Separation... from myself

I feel like my separation from my husband has more than just separated me from him, as the title of this entry clearly states. I've been separated from myself. I've done things I never dreamed I would do. I've been stupid. I've been careless. I haven't been ME. I'm trying to decide if all those are bad things. Perhaps the first two at least. Being me... maybe "me" wasn't the greatest thing to be. Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind who I was. And I say "was" because I think any seriously traumatic event inherently changes you. But maybe, just maybe, being the new me isn't quite so bad. Well, I have a horrible aversion to being in a serious relationship right now. That's the key to understanding me. God, I do NOT want to get into a relationship. The thought petrifies me. It's self preservation... I cannot stand to go through what my husband put me through again. I know I'm not getting any younger, but I have no desire to have children, so who the hell cares? Single life doesn't suit me, but at the moment I feel like monogamy is a trap that I won't be able to escape once sucked in, and I can't deal with that.

Too bad they don't make GPS for your life...

I was going to start this entry with some random philosophical bullshit, but it just wasn't working for me. The truth of the matter is that I have NO FUCKING CLUE where I'm going in life. So many of my big, bright plans for the future have been completely derailed, and I really don't know how to get back on track, or where whatever tracks I get on will lead me. When I went away to Clemson, my life seemed so... certain. I was going into a major that would dump me right into a well paying job. I had a boyfriend who told me every day how beautiful I was and how much he wanted to marry me. My sanity was... well, at worst it was hanging on by a thread, but at best it was merely questionable. My parents were proud of me. Flash forward two years. My sanity flies out the window and takes me along for the ride. I have to withdraw from Clemson. My boyfriend dumps me a mere 8 days before our 4 year anniversary. My parents were... not necessarily less proud, but they treated me like a child, so fragile, to be protected. I meet my husband six weeks after my ex dumps me. I very nearly succeed in a suicide attempt, but at least I have someone who loves me. Flash forward 4 and a half years. Here I sit, as I am now: unemployed, separated from the one person I truly trusted after all that trust was ripped to shreds, sanity... still questionable. Did I mention, seven years in, I have yet to get so much as an associates degree? I'm quite sure I'm handling the separation in the most wrong way possible, but where is my map, where is my GPS, to tell me the right direction in which to go? And what the flying fuck am I supposed to do with my life? I'm blinking disabled... there are only so many things I can do with my life. Modeling... I love it so far, I really do. But it's not a job, and I have serious doubts that it ever will be (unless somebody just randomly chooses me to be their muse and throws paying work my way). Being honest with myself, I don't have the face or body for print work or runway. The best I can hope for is probably art photography. Hell, anyone can do porn, but that's just out of the question. I love my parents, and despite all that's happened, they're still somewhat proud of me, and I'd like to keep it that way. I still plan to finish my bachelor's degree (what's little left of it... four classes), but what the hell do you do with a BA in Biology anyway? Especially when you can't hold a job in the first place? I seem sometimes to have more questions than I do answers. Maybe the answers aren't for me to know. If I'd known even the last five years of my future before it had happened, would I have done everything in my power to change it for the better? Yes. Would I have learned what I've learned and grown as a person the way I have? I'm guessing not. I don't mean to get all hokey and overly religious, but I believe God knows what he's doing. I like to think that, anyway.

Finally, I forgive you

I had an epiphany today. I finally forgive my ex-boyfriend, the one I was with for four years. He knows what he did after we broke up that I was latently mad at him for all this time, but I'm finally able to forgive him 100%. I realize now that it wasn't a matter of him consciously trying to hurt me, but that people do some stupid and desperate things when they go through a big change in life. I can empathize. Maybe I haven't made the exact same choices he did, but I have enough perspective to realize that the way I'm reacting to my separation is a lot like the way he handled our breakup. I take back what I said about him being a bad person, because I really don't think that's what it boils down to at all. He's human, and so am I. Humanity sucks sometimes, I swear to it. But it's not really something you can avoid when you're, you know, a member of our species. I hate that it took me so long to gain the proper perspective on our whole post-breakup phase, but whatever. I got there eventually, and I can finally say those three words I've been itching to say (and mean) for four years: "I forgive you." Mission accomplished.

Dreary existence

Some days I get tired of this dreary existence. Being unemployed su-huh-hucks. But what are you going to do? I've applied for jobs like crazy. No one wants to hire someone right now that can only work 20 hours a week. It's hard being lame. I have to apply for SSI next month so I can TRY to get more money from the government to help pay my living expenses. I'm going to be broke in about two months.

