I don't know why I stop and start, and then pick it back up for a little while, and stop again. I'm just inconsistent, I guess. Which isn't really a good thing, but hey, at least I'm honest.

I do miss it, though. I miss splurging my inner thoughts all over the World Wide Web for the occasional stranger to stumble upon and maybe take three spare minutes to quickly scan over my random words. My only hope is that maybe one or two of my random words will resonate in some way shape or form, and mean something. Even if it's a small little something.

We're deep into January 2012, and I gotta say, I feel like this year is gonna be good. I may even go as far to say great. I mean, I don't want to jinx anything, but so far my year is already booked up with some pretty awesome things going down. The first half of the year is pretty much saving money, and thawing out from this mild winter that has barely touched DC (no complaints here, either!). Once summer is finally underway, this June (should everything continue to go as planned), I'll be making my first move into my new apartment. Oh yeah! And here's the kicker: WITH MY BOYFRIEND. That's right. I'm moving in with my boyfriend. This June. June of 2012. Moving in. With my boyfriend. So it'll be our apartment. Our place. Together.

It's a pretty big deal (even though I'm totally cool and acting like it's not a big deal, because it's only a big deal if you make it out to be a big deal). Since it's a big deal that's not a big deal, the first half of this year will also be spent sifting through the many, many things in my room that has been accumulating since 2003. Well, really, since second grade, because I still have crap that I've saved since my second year in elementary school. Still. It all travels with me.

It's about time that I purge all of my random trinkets, though, and go through what I essentially NEED (i.e. bed, bookshelves, duvets), and decide on what I WANT (i.e. sombraro, Cosmo magazine collection, notes from high school hiding underneath my bed). I feel like if I don't get rid of at least half of it, I'll end up on that Extreme Clutter show. It's not pretty.

The second half of the year will hopefully be bringing me back to London for a short visit. I'm saving, saving, saving, so I can blow all of my hard earned money on two beautiful weeks back in the city I have a not-so-secret love affair with. It'll be worth every single penny just so I'm able to see my friends, lay in my parks, ride my buses, and eat at my favorite restaurants. For two short weeks I'll regain my awkward English accent, and walk down my streets of Memory Lane. It's always a bittersweet pleasure for myself, and this time round I'll be sharing it all with my dear, sweet Jeremy, who has only heard the tales I retell over and over for him.

I can hardly wait.

In between days, it'll just be me counting down 2012. Waiting, and hopefully writing more. It's not a resolution of mine (I don't believe in starting over each year), but it is something I'd like to do more of. God knows I spend enough time faffing around on the internet watching stupid videos. It wouldn't kill me to come visit My Mumbling Thoughts more, and exercise my ability to string together coherent sentences.

I was locked inside for years. Years I allowed the darkness to consume me, my thoughts, and my personality. Lord knows I did a lot of things - self sabotaging things, self harming things - that set me back, clouded my judgment, and wasted a lot of time keeping me from my True Self.

After I graduated from university, I took a long, hard look at where I was in my life and didn't like where I had ended up. I didn't like myself, and had a lot of regrets. Deciding to be sober forced me to finally feel things that I had been suppressing for so long, and finally come to terms with a lot of issues that had held me back. My monthly counseling sessions (that I still attend) helped me control my anxiety, my breakdowns, and was a vital part in helping me see that life doesn't have to be so hard. We only make it out to be hard if that's what we truly believe.

I was locked inside for years, but over the past year and a half I've done a lot of healing, growing, maturing, and doing my best to gain a better understanding of who I am as a person, what my ultimate purpose is in life, and to do everything I can to honor that calling.

I had what Oprah likes to call an "Aha Moment" last night when I was watching one of her online classes that she started on her OWN network, and woke up this morning with such clarity I almost exploded into tears with pure joy. I truly understand it now.

** You become what you believe. **

Those words have never made more sense to me.

It's so simple, and yet I couldn't understand it for so long. Now I know it's because I wasn't ready to receive it. I would hear those words, and they were so empty to me. They meant nothing. They held zero value. Sure, whatever, I get it...You become what you believe. Makes sense.

