Here I am

Lately I've been getting the sense that I've been going about this whole thing wrong. I've been too consumed by figuring out what I want to do with my life, for the rest of my life, that I've just pressured myself into paralysis.

Part of the problem stems from the fact that I spend the majority of my time around people who know quite distinctly what they want to do. It's one of the problems with living in LA and working in the film industry. Almost everyone I know is in film in one capacity or another, and with a career that hard to break into, people have to know that they want it.

Well, I'm not one of those people. I stumbled on film by mistake. I was going to school at the Unversity of Victoria in British Columbia, which was fucking beautiful let me tell you. It wasn't my first choice. I wanted to go to Stanford, and although I was a legacy student with 1430 SATs (this was back when that was a good thing) and a GPA of 3.85 at an all-girls Catholic prep school where I was an active volunteer and a committed thespian, I just wasn't good enough. I applied early, and got defferred, which was better than the other girls that had applied, but when the final letter went out, I was regeted.

It broke me, in a way.

I went to UVIC because it was beautiful and in Canada, which was a plus as Bush was in office.

I loved it.

I'm still kicking myself for not staying there.

So as I was saying, I went for a year. Loved it. But when the time came to go back... I was fucking paralyzed again. I couldn't do it. I was so scared. I don't really know why. While I was away at school my family (my mom and sister, anyway) had moved from Portland to Los Angeles, and my dad had declared bankrupcy and sicced his creditors after my mom, and things with my boyfriend had gone from bad to worse (more on that later, I'm sure). So there was that. But I'm still not sure exactly what it was that froze me up with fear.

So I didn't go back. Left everything I had stored up there and left my friends and never looked back. Well, I did look back, but that wasn't til much later. I had been working at my step-father's production company over the summer, and it didn't make me want to shoot myself. Someone with a fair amount of influence in this industry once made an off hand comment that I should be working in film, so I though, "What the fuck, why not? I don't have a dream of my own, and this doesn't suck, so why not borrow it for a while?"

I dropped out of UVIC, transferred to my local community college, College of the Canyons, which was something that once would have made me feel like a failure, worked my ass off for a year, and then transferred to Unversity of California, Santa Cruz. Why? Because it was beutiful and my boyfriend at the time had went there and liked it and it didn't make me want to shoot myself to think of going there.

So I did.

For two years. Broke up with my boyfriend who had gone there. Took a lot of classes and worked as a dishwasher the Porter Dining Hall. Got a new boyfriend, whom I thought I would marry. Became an RA. Went home for the summer. Worked at MPH some more. Became close with my best-friend. My boyfriend cheated on me, broke my heart. My best friend fell in love with me. I fought for the boyfriend and got him back. Went back to school. My boyfriend told me he didn't love me, broke my heart again. Cried to my best-friend for hours. The boyfriend fought for me, and I took him back. It was never really the same after that. The boyfriend and I moved in to my dorm together. Hurt my best friend. Almost lost him. Became more and more of a stoner. Lost a little bit of my heart to my best friend. The boyfriend and I seemed to get closer and closer, and yet we started to have more and more problems. Felt like I was losing myself. Graduated with all kinds of honors. Came home to LA. Broke up with the boyfriend. Broke my own heart that time.

I still haven't gotten over it yet. I still feel like I lost the love of my life. I feel like I never really had him in the first place. I feel like he died. I don't think all ever get over it, although everyday I can bear the pain a little bit better. I think I'm getting stronger.

I don't think I'll ever be able to love like that again. It hurts too goddamn much, and to do so would be to betray him. And although he's gone, there's still a part of me that thinks that no matter how many miles or mistakes are between us, he'll always be the love of my life. He'll just have to be the love of my life that I live without.

At any rate...

Got a job at Warner Bros. Started dating my best-friend. Got an apartment, got a roommate. Moved into the apartment. The ex asked me for his shit back on my birthday. I asked him for back rent. He spewed filth back at me. Made me feel like shit. My heart broke a little bit more. Made a mistake. Practically got disowned by my mom. My mom tried to take me back into the fold, I wouldn't let her, was too upset. Had another, bigger falling out with my mom. Cried a lot. Went to Thanksgiving with my boyfriend/best-friend. Things got a little better with the mom. My supervisor got fired. I tried for the position. I went home for Christmas. Got snowed into LA. Couldn't go back to Portland. Worked on my apartment. Went back to work. Got passed over for the position. Trained my new supervisor. Helped the boyfriend move.

Finally sat down to think and realized I have no fucking idea who I am anymore, how I got here.

Freaked out.

Read a lot.

Started writing this blog.

Here I am.