Apprehension

photo credit: Cedric Smith

I did my first nude shoot today, and I have to say, I was terribly apprehensive about it. Maybe more along the lines of terrified. I did some figure modeling in college, but it hardly compares at all. It wasn't really so much the fact that I wasn't wearing clothes in front of someone I didn't know, but more that I was really worried the images would come out looking pornographic. From what I've seen so far, what the photographer has sent me, my fears are unfounded. He only sent me one picture, but I was floored with how... hell, how fucking cool it was! He did some crazy photoshopping to make it look all grainy and vintage and I just totally fucking love the way it turned out. I'm so excited to get the completed images when he's done editing them, and I think my parents will only slightly disown me if they ever see them. :) But if it turns out more like art than porn, you're already doing something right. I really hope to work with the photographer again. I wouldn't have worked with him at all if his portfolio hadn't really stood out to me, and I'm glad I will have that sort of work to add to MY portfolio. Geez, talking about modeling stuff can be really boring, eh? But it's just about all I have going on in my life right now. Still no job, still no man... just a hobby.

Another excellent day in front of the camera

I had another photo shoot today. The main difference was that this one was a lot more posed, a lot slower paced. The pair of photographers had a lot more equipment to work with and it was much more formal than the last shoot. AND much, much longer. The first one was about an hour and a half... this was more like 5 hours. I'm very excited about getting the pictures though (didn't get them immediately) . The ones I looked at on the camera screens were just so phenomenal it nearly blew me out of the water. I was pretty. Me, Amanda! And I wonder if those pictures might be the difference in whether I start being offered paid gigs. I already have three more shoots lined up... one with a photographer from Savannah who's coming into town tomorrow, one Saturday with John (the photog that did my first shoot), and one on Monday. For an unemployed person, I keep pretty busy, and as far as hobbies go (and that's really all modeling is for me at this point), it's less expensive and more time consuming than most. And I get out, get to meet new people... it's all very exciting. I can't wait to put some of my new pictures up when I get them!

*update* The above is my favorite shot of the... 13 or so pictures I've been given thus far. I know they took a lot of photos and it'll be a while before I get my CD of the images, but I'm very hopeful!

Wouldn't it be lovely to get paid for this? Or anything, really?

I wonder sometimes what one has to do to become a professional blogger. I think the most important issue is probably subject matter. Political blogs, entertainment blogs, lifestyle blogs... etc. I don't think you can just blog about your life and make money unless perhaps you're already famous, which I'm certainly not. Famous in the realm of my imagination maybe. I think some of it has to do with the volume of posting material... now THAT is something I'd never have a problem with. :) I wouldn't even be wondering about such things if I had a job. Any job. Right now I'm on the verge of being destitute. Not quite there yet, but definitely having to be careful of how I spend my money. It gets me thinking about writing though. I would LOVE to write for a living. If I had the focus and drive necessary, I would totally write a novel. There's the rub... a complete and utter lack of focus. Granted, I can focus about the length of one blog entry, but when it comes to sitting down and outlining and planning and KNOWING what I'm going to write before the words reach my fingers, I'm completely and utterly useless. I write in a stream of consciousness type of way, and when I try to plan things, I fail miserably. I don't know how I always did so well on term papers and essays in high school. I just wrote or typed as the words came to me, never with much thought for structured arguments. In that way, I'm a pretty shitty writer. In small doses, I don't imagine it matters too much, but when you're trying to read 300+ pages of stream of consciousness... good God, it's got to be nearly impossible. And as you may have noted, even journal-type writing isn't my thing. I can't report what happened in my day with just the slightest touch of analysis. I am an analyzing machine! That's all I do. I'm not a damn newspaper. I'm not objective when it comes to my own life. Perhaps it's the 4+ years I've been with my therapist that have spoiled me. Insight and introspection are staples of good therapy. I will gladly admit that I have an awesome therapist and she has massively changed my life for the better, but in doing so I think I've become very self centered. Not in the bad way, like I think the universe revolves around me, but more that I care more about what I think than anything else. Maybe that wasn't her doing though. As I said before, I've been consistently blogging for about five and a half years (longer than she's been in the picture), and pardon the crude nature of the comparison, but in many ways I equate blogging to mental masturbation. Self-stimulation of the brain. Maybe I should just let that comparison go right there before I get any deeper into it... the result could be both uncomfortable and rather graphic. ANYWAY, enough for now.