But there's a different between "making sense" and "truly understanding". When you're ready to receive something into your life, you get that wonderful feeling of things clicking, and snapping into place, and all of a sudden it feels like you're on the right path. Everything that didn't make sense before, now appears crystal clear. I now know all of the answers to all of my life questions because I truly understand - you become what you believe.

It's a thought process that I've been working on breaking for so long, and now I know it's possible. My old limitations no longer have chains on me, and I've never felt more confident with where I'm at in life. Everything: my job, my relationships in my life, my finances, my habits, my entire thought process. Everything is exactly where it's at, because I believed it to be that way.

This morning I started a new way of thinking, embracing all the positivity I could hold, and rejecting any kind of negative energy that tried to penetrate inside my thoughts. It's an amazing power to hold, knowing that I'm capable of controling my thoughts. To understand that I'm responsible for the energy I bring every second of every day, and to truly own all aspects of myself - the good, the bad, and the ugly. It's beautiful to understand, a beautiful breakthrough, and an amazing release that I've been working so hard to achieve ever since I made the decision to better myself.

I needed to write it down so I don't forget.

You become what you believe.

And I believe that I'm a better person who will continue to grow.

I don't drink anymore, so yes, blogging is my only other option.

It certainly has been a while, so since I've done everything else (bar logging onto my work email, which I refuse to cave and check), I feel it's only appropriate that I crack my knuckles, and get into some serious updating here on Ye Old Mumbling Thoughts. Yes, a series of updates to, well, update on what has been happening since I last updated three million years ago.

I feel more like a grown up these days. I pay all of my bills, I have a full time job (that I'm grateful for, but would like to change eventually into a more fulfilling career), and I'm saving to do grown up things. I've been doing a lot of reminiscing as well, and looking back on a time when I could not wait to be a grown up. I couldn't wait to be free from Momma, be away from all of my "terrible life problems" that were holding me back from being my true self. God, I was such a pretentious little brat. I remember how big I used to dream about far away places, and all of the amazing things I'd be doing when I was my current age. Time sure is a funny thing when you look back and see how things turned out. Birthdays tend to make you stop and reflect momentarily on past years, and see the minor and major changes that have unfolded without you even realizing what happened. This year, my goal is to try and slow down so I can enjoy the happy moments when they happen, and try my very best to get through the hard times whenever they should happen as well.

Update #2: Speaking of birthdays, the reason I'm currently laying in someone else's pillow top bed with a spectacular view of the Atlantic Ocean, is because this is how Mel and I decided to celebrate getting one year older: we rented a house for an entire week, and we came up to do sister bonding stuff just the two of us. True, my awesome boyfriend was here for the first couple of days since he drove us up, but he left this past Monday, and ever since it's just been us two hanging out with the dog, enjoying the slow life (honestly, time is so much slower up here), and pretending there isn't any work at the end of this week waiting for us.

This house that we're staying in is my absolute dream house. It's a perfectly quaint, small enough yet big enough, beach house with one of the prettiest views my eyes have ever seen. There are two chairs that face the one wall with its enormous windows, and one of those chairs is where I've been spending the majority of my time. I sit and watch as the water makes its way to the shore and crashes into tiny waves. It's so much more than relaxing. It's what I imagine retirement to be like, or Heaven. Yes, Heaven for me would be those two chairs, that beautiful view, and nothing else to do except watch the seagulls try to fly against the wind.

It's perfect. One of the best birthday presents I've ever received.

Update 3: I am stupidly, ridiculously, head over heels, over the moon, stars in my eyes, swept off my feet IN. LOVE.

I AM IN LOVE, PEOPLE.

L. O. V. E.

I think I properly realized that it wasn't just the normal, standard love that people feel for good friends, but rather the Big Moving Kind Of Love, a couple of weeks ago. I remember I was alone in my room spending a rare night back at the house in Manassas. My mind was quiet for a few short seconds and I thought, "I would absolutely hate it if something were to ever happen between Jeremy and I." And I meant it. Holy crap, I meant it FOR REAL. I started getting upset alone in my room thinking about what I would do should anything ever happen between the two of us. What if one of us got hurt and ended up in a coma for ten years (because my worst-case senarios are based off of soap operas), or he found someone more interesting, taller, prettier, funnier, and smarter than me (rare, I know), or I did something to mess it all up? WHAT WOULD I DO THEN, HUH?

