single.day. without becoming calloused to them?
I have made extreme improvements, and I will get to the good parts, but today this is really weighing on me: how can you change in an environment that stays the same... negative, pessimistic, ill, selfish, sad, depressing.....? How can you change if you're in this? And how can you change if you can't get out of it? or is it even about that at all... should I just be able to shrug the pain off?

Friends?

New Beginnings: Chances of a do-over.

A little more than 3 years ago I was a naive 21 year old girl, packing her things to set out on a great adventure. I was moving to Thailand. I studied abroad there in 2005, and believing that I was older and more mature at the end of my college career, I thought that I would be able to 'truly experience' Thailand better alone. Basically, I thought that I could run and that I wouldn't follow myself; I'm not certain that I really wanted to experience anything besides somewhere where I literally didn't exist. Somewhere that I could be someone completely different and no one would know. I would be happy. I would be a sinner and not be judged, I wouldn't be the girl with the guitar or the funny girl... I would be the real girl. I would be Paige. I would experience that for the first time. And trust me, I experienced it. If you count Never sleeping, wrecklessly driving a motorcycle, drinking every night... partying. I didn't party as hard as many people you may know, I didn't sleep around (that's never been my style), but I vomited a lot, and for me... it was enough to say that I don't remember many of the nights that I was there.
Though I did learn an extensive amount of the Thai language, and certainly learned a great deal about myself; I formed close relationships with co-teachers and with students, with restauranteers and bartenders, local musicians and even local lady-boys. I even taught English to Monks at a near by Temple every day. I even went into hill tribes to teach them English. I even went bungee jumping and zip lining and white water rafting. Though I DID everything that I really could, I didn't fully experience Thai culture by any means. I experienced the glamorous culture of a 21 year old, lonely, depressed, drunk ex-patriot living in an exotic country where everything she could possibly want was at her disposal.
I had opportunities to make a massive difference, and on various occasions, opted out because of a hang over, or because I was on my way to one. I spent countless hours crying in my permanent housing, which was basically a hotel room for 8 months of my stay. I constantly wanted to be everywhere that I wasn't. However, on the rare occasion that I did really take in where I was and how much I had accomplished by and before 21 years old, I was completely in awe of myself, even if I couldn't admit it out loud.
Following Thailand, I moved to Little Rock, Arkansas which is where I spent the majority of the first 16 years of my life. I hadn't lived there permanently since. though I made a point to visit every year. After the birth of my niece and the earth shattering realization that my lovely grandmother will not live forever, I decided to spend some time there. So, in November of 2008, I moved back to Little Rock. There are many stories that can be told of my year and a half spent in Little Rock, but they wouldn't be too incredibly different from the stories I could tell of Thailand: watered down with lost memories and cheap whiskey. In the following November, almost exactly a year after my arrival, I found myself with serious stomach problems, 30lbs lighter, on frightening amounts of anti-depressants; these paired with no sleep, no self-worth, horrible work hours and constant suicidal thoughts put me in pretty bad shape. I tried to kill myself.
Now, I realize that this is not an easy thing for most people to broach, and I'm not one to throw these things out on the internet, but in order for you to understand the depth of the person this is coming from, you must understand that I have felt darkness. I have held pain in my mouth and tried to swallow it and I have choked and suffocated;I have died. I have never been so incredibly lifeless. I found myself in my bed, my 'cave', my own hell to hide in--and I hid.
There is much more to tell of this, but all you need to know right now is that I tried, and obviously I failed... which I am thankful for.

I have written this in an attempt to re-start this blog. To account the events of my life from my current perspective, to celebrate new beginnings and to weigh my chances. I don't get a do-over, but I do get a continuance. I don't get yesterday back, I don't get mean words back or misguided actions... but I get right now and I get tomorrow, and I hope to share my thoughts and endeavors with you, and hope that you will respond to them-- to me.

Hot then cold; Yes then no.

I hate to quote a Katey Perry song, but sometimes I swear that I'm insane. One minute I'm happy, then the next minute, I'm miserable. I attribute it to loneliness... but could the need of a companion REALLY cause these kinds of fluxes in moods? Then, everyone tells me to enjoy being single... and I know that as soon as I do have someone, his moods will effect mine, and that will cause even MORE issues. Oh Heavens.
Tangent:
Could someone tell me why its okay to do one thing and say another? What can't we say what we mean and do what we say? Is it really that hard to follow through. You hear old people talking about how in their day, that a man was only as good as his word... shouldn't that still apply. Now, men are only as good as what? The job they have? The people they choose to spend time with? Their recreational activities? The car they drive? Could someone please tell me why our values have shifted so much? Some people might argue that the feminist movement ruined the balance, maybe it did. I can see either side of that argument; however, would the importance of the male role still be provider if women hadn't fought for their deserved equality? Because, I must say that the amount of women taking on that role, and having to because the men walk out or flake, or decide they "can't commit", is significant to say the least. The amount of mothers raising children without fathers, and the amount of men collecting children like trophies-- proof of their pathetic 'manhood'-- trophies that someone else shines, feeds, clothes and educates.
And the sad thing about this is that our little boys are being taught that this abandonment of responsibility is OKAY. ... so, maybe the feminist movement is to blame, I don't know... but without it, we'd all be screwed.
Basically, I just don't understand why we can't say what we mean, do what we say, and take responsibility for what we do. If you produce a child, take care of it. If you say you'll call, call. If you're man enough to make the promise or do the action, you should be man enough to live up to it.

Now, back to me: I'm in constant transition, it seems; always moving from one thing to the next, and I know that my little soul doesn't handle transition well... but it doesn't handle NOT transitioning well, either. I'm not so sure that it handles ANYTHING well, actually.
I just moved into a new apartment, and I love my apartment, but I would be lying if I said I don't get lonely, because I really really do. I go to sleep lonely and I wake up lonely. I eat lonely, if I eat and I bathe lonely. I watch movies lonely and I play my guitar lonely. Like I said, I love my apartment, but most of the time I just wish there was someone else in it.
I've been working at UAMS for the past 2 months. I'm working on an oncology floor, and I love it. I've learned a lot, though I still have a LOT to learn. I love the people I work with, and my patients are my heart and soul. I actually don't MIND coming to work, which is such a wonderful feeling... it could be because I don't have much of a life outside of work though. Who knows?
I could type all of these deep thoughts, and let you really get a glimpse as to what goes on in my little pea sized brain, but I'll leave that for my own little journal, but I assure you... this is not even an sixteenth of it.

But I will leave this on a question...
How can you fix something when you can't tell is broken on the outside, that you can't pull apart to look at the inside, but you're positive that it just doesn't work the way it should?