Lilith: warming up to my blog

When I was single, I had all sorts of art-related activities to keep my mind busy; distracted. Although, even then, I didn't constantly write poetry or draw, and I had little drive to take those talents seriously, I was always occupied (or preoccupied). Now that I am getting in touch with my old self, I remember how it felt like, about five or six years back. I always had a melancholic air about me... which disappear every time I was having fun with good friends or my close cousins and relatives. It was a lot easier to understand who I was, what type of person I was, back then, I think. Although I wasn't as open as I am now, I didn't confuse people so much before.

I still give people wrong impressions now. Just different ones. Much better ones, I guess? I don't really know. But I was attuned to myself a long time ago. After dating Miles* for a while, I forgot to look into myself; to converse with myself. I used to literally, silently speak with myself. 

"What the hell, Lilith? Did you really just say that? Ugh, yeah, I know, what was embarrassing, can we just forget about it? Listen to some music, that should help you forget! Right, I'll do that."

My older blogs even had comical portions that featured the three parts of my consciousness arguing/conversing. It's funny, and I could write endlessly, and with my eyes closed; I think, because I was so aware of my thoughts and feelings. I realize how raw my blogs could have been years ago when I religiously maintained them.

I've always been lonely, and I think this is the very first time I'll admit that. On here, an anonymous blog, too! I wonder why it's so hard to preserve friendships. It may be because it's hard to find friends that I actually like. There's always something that puts me off. I have friends that are so like me, yet their vast knowledge or their busy schedules or their fast-paced lifestyle kind of makes me want to take a step back. Sometimes, they really do matter to me, but I am just another random face to them. I've also been used by "friends" numerous times. These aren't even "friends". Jesus, I'm this old, and I still have trouble keeping company. What the fuck.

I have friends that are true soulmates, but distance and priorities keep me apart from them. I'm still happy we try to get in touch and we miss each other. I'm not sure how to take the changes in our lives, though. However, the fact that we remain friends despite the separation makes me feel warm inside. 

I know I can't depend on them, though; and they probably think the same about me. I'm not sure. The thing is, though, they're doing better than I am, and they're fine. I'm not, and that doesn't make me feel like a worthy friend. I feel like I got stuck (pushed back, rather?) in the past after the "big incident" with Miles. 

Blogging, writing, listening to music, watching films and series, reading, drawing, et cetera: these always kept me busy back then. I sometimes felt like I was forcing myself to do these things, and honestly, I don't go out enough. I think we've established that the reason for this is because all my real friends have moved on and it's difficult to find new quality friends (also: especially because I have left two jobs and didn't get to connect properly) nowadays. 

Despite having an active mind, I was constantly drawn to sad and gloomy emotions, situations, people, things... I think this really is where art comes in. I was so pensive. I wrote beautifully about the most insignificant things. I paid attention to very significant life issues and write extensively, intelligently about them. I was so gloomy, yet I was ten times funnier. How was that possible? How am I so boring now that I am more open, more vocal, less shy, more assertive and confident? How strange is that?

Ah. Of course. I gave all of this up for one person: Miles.

I used to hang out with my close college friends after school. But you know what they say: love is a drug. I got addicted to it. First, it was JC*--and a number of guys I was talking with, too, at the time. I was so into the fact that they might be into me; I guess it was because I needed a simulation of a relationship or dating (in order to write about it?). I wasn't ready to date anyone, mainly because I haven't found anyone who was that worth it, but I wanted to write about love and pain, and the beauty of sadness/loneliness that comes with it. I was so into art, so into love, I was basically in love with everything around me. Everything meant something, and I would write about it. Every small incident was a story. Everything inspired me. I was constantly daydreaming.

When Miles and I started getting more steady, I would hurry home, or wake up hours before I really should. I'd match my sleeping schedule with his so I could spend more time with him. I spent too much time with him and put him above everything. I'd rather stay home and speak with him that go out with friends or family. It was all about him. And somehow, I believed he put a lot of effort in making it about me, too.

But now that I look at everything--at us--from the very beginning to now--all those years--I realize that he only really had time for me because his schedule permitted it. If he had the option to speak with me while he was out doing something, he'd do it. But I really am... just an inconsistent part of his schedule. Everything--work, his health, his friends and family--else in his life goes first. I am just... something he squeezes into his sched. 

Meanwhile, I--

Picture this. I am working on seven projects on a big table: it looks organized, busy. Miles walks over-- "Hi, Lilith. Ugh, I'm so hungry."

In a matter of two seconds, I've swept all my papers from the table with my right arm, and grabbed prepared meals from under the now clean table, so we could eat together. 

Yeah, that's how I treat him. I'm never prepared for anything else in my life but him. 

I wonder why it hurts me that our goals are changing for the worse (for our relationship). You'd think by now that our plans are now more in sync, because we're getting older and more and more eligible for settling down. When he was red, I was blue. So I worked hard in considering being red. Now that I'm closer to being red, he decides he's going to be blue. Yes, I know people change, but why are things turning out this way? If I knew this was going to happen, that he was going to consider a future for himself without me, I would've just ignored him five years ago. I would have never let this relationship happen. 