I don't think about any other guys. I don't daydream about anyone else. I only think about the two of us, how happy he makes me, and - wait for it - our future together.

That's right.

IN. FUCKING. LOVE.

I was a little worried at first, and immediately went into Self-Destruction Mode, however, that didn't last very long, and I decided to try something different, and embrace this new, loved up side of myself. Embrace the love! I DECIDED TO EMBRACE THE LOVE.

And you know what?

It doesn't suck.

If anything, I kind of like it. A lot.

No. I love it. I fucking love it a lot.

***

Sooo.....yeah. I guess that's kind of an update from me. I'll try back again and we'll see if I'm back to all Doom and Gloom. But I'm gonna try and keep this happy momentum going for a little while longer and see how far I can get.

Off to work.

Ugh, work.

It's not hard to see that I'm not happy behind my open desk with people shuffling by throughout the day. One could easily guess that if given the chance or opportunity, I'd leave in a heartbeat without a second consideration. I wouldn't think about the engineers I support, my fellow admins, or the other worker bees that I've gotten to know in the past year and a half. I've never been built for this bland surrounding, and I've known that for a long time now. I never will adjust to the random abstract art that they hang on the drab cream colored walls, the engineer topics I try to wrap my brain around and pretend to understand. It's just not me.

I don't know why I try to bend and conform to a place where I know I don't fit and I don't belong. I've been doing it ever since I graduated high school, and aside from London I've never been able to find a place that feels right. Instead I keep coming back here, to the plain government sector, to the safe confines of job security that pays enough, has bubble wrap benefits, and treats me well enough.

Why complain? Why always sulk behind my 24" monitor? Why wish for more, want for more, expect more from myself? Why not just stay, and accept the cushion that I've landed on?

Because inside I can't suffer like this any longer, and I know I can achieve more. I have better talents other than refilling the printer when it runs out of paper, or scheduling conference rooms for engineers who make triple my salary. I didn't get my degree in sorting the daily post, so why am I still at the beginning paying my dues?

I've not been trying hard enough for what I want. If I want it, then I need to work hard for it. If I want it, then I deserve it, and I'll get it, and it'll happen for me. It is possible. If I want to step outside of this administrative realm, then it's time for me to start walking.

My irritation with this place and myself has far surpassed a safe level, and I'm scared if I stay much longer I'll forget what I want to do in this world. I don't want to wake up and continue this hell routine for twenty more years. I want a job where I smile when I talk about it, and truly makes me happy, where I feel my purpose. Currently I feel an empty void that's craving to be filled.

Filled with words.

Sad or confused. Sad and confused. Confused and upset. Whenever I have something that has been sitting on top of my chest for an extended period of time and needs to filter through my fingeritps.

Why?

Can't I ever write when I'm happy? When I'm not in the process of trying to decipher some unknown feeling that has nestled inside me. Because I'm happy sometimes. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I have good times and enjoy myself, and smile, and I'm mindlessly overjoyed with everything around me.

But it is only when I'm sad when I take to the keyboard and dispel my dark insides, when I feel most compelled to share my rainy days. It makes me sound whiny and pathetic, like some kind of moaning baby that can't hack anything in life, but that's not always case.

It's my therapy in a lot of ways. When I'm down, and dark, angsty, and angry, I feel so intense. It scares me, but I feel more like myself. I feel drawn to the smoky corners, the inward battles, the clawing emotions. I feel it so much I can't contain it all within myself. I feel too much, that I have to dump it all here, on to the vast internet with stranger's eyes occasionally reading, sharing, and perhaps even understanding a little.

I've been trying to be happy, and stay happy, and keep consistent with my level-headed emotions. My life is nothing to be sad about. I can logically look at everything I've accomplished, everything I hope to accomplish, and everyone who surrounds me and knowingly say, "they make me happy. I have a good life."

And yet.

And yet.

The darkness still finds me.

Always.

Things never go as planned, something will inevitably go wrong, life is a constant uphill battle, and there's no point in hoping for the best when you're always searching for the next hidden iceberg that you'll no doubt crash into.

