It’s Okay.

It’s okay to be sad.

It’s okay to let your guard down once in a while and to just wallow in your emotions.

It’s okay to express how you feel.

It’s all okay.

Because you’re human.

Hi, I’m not sure if you’ve read my resolution post for 2018 yet aptly named The Year(s) of Growth, but if you haven’t, then these were my top ten resolutions:

  1.  Stop comparing
  2.  Break my bad habits
  3.  Leave the house more
  4.  Eat healthier
  5.  Listen to more music
  6.  Read more
  7.  Produce more art, whether it’s paint on a canvas or a new blog post — writing is an art too
  8.  Make it on to the deans’ list
  9.  Stop letting people take advantage
  10.  Ignore the insults

It’s a long and hopeful list, right? I’ll dig into them in December, so for now, we’re only going to focus on number two; “break my bad habits.” I didn’t discuss this in that blog, and I’m not sure I’ve talked about it yet (maybe I should “clean house” and check all of my blogs), but my all-time worst habit is not letting people in. For some reason, there has just been a mental blockade around that portion of my brain, and I’ve just discovered how to cope with it.

Today, I had what I like to call a Twitter Episode, which is where I air my “dirty laundry” out publicly, with hopes that my tweets get lost in the abyss of memes and self-deprecating humor. Yet, today they didn’t. I was seen, heard, asked about, and apologized to. No one knew exactly how to fix my problem, but I was still seen. A few people reached out and they helped me realize that it’s not going to be the end of the world–at least, not yet anyway.

But see, that’s the thing. As I write this blog about opening up, I’m still extraordinarily closed off. I’ve closed myself off from those that care about me, and today I realized just how self destructive that can be. Not only for myself, but to everyone else around me.

It isn’t fun seeing those you care about be sad or upset, but you have to remember that if they’re hurting, don’t ignore their cries for help. Don’t let them do it alone because if you truly care about them, you’ll help them in any way you can.

Honestly, the hardest thing to do, is to ignore those posts that tell you how toxic you are when you are upset, because those are complete bullshit. It’s not okay to build a fortress around how you feel. If something’s bothering you, don’t just let it pass; TALK about it. TEXT about it. WRITE about it. Do anything you can to get those thoughts out of your head and into the world. It doesn’t matter if it’s going to be written in a note on your phone, in a Word.doc that you never open again, or even if it’s in a diary that’s closed off to the world… as long as it’s written down, it’ll help.

Also, I realize how this must sound coming from me of all people. Like I said before, (or did I?), I’m an expert at bottling things up. I have almost twenty-two years of it under my belt, so you might be wondering; “Who are you to give me advice on letting people in?” Well, my dear reader, I can only write how I personally feel, and you can take from it as you please. It’s entirely up to you and you alone. However, with as much experience as I have, I can say for sure that one thing helps when it comes to opening up, and it only takes a few steps:

  1. Get. Out. Of. Your. Bed.
  2. Move.
  3. Don’t slow down.
  4. Find a friend(s).

After you’ve established some sort of trust with said friend(s); open up. Let people in. Don’t let your anxiety, inability to trust because of your past, or your overthinking affect the fact that there is someone out there that will listen. They may be hard to find, but they are out there. Somewhere. You just have to go out and look. You honestly just have to trust me.

Once you find your person, or what us Grey’s Anatomy fans like to call “your Cristina,” never let them go. Your Cristina might not always be the same person as your Derek, but if they are then that’s great! It’s much harder to find two people who care about you as much as Cristina and Derek did for Meredith, but if you’re as lucky as I am; you’ll find them both.

I Don’t Like To Talk About It

Picking. Popping. Scratching. Digging.

Constantly picking at pimples. Popping the little whiteheads that show up every morning. Scratching at bumps. Digging out scars and digging out blackheads. Not feeling a relief until the flaw is gone, only by creating more fingernail indents around the circular clogged pore that invaded my perfectly flawed skin.

When someone makes me uncomfortable, my hand goes up my back to “scratch an itch”. When I’m concentrating or stressed, it likes to go to my chin or behind my ear and hairline. When I’m bored? That’s when my hand goes to my arms and face.

It’s a nervous tick. It’s one of the products of my anxiety. I don’t like to talk about it.

Dermatillomania is something that many people suffer from everyday. It has obsessive compulsive type tendencies, except instead of keeping a desk organized, or flipping a light switch multiple times, you honestly believe that your skin is flawed. It’s flawed because of the clogged pores. It’s flawed because whenever you pick, pop, scratch or dig, your nails and finger tips leave more oils and dirt surrounding the flaw you messed with and you end up creating another one. Ironic. It’s flawed because someone once told you in fifth grade that you had really big pores, or that you could never look like Katy because you had too much acne. It’s flawed because once during summer band, someone pointed out the flaws on your arms from being out in the sun.

I still know who said all of those things. Another perk of anxiety. Constantly thinking about things that happened days, weeks, months, years ago. Every insult is fried into my brain. Instead of memorizing dates in history class, I was thinking about why the boy I had a crush on left me. I was good at school, sure, but I was better at overthinking.

Today, I am twenty years, five months, and two days old. It’s January 19, 2017. Nineteen days into the new year and I have already had too much stress thrown in my direction. School-wise. Life-wise. Anxiety-wise. Which causes an uproar in my skin-picking tendencies even more.

Right now, I am typing with cuts on the tips of my fingers. Cuts from a knife. Cuts from my cat Patrick, who believes that “playing” has to involve claws. The cuts make it difficult to type, however the subject of this blog makes it more difficult. Exhaustion has led me into discussing things I’m uncomfortable with. I could talk about anything right now. I could talk about the things on Facebook that irk me or I could talk about the issues with society nowadays, because damn, there are multiple.

However, I chose the one subject I dislike about myself. I am opening up to the internet about a self-diagnosed “disease” that I don’t like to talk about.

To publish, or not to publish.

That is the question.