Being single would be so satisfying if it weren't so lonely

I suck at being single. I really, really do. You know, leaving my husband came with a huge sense of relief. I was shouldering way more than I could bear staying with him, and in the end I got out, and VOILA! Peace. I am finally at peace. Months and months of drowning in my own tears, over in as long as it took me to pack my things and get the hell out. I blossomed with self esteem and appreciation for who I am as a person. That is a wonderful feeling! After months and, if you really want to go there, years of feeling like I wasn't good enough, the utter freedom of only having my own expectations to live up to is fucking staggering! *sigh* I feel the need for a disclaimer. *Please excuse the liberal usage of the f-word in its many forms. I assure you it is less a dearth in my available vocabulary and more a love and appreciation for the most foul of oaths.* One of these days I'm going to write a blog entry without so much as a single f-bomb dropped, and it will be regarded on high as one of God's greatest miracles. *Please excuse the liberal usage of hyperbole. It's fun... don't knock it till you've tried it!* Okay, now I'm just getting way off task and getting slightly silly. What was I even talking about? *reads title of post again* OH! I remember now. But one more disclaimer. *Please excuse the liberal usage of the asterix. That is just a failure on my part to be creative with fonts and colors and other formatting bullshit.* Back to my take on single life. So in the face of all this freedom and relief and self esteem and whatever else I feel, there's a gnawing loneliness. You really don't understand how much you'll miss the little comforts of a relationship when there are huge, insurmountable issues staring you in the face, but after you leave, you're left with something else staring you in the face: nothing. No conversation to come home to, no goodnight kiss, no one to tell you everything's going to be okay, even when it's a bold-faced lie. The thing I hate most about being "single" is the sheer stupidity it brings out in me. I try not to think of it as gullibility so much as a desperate need to believe that every endeavor of mine will work itself out to my benefit, romantic or otherwise. I hate to reference the Twilight books AT ALL because I'm embarrassed to even be halfway through the series, but in one way and one way only, I relate to Bella. When Edward leaves, the only satisfaction she gets in life (in the form of a delusion, but I'm too well medicated for that) is from taking stupid risks. I feel that way now. I don't feel like I'm LIVING unless I'm being irresponsible. It's the only way to distract from the empty loneliness... and I wasn't trying to be redundant there. I'll explain. My previous major break up, having come after four years of tumultuous dating, left me lonely as hell... but I wasn't just "lonely." I was lonely for him. I'm not lonely for my husband. I'm just lonely. That's a rather new feeling for me.

Big girls dream big!

Well, perhaps the title of my entry generalizes a lot more than I intend it to do so. Really what I mean that, for a big girl, I have big dreams. I had my first photo shoot this morning as an aspiring model, and although only about 40% of the photos of nearly 120 were to my liking, some of them were absolutely drop dead gorgeous! I got my ass up before 5 am today to do my makeup and hair and all that and get downtown by 6... thank God dawn wasn't much earlier. I had a blast though, whether I ever make it as a plus sized model or (more likely) not. I must admit, there were a few shots with a hint of lingerie showing, but generally it was just me, downtown, in a sun dress looking as pretty as I could manage so early in the morning. A good time was had by all. I have another photo shoot tentatively scheduled for Tuesday with a different set of photographers... another unpaid shoot, but at this point I could stand to just build my portfolio and see what comes of it. It's a crackpot dream, and I'm very well aware the likelihood of it taking off is next to none, but it's fun, and I need a little fun in my life.

Pigs or pushovers

After some recent experiences, I've divided men into these two categories. They either want to get into your pants so bad they practically maul you or they'll let you walk all over them. Neither is attractive. I suppose there could be one more category... TAKEN. Yeah, I know it's kind of a cliche. "All the good men are taken." But women are smart. They see a good man and they dig their talons (equating women to birds of prey now, sorry) into him and won't let him go unless he turns into A) a pig, or B) a pushover. And then you get the elusive pig-pushover sorts, who I think are just too lazy to be total pigs. I am NOT a man hater and I'm very far from turning lesbian over my frustration, but for fuck's sake, why can't there be confident, halfway attractive, nice but still assertive men out there who know how to keep it in their freaking pants?

Is love a lie?