That is my life. A mess.

So when something actually works out, I'm confused and left to sit and ponder in my spare time as to what I did exactly for something to not fuck up for a change. What did I do to deserve this? Why isn't there a huge dramatic fight/argument/tug-of-war of some kind that I have to suffer through in order to get to the other side? How did I end up in a happy, positive relationship with a man who shows me in so many different ways that he truly cares for me?

Where is that motherfucking iceberg?

Needless to say, I'm waiting for it. Most of the battles I've had to fight through these past couple of months are my own, internal, personal battles that I've been working on mostly in counseling. It takes time to learn how to erase past experiences and learn how to accept a positive change. Yes, I deserve a good man who's ready and willing to be there for me. Yes, I am willing to do the same for him and continue to work on being a good person every day. Yes, we are in this together and I'll learn how to be part of twosome.

And while I understand all of that, and I'm beginning to get used to having a man around on a regular basis, I can't help but feel like I'm always standing with one foot outside the door ready to dart at the first sign of danger.

Like I said, my natural response is to expect the worst.

If anything terrible or devastating happens, it'll probably be from my own creation. I'm a pro at devising up horrible situations and letting them play out, and then suffering in the aftermath of my own destruction. I am the queen of self-sabotage, and wallowing in my own self-pity. The past proves my emotional cutting patterns, so what makes me think that this will end on any kind of happy note? I am a habitual creature, and these past three and a half months have been wonderful, but how long will that last?

It is a fear that sucks all the air out of my lungs on a daily basis.

I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm walking blindly in a happy land of Happy Goodness all the time, and I'm not preparing myself properly for the end. When will it end? When will he stop calling? When will I start drinking again? When will we lose our jobs, get sick of each other, let the resentment settle in, grow bitter, and tear each other apart? When will I stop caring? When will all of these happy memories stop happening and I have to cry until they all blur away?

I'm not used to this stability. I'm not used to planning for the long-term. I'm not used to this kind of adult relationship and things sailing along smoothly.

I'm used to the end, and strangely find that more comforting than a bed with a warm body cuddled next to me.

I'm okay now, can't you see? I'm pretty happy overall, and I don't cry for no apparent reason. Thanks for letting me talk it out and cry in the privacy of your office, but your tearful services are no longer needed.

That is until last week when I felt a familiar feeling start creeping up on me. I quickly shoved it aside, because I would not be sad. I refused to be sad. I would not let my stupid emotions get in the way of being normal and ruining my newfound stable life. My job is going as well as it could be, my family life is pretty much in order, I have a lovely boyfriend who adores me, and things are good for once. There was no need for me to start getting all gloomy for no reason whatsoever.

And I know better than to ignore it, because the longer I leave it to fester and pretend it doesn't exist, the bigger it gets, and the louder it shouts at me. It takes over all the thoughts in my brain until I have no other option than to finally deal with it. Again. Deal with my unknown sadness that seems to stem from nowhere.

So it's perfect timing that I have a counseling session set up for this Friday, where I can go and uncontrollably cry as Dale watches and asks me simple questions that bring me back to the light.

Until Friday, though, I'm now stuck knowing the fact that I'm back in a familiar dark place, and it's pretty hard to ignore anymore. Old distraction methods are hard to hold up, and I've resorted to shrinking into my quiet shell, listening to woeful music to soothe my melancholic emotions, and sleep every chance I can under my fluffy covers.

I've also tried to pin point exactly what is going on, since I'm a pro at identifying other people's issues, and have new tools I've gained from counseling to use on myself, and so far, the only big change in my life is indeed the new boyfriend, and this huge amount of pressure I've put on myself to maintain this newfound happiness. And I didn't want this dark cloud to be related to him in any way, because he doesn't make me sad. He is so funny, and likes me, and makes me laugh, and all of that mushy stuff that makes me feel the butterflies flutter inside of me.

This is more to do with me, and this giant ball of fear that has been sitting on my chest for weeks. It also may be magnified by the Depo shot I got so I didn't need to take a daily birth control pill, so all of those new, fun hormones are running rampant and getting acquainted with my body.