The reason why I stopped going out, socializing, taking care of myself, doing art, BLOGGING, is because everything had become him. He had become everyone, and everything to me. My diary, too. Now that he's not around, I feel so uneasy... naked, even. Because I have nothing, no one. Before I realized it, he had become my world. I used to promise myself never to let that happen... with anyone. It isn't worth it. Well, I guess I taught myself a lesson well. I just learned it the hard way. This is something I will someday teach my daughter... at least there's that. Someone will benefit from this pain someday. It's okay.

My blog used to be.... mostly my everything. I wrote about my feelings, every single insignificant occurrence in my life. I stopped because I had him. I told him everything. He knew everything. And what do you know, he doesn't really tell me everything. What's the point?

Blogging feels alien to me when I first start writing after stopping for a long time. I think I should warm up to it again, because it helps... somehow. Crying and drinking and watching shallow movies have started to lose their effect on me. They just wear me out and make me uglier.

I wish I would never stop blogging. I don't think I have to commit to this a hundred percent, like I used to, with my past journals... but I hope I keep this one alive. I know it will keep me sane.


Lilith

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*Code name/s

Lilith: Music for the Restless Soul

I have been doing my best to keep myself occupied these past few days. Somehow, I still can't bring myself to feel guilty or mad that I left my job. However, I do miss having things to do; stressing over things that actually matter... being a useful human being and feeling responsible for something good.

How many interviews have I turned down? For every 10 applications I send out, an average of 4.5 would contact me for an interview. What led me to send out as many applications as possible isn't the fact that I'd like to pursue a career with them, though; it's just out of desperation. I'll admit, I really just want to know that I have a lot of options, and I like knowing that I have a fallback, should my world collapse without a moment's notice.

I only go to 2 out of the 4.5 potential employers that call me back. Because I am a stuck-up millenial.

I guess I should've gone to that one interview after all. I knew I probably wouldn't want to get the job; it sounds like it'll make me want to leave after just a few months. But I also wanted to be exposed to people who work at what I believe is an atypical corporate set-up. That, and I wanted to get some milk tea and a box of doughnuts on the way home, which I'll never do if I had no reason to go out (saving money...). Spilled milk. Oh, well.

I believe I've done as much as I can think of--watched movies, series, read manga, checked my social media 100 times a minute, checked the time every two minutes, believing it's been thirty...

...played with the dogs, moved around, watched about a hundred trailers on YouTube and discovered new music, tried to keep up a conversation with people that piss me off just to get my mind off things, just to keep me busy...

...actually bothered to watch TV again, ate 'til I ran out of things to eat (I believe the reason I gain weight when I'm stuck at home is because I get too bored and antsy and am desperately trying to keep myself busy, doing at least 2 things at a time), developed OCD (no joking here, I think I'm starting to have this)...

I'm depressed, and don't eat meals on time. I wouldn't want to eat 'til I have people on the table to eat with. I'd starve myself 'til someone would eat with me. A couple of times, I waited too long, I found out they went ahead without me. Thanks for the invitation! Much appreciated.

I thought nothing would fill the void. I thought nothing would heal me. I said, "calm down, listen to some music. Update your blog." I played a song I downloaded yesterday, and started to feel better. I started to listen to the lyrics that I was unconsciously drawn to... which probably led to me downloading it. It definitely wasn't just the catchy tune.

Well, whaddaya know, I can relate to the words very well. I started to nod my head to the music, but after I listened to it thrice, I started to feel bitter again. I'm such a loser. 

I'd make coffee twice a day after I told myself I should stay away from caffeine because I've been developing an addiction... again, just to distract myself. I look forward to interviews now, despite that horrible interview that went down last week. I don't give a fuck. I'll take insults from strangers any day, just get me out of here.

I'm a home body. Now I'm not. My safe haven, my room, my house... now feels like a mental institution. Geez. I'm pathetic.

I'm also battling with pride. Lots of it. I wish I didn't have to, but I am. I keep convincing myself, like a madwoman, that I'm being paranoid, about everything. You think it's this, but it's actually that. It's actually more okay than I think. Things are fine, and I'm just restless.

Now that I know that music can help me, I would probably spend the rest of the day music-tripping and preparing for tomorrow's interview. I hope all goes well for that one. Really.

I really need to get a job soon, I think I'm going mad. I need to do something!


Lilith

ATYT: On being a working loser

Since I left my job, I've gone back to a routine that's all too familiar and rather unwelcome: staying up late, waking up before noon (I've actually become better with my sleeping habits compared to when I was... much younger), not taking breakfast seriously/taking "Rockstar Breakfasts"** and of course, struggling with the jobhunt. True, the recent, almost month-long illness I recently dealt with ruined my momentum, but I can't help but be frustrated at the demons and angels constantly debating in my head--do I regret leaving my first job? Yes. No. Why do I? Why don't I? It was for the best. No, it wasn't. Do I regret leaving my second job without a replacement job after I seriously learned my lesson the first time? No. In fact, I had everybody's blessings! Including the goddamn company itself, no matter how much I wish I didn't (yet)! Wait, maybe I do? Maybe I should have just allowed assholes to humiliate me everyd--wait, no. I can't. Where did I go wrong? Did I even make a mistake?

