Just came home from giving my first speech in my public speaking class. I’ve been killing myself over this and even during class tonight, before we started doing the speeches, I convinced myself that I will simply not survive this class.
But then, time came and I went up there and did and I actually killed it. I didn’t know I had killed it until the professor told me but still…
The thing is, I can do it. I just need to believe myself. And after she told me that I actually felt like I can do this class. Isn’t it amazing how something so simple can change everything?
However it’s not all flower of course. And soon, my confidence started going down again. We were in groups talking about our next speech and that voice in the back of my head kept questioning the quality of my speech. Soon there I was knee deep in insecurity.
It’s amazing how little faith I have in myself and in my ability to do things well. It’s unbelievable how easily I can sabotage my own confidence. I don’t know what the hell was done to me when I was a child but I think I’m onto something here.
But how exactly can I work on this without totally overdoing it? I think I’m gonna need help.
About six years ago I was in this same situation. Wondering what went wrong, what I could do to change and make my life better. I had some sort of epiphany and changed my whole life. I was so miserable then that I got courage from god knows where to leave everything and everyone and start anew somewhere I had never been before.
Now I’m here. It’s been four years. I have not gotten where I wanted to be. I’m tired and I look around and I don’t see myself moving forward. There is no light at the end of this tunnel. I could insist in this and keep living this half mediocre life for maybe a year or two. Or I could risk again, leave everything and everyone and start anew somewhere nobody knows my name.
This is probably one of those cases of ”running is not gonna solve your problems because they’ll follow you’. But I truly feel that this phase of my life has run its course. More and more things keep happening that tell me this is done, things need to change. I need to move or I’ll get left behind eating dust all by myself. However, this time I’m terrified. No matter how much reason tells me I need to move along, my heart doesn’t want to and I’m scared to death of starting again.
I was raised with very, very strong morals. Both my mother and my father were big on ‘doing what is right’. I was also raised in a Catholic (mostly) society and family (although we weren’t THAT religious, but that stuff rubs off on you). It’s not surprising that I’ve developed this belief that if we do the right thing, we get rewarded, we do the wrong thing and — besides being eaten up inside by guilt– your punishment waiting for you with a bat in hand right around the corner.
Those rules always apply for me, but it doesn’t always happen the other way around. For a long time I would be really pissed, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed mad and proclaiming at the top of my lungs with a fist raised in the air ‘that’s not fair!’ whenever somebody was malicious, or plain bad and got away with it.
The older I get, the more those things seem to happen. People cheat, betray, steal, lie and sometimes bad things happen to them, sometimes they don’t. And while I’m consumed by questions of morality everyday, they go by just living their lives whatever way best fits them.
What I’ve just recently realized is that, there is no big book stating that’s how things work (ok, maybe the Bible, but with all due respect, not very religious here), nobody ever made a scientific study that proves this is how life rolls. I’ve finally noticed that those are rules I made and in reality consequences are random. Life is random, events are random, things happen randomly. They do not follow our pre-conceived notions of how they should happen (they might sometimes when we get lucky). And we just have to surrender to whatever happens and let go.
ps.: of course morality is good and I do plan on keep living my life by the rules I was taught but I’m just not getting mad that other people get away with stuff anymore.
My first Practicum meeting, and the realization that I bit off more than I can chew
Don’t be impressed if I sound cool right now. My exterior looks calm, cold even, but, inside I’m freaking out. I’m really scared of this semester at school. I just realized I’ve committed to way too much and I don’t think I’ll be able to do it. Fear of failure is probably the worst monster always hiding under my bed.
I just logged off of a summer of boredom. I’d wake up at eleven most days, tweet and tumble my way into the afternoon and at two thirty start running all over to go to work. I’d work until sixish, sometimes later (I’ll give myself that) and then watch TV until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore (usually around 2am). Now I’ve logged into fall semester, full time course with this one effing Practicum class that is going to take up three mornings of my week. On top of that I have an English and a Film class that meet twice a week and a lovely Speech class that is partially online (I know doesn’t make any sense to me either, but the saddled horse walked by me and I jumped on it. A speech class that only meets once a month is introvert heaven).
I know, I know, this is nothing. Most people work full time jobs and are full time students and still have to raise a family on the side. I really can’t complain, and my own life once was a lot crazier than this. And I’m sure I’m going to be ok (probably even better since my hyper brain won’t have time to overthink crazy stuff and I’ll be so tired at the end of the day that I’ll probably manage to overcome my ever hunting insomnia), but I cannot help but worry. I just can’t.
I’m really scared I won’t concentrate enough to do all of my assignments properly or at all and that the exhaustion is going to be too much on my fibromyalgic body. I worry that I won’t have time to do anything that I enjoy and I’ll end up having a nervous breakdown. I plainly worry that it will be too much English on my Portuguese brain, and it will all spiral out of my precious control, and I’ll start failing everything and I’ll finally, finally become the looser I always feared I would be.
Because I never cut myself any slack. I never tell myself it’s ok to not be perfect since I’m studying in a foreign language. Or that it’s ok to feel extremely exhausted and unable to concentrate since you do have fibromyalgia. I never let myself relax if there is still work to be done. And I worry so much about the work that is still queued that I end up not concentrating to do the work that needs to be done NOW. No I never give myself a tap on the back and say ‘It’s ok, we’ve been through this before and worse and you made it. And if you don’t make it, it’s not the end of the world. Maybe if you do stop worrying about it and start concentrating on it you might get it done faster and better and then you’ll have time to watch Fringe and Doctor Who and obsess about it on twitter.” I never do that, because even if I did, I still wouldn’t listen to myself.
You know how some people just can’t be alone? I’m the polar opposite. My craving to always be alone is bordering on unhealthy. Who am I kidding? It is downright unhealthy. I can’t connect to people, can’t feel comfortable around them, can’t open up. I’m always a bit hesitant, with one foot planted permanently back. Even the people I already know and love and feel comfortable with I still don’t want to be around them. I just want to be left the fuck alone. And I don’t feel sad or depressed, I just feel good. Sometimes I miss some interaction but not much really.
I wonder if it’s part of being an introvert and a highly sensitive person, but sometimes I just wonder if it’s something my parents did to me when I was a kid and some overpriced shrink could fix before I’m thirty.
I might be the only person in the world who cooks then cleans and then eats. I just cannot eat comfortably knowing dirty dishes are in the sink waiting anxiously for their bath.
That alone says a lot about me (note to self: include in online dating profile). One thing you can guess is that I have ulcers, another is that I’m an anal b***. But I simply can’t relax knowing there are things that are under my responsibility awaiting to be done. Putting it simply, I’m a control freak.
It all started a good ten years ago when I was a spoiled brat and never cleaned my messes or cared for anything that belonged to me. My mother, a lovely woman but lacking all the severeness of the world, would always clean after us. It wasn’t until I was 17 and she got sick and was unable to perform her housewife duties that I realized I cannot stand messes and still am quite a messy person (not to mention lazy). Things would start piling up, dirt and disorganization would take over and drive my little capricorn ruled mind crazy. That was when I started to compulsively put stuff where they belonged (and if they didn’t have an assigned place I would assign them one also compulsively separating and categorizing) and cleaning. I simply could not stand seeing the house anything short of spotless.
And there began my bad habit of cooking, cleaning and only then eating my already cold meal.