A Harsh Humble Brag (i.e. an argument between the voices in my head)

Insert sappy, sunset photo to elicit the feels.

So its been, what, 9 months since I've sat down and written anything? Clearly I went down the "bartend until I wither from lack of mental stimulation" route that I had warned about in my last post.  And fuck, it feels fucking terrible! Money is fine, my schedule is essentially my own to make, but god am I miserable.  Stress from work has somehow found a way to encroach on any happiness I find.  Now, thats not to say that I'm not just a miserable s-o-b, but somehow whenever I'm specifically in this line of work, at the same restaurant, everything feels "bleh." Do you know that I punched a tree last night? A fucking tree! Why? Because I felt like someone had injected novocaine into my entire life and it was all just kinda floating, out of my control. So what did I do? While walking home, I wound up, and punched the absolute shit out of a big bad tree.  Spoiler alert, the only thing that happened was that my hand was kinda sore after. Tree... still a tree. Life... still the same. But maybe it was a wake-up call to take some control over my happiness.  So here we go. I'm gonna start by obliterating the lies that I keep telling myself:

1. Grad school apps are just so lengthy, that its taking me a while to complete them. BULLSHIT! I'm being lazy and negative about whether or not I'd get in.  I keep telling myself that its easier to just not apply than to be rejected.  Stop it. Sit down and get to work.
2. Being single is fun, and I'm single because I want to be.  FUCK THAT! No it isn't, no it isn't, no it isn't. No I'm not, no I'm not, no I'm not. Each time something doesn't work, I chalk it up to be another reason to build up yet another phony wall in front of myself.  I'd rather be the "cool and unattached" girl than actually look someone in the eyes and tell them that they have the power to completely ruin me.  Similar to the grad school app drama, I'd rather not try than be rejected.  But doesn't this hurt more? Being alone? Hitting trees and scraping up my knuckles in order to feel something?
3. If I want to leave my job, it has to be because I'm leaving the country. Okay now this one doesn't even come close to making sense. When I write it down I can already see how ludicrous it sounds but I can't bring myself to not believe it.  My soul has been sold to Locals, and even though I could easily work somewhere else (even if it is a pay cut), I have a really hard time seeing that as an option.  But hello, it is.
4. My friend circle is suffering here because there are just less people to be friends with. No, wrong again. My friend circle in NH is suffering because of two reasons: first, sometimes people outgrow each other, and that is ok, and second, friendship is a reciprocal relationship, and I can't expect to get back something I don't give out. Aka, I need to get out of my own head for a while and get into the world. Make connections. So many lovely people, I just need to dedicate my time to loving them, and what a wild notion, maybe I have to go out and find them.
5. I'm not worth much, and I'm not special. Ouch. Ouch ouch ouch. This one hurt to write down.  And hurts to try and disprove.  I don't know how old I was when I convinced myself that I wasn't enough.  Middle school? Earlier? I've inherently become my own worst enemy; my biggest critique.  Which is important for when you're trying to improve, but deadly for when you're trying to be happy. So here goes nothing. I AM worth something and I FUCKING AM special.  I love things really hard; I'm passionate and patient; I'm generous and devoted; I'm (aaaaghhhhhhh) pretty and my body is beautiful as it is; I'm an able and valuable sister, friend, daughter, aunt, figure skater, coach, teacher, and worker; I make a difference. (Literally squirmed while writing this, why does self-love feel so foreign and unnatural?)

So here I am, sitting outside on my rickety picnic table, ridden with spiders and dirt, saying no to myself.  I will not be ruled by the lies that I tell myself. This is my FUCKING life, and its up to me how I fuck it up, not the little voices that are constantly telling me what I can and cannot do.  With today being July 7, I'm officially vowing to write at least once a day until August.  If inspiration won't come to me, then I'll go out and find it.  Two sentences or a thousand, I'm going to take charge. And write. And keep writing until everything makes sense, because everything is going to be okay in the end, and if its not okay, then its not the end.