And then, I look back, and realize I did nothing wrong. I couldn't stay. But something went wrong somewhere. However, I can't turn back time. I made decisions I regretted, but when I try to imagine taking the other available options for those situations, I can't help but accept that I picked the better choice.

The things I should've done, that could've made my resume look better, were so far back in the past; there's no helping it. I'm finding it strange that I am pissed at myself for things I have no control over. I've actually been making good career decisions since I started my second job... I am just angry that the circumstances made everything wrong even when they weren't supposed to be.

Look at me now. I sometimes have chips or candy for breakfast, then fall back asleep. I have lunch at 3 p.m., 4, even. I feel proud of myself when I have lunch at 2 or 1, and want to throw a party if I have it at noon. I feel accomplished when I eat a proper breakfast. I feel hopeful when I go to an interview and ace the easiest interview to ace--the first one, or any with an HR person. I feel depressed and make up excuses to treat myself to an expensive beverage, meal, or something nice by convincing myself that I deserve or need it. I play with the dogs every  ow and then, they are a source of entertainment. I fight with Miles* often, making me question not the relationship, but the mental state of the people in it--are we okay? Is he, am I right in the head? Are we bipolar? Do we have anger issues? Are we short and hot because we are part of the highly pressured generation?

Just a few hours ago, my parents were giving me a glimpse of how things were in the past--people who married at 20 at a certain time were young. But, the generation before that married at 18, and that was okay. BUT! A generation before that married at 16 and that was the norm! Not too long ago, getting married in your mid-20's was pretty ideal. But a few years ago, when one of my cousins married at 27 or 28, my mom said they were too young. What the actual fuck?

Please excuse me while I silently consider my goal to marry at 24 and have a child a little after that.

Well, decisions change, and now that I'm close to my once marrying age goal, I don't think I'm up for it yet 'til I'm sure everything's set. But now most people are considering marrying in their 30's. I wonder if, 25 years from now, people will start considering marrying at an even later age. Is that how things work? Can we remember that our bodies deteriorate in time and stop letting money and success take over our lives and happiness?

Look at me now: I'm best friends with my laptop, smartphone and the internet. I'm constantly on social media websites and dreaming online. Reading manga, discovering music, watching series, catching up on movies and books and rest. I barely move. I'm too skinny yet I don't eat well and somehow, I'm starting to get some fat in some areas (?!).

To be honest, I think I kinda suck. Almost a year after grad (it was my fault, I was too lax) before I got my first job. Left, took another 7 months before I landed myself a new one. Left immediately and God please help me get a good, new one ASAP because...

Why? Think about it. Why do you want to work? Do you even want to? I questioned myself and even when the inquiry came from me, I was afraid to answer, silently. I had to do it step by step:

Do you want to work, Lilith?
Yes.
Why?
Um... because (another answer keeps fighting its way into my head, but I kept pushing the thought away) I want to buy things, pay for stuff and have a career.
But if you had an unlimited source of  income, would you still consider getting yourself a job; employed, like you want to be?
No.
Why?
Because the truth is, some people really don't want to work. Maybe it's because most people do things they don't exactly love. People want to play, even when they're at work. That's why it's important to love what you do. They say if you do, you wouldn't consider it 'work'.
So then why do you say you 'want to work'?
I think it's because of societal pressure. It's the kind of pressure people around my age from this generation get. We're expected to graduate from college, take a master's degree, work at this age, be able to accomplish this much at this age, be able to do this at this age... or if we can't afford college then we have to find success in other ways like a business, or something similar. Expectations. They fucking suck.

Truth be told? Even if we lived on a little money, as long as we're not hungry, have shelter and all the basic needs, we'll be fine. Truth be told, most things around us that we consider important are just luxuries we don't need. Societal pressure. We're obsessed with success in different forms, whether real or made up, tangible or intangible.

Look at me. I am lonely. I am detached from things considered at important in life at this time: I don't have ANY real friends at the moment, I barely go out, I haven't traveled and done anything fun for the longest time, I am in a LDR, I talk to my dogs. Same sitch whether or not I am employed. It sucks, and I am sometimes frustrated with this kind of life. But deep inside, despite the yearnings, I'm still kind of happy! Holy shit. I have time. I know I can make up for this shit some time.

I was almost more sad than pissed when one asshole told me to "get a life, you need to go out more" when I was happy about something work-related that turned out good. I knew the fucker had a point and I did need to do many things more, but I had a life. Whatever I have right now is one. It's my life. Fuck off.

Maybe for the first two decades of my life I am meant to be a hermit. Maybe the next two or three I'll be a fucking world crawler. And more exposed to basically every type of person, place, event, activity and natural or synthetic creation than you'll ever be.

Ladies and gentlemen, I hope my angels and demons entertained you tonight.


Lilith

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*Code name/s
**having the worst food options for breakfast; i.e. candy, soda, chips, chocolate, cake