As it says in the very brief "about me" part of my profile, I'm currently separated. My husband and I separated about two weeks ago, right before our one year wedding anniversary. That is to say, I LEFT right before our wedding anniversary. I won't go into the "seedy details" as my mother would say, but I left because he was cheating. That's all that needs to be said. You will never see me mention his name because I don't feel the need to ruin every aspect of his life. But we had been together for nearly five years and had been living together for nearly four... I don't think I'm wrong to feel betrayed after so many years of effort. The worst part was finding out that he'd even been trying to cheat on me BEFORE we got married. I first got wind of it a mere two months after we tied the knot. And the reason why is something I'll never understand. We went to couple's therapy once, and it came up that he stopped being attracted to me well before we even got married. So why did he marry someone on whom he had every intention of cheating? "Love." Love is something that everyone interprets differently, and as far as my interpretation is concerned, I'm wondering at this point if "love" is a myth, or if it's ever really permanent. You see, I've had two serious relationships in my life. One was for four years, one for nearly five. The first time I was dumped, and the second I left... what the hell was I going to do? Stay? He said he didn't want me to leave, but what kind of justice would that be doing me? I really thought both times that I had found my soul mate, and both times I was very wrong. It's probably just a post-breakup thing, the cynicism. I can't help but feel like I'll never trust a man ever again. Maybe I just haven't found the right one. I don't know how you're even supposed to find the right one nowadays. I am completely socially awkward when it comes to meeting men in person. So back I go to the internet, where I met my husband in the first place. Match.com has been very little help. I've met one person on there so far, and he was NOT the one, to put it lightly. I wouldn't DARE try to meet someone on MySpace. I've had my status changed to "single" for about a week and a half, and every creep and his brother has e-mailed me. Even MARRIED creeps. Oh, just because I'm bisexual and mildly attractive, you think I want to have a threesome with you and your wife? Have I ever given off that vibe in my life? Is there something on my MySpace page that leads someone to believe I'm looking to get into something like that? Hmm. It might be worth editing my profile to see if that's the case. In any case, love remains elusive and seems more like a myth than it ever has in the past. I'm hoping I can find someone or have some sort of experience that will lead me to believe that I'm wrong about that, but I'm not holding my breath.

A crash course in insanity

This is my first blog post, which is to say it's about my one billionth blog post, but my first under this heading. I've been blogging on a nearly daily basis since about October of 2003, first on Blurty, then on MySpace. It always surprised me that people I didn't even know stopped to read what I had to say. Maybe I'm getting a little older and a little wiser, maybe I'm growing tired of spending an eternity on MySpace. It's hard to say. In any case, I thought I'd give "grown up" blogging a shot, so here I go. My name's Amanda. I'm a native of Charleston, SC. I just recently turned 25 years old, and my life has been both utterly boring and utterly crazy. "Crazy"... I hate that fucking word. There are only three words in the English language that I truly hate being called. The f-word, the s-word, and the c-word, those of course being "fat," "stupid," and "crazy". First of all, I'm a woman; it's a given that I'm sensitive about my weight. Technically I am about 12 pounds overweight for my height, but I've got a pretty rockin' body for my size, and I don't see my weight as something that makes me deserve to be treated as less than human. "Stupid" was an ex-boyfriend's favorite. I got the highest SAT in my graduating class and had a full scholarship to an excellent university. It is 100% not true, and it gets to me worse than pretty much anything else because I know people are saying it solely to be hurtful. Then we come to "crazy"... and I hate that one for the exact opposite reason I hate "stupid", because it's too true. I am certifiably insane. I have schizoaffective disorder. For those of you that haven't read the DSM IV or whatever addition they're on now, the simplest explanation of that particular diagnosis is that it's a mood disorder and a psychotic disorder rolled into one, basically exhibiting features of both bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. So yeah, that's a real barrel of monkeys. :) I went through about eight years of different diagnoses until my current doctor finally settled on this one. My treatment didn't really change too much as a result, but my life changed by leaps and bounds. On the one hand, I was able to get disability from the Social Security Administration, although I still have to fight with them over it here and there because they don't want to give out money to ANYONE right now. On the other hand, the stigma I experience has grown exponentially. Before, when I was diagnosed as bipolar, everyone and there fucking brother either is bipolar or knows someone who is and they are really understanding about it. You throw "schizo-" in front of anything, and people automatically picture you in a padded room spreading your own feces on the walls and talking to people who aren't there. I MAY be exaggerating, but not by much. I take my medicine, I go to therapy... and still sometimes things get out of hand and I land in the hospital. But 99% of the time I'm pretty normal. I'll continue my introduction at another time... I plan for my next entry to focus on the "love" aspect of this blog, and you'll see why I don't believe in the word. Ta for now!