Still, I'm weepy for no apparent reason. Still, I almost cried at work today. Still, I almost cried in front of Jeremy because he was being so nice. Still, I clam up and hardly speak to anyone about anything, lest the one conversation about the copier is the special conversation that sets me off. Still, I can't help but feeling like something isn't right and like I've been down this knowing road before.

There's only one thing left to do until Friday, and that's to deal with this in the most grown-up manner: cry in the shower late at night after everyone's gone to bed. It's the greatest way to cope I've found, aside from taking up old bad habits.

I, on the other hand, will blink 100 times, and stare at his chin, or perhaps his cheek, but I won't lock with his gaze and hold it there. Because it terrifies me.

I have a boyfriend. A real boyfriend. A tall boyfriend. A smart boyfriend. A terribly funny boyfriend.

We have been "dating" or "together" or "whatever" now for about six weeks. That's our entire relationship, and within these six ongoing weeks, I've never thought that it could be this easy. "It" being coming together with another person who I'm so uncomfortably comfortable with. I didn't fancy him straight away, and thinking about it now, it's probably for the best. I didn't get swept up in him all of his presence, and it didn't take over my day-to-day life, which can easily happen whenever I am in-fancy with someone. Instead I pandered, I went back and forth on whether I should even attempt to be anything more with him, and thought long and hard about what I wanted to do with this new man presence who entered my world.

It's strange, though, because even though I was unsure of whether or not I wanted to make a serious attempt at getting to know him, somewhere deep inside me, ever since day one, I knew that I had the capacity to really be with him. I knew it straight away. I may not have acknowledged that little voice that said, "hey, this is a genuinely good guy," but I knew it existed, and even though it took me a few days, and a few dates to figure it out, I'm really glad I listened.

His name is Jeremy, he is two years older than me, and he's employed. He's well over a foot taller than me, he shares my love of cake, and it surprises me that we've only known each other for such a small amount of time, and yet already it feels like us being together is normal, natural, and right. I don't stress the small stuff around him, nor am I anywhere near as crazy and neurotic like I've been in the past with other guys. I think being sober helps a lot, and being a lot more aware of my true self is key. And I like him as a person. I like him a lot.

It feels like every thing happened so quickly, and took forever at the same time. A month after we started dating we became "official." The term boyfriend and girlfriend is now said out loud to other people, and I'm still getting used to hearing that word coming out of my mouth in reference to him, or hearing him say it in reference to me. We're obviously still learning about each other, but we're both so eager to uncover each other's lives and meld seamlessly in the present and our future, it's like we can't get enough. What's your favorite color, your favorite movie, your favorite food? What was your childhood like? What about your previous relationships? What do you want to do with your future? Tell me everything, because I'm dying to know everything about you.

I don't have to be Super Sam 24/7 when he's around. I can be boring, I can be cranky, and I can make zero effort with my appearance, and he still wants to hang out with me. I can be myself, and he'll still laugh. And I don't expect him to be anyone else other than himself around me. It is, truly, what I've been imagining for as long as I can remember.

She is, in so many ways, my husband.

I'm serious. We petty fight like a married couple, we share an intimacy where we can talk about anything (I'll spare you the gory details), and we're both so honest with each other it allows us to be our complete selves without any fear of judgement. If she had a penis, I would have jumped her before she could blink twice!

Our story is so interesting to me, mostly because before we left for university we lived in the same area without ever encountering each other. It took both of us moving to a different country at the exact same time to finally meet. And there, both of us chain smoking in the Heathrow smoking lounge, I met one of my best friends.

The three years that followed, we shared our dream of living in London together. Everyone was going through the same thing, exploring who they were, and trying to figure out where they belonged in this crazy world, but Trish and I shared a different kind of bond; not only was this our first time away from home, but we were both in a foreign country! She ached for Virginia the same way I would ache for Virginia, and I remember one evening in particular when we sat on the metal stairs wrapped in my green flannel blanket when I shared for the first time, out loud, that I was homesick to Trish. She understood, and I'm so grateful that she was there with me.

Two years post university and we're still going strong. Our friendship has struggled upwards with my frustrations towards her, and her taking her own time to figure out her life in her own way. It's true, I get agitated and need to take a break from her, but I know we'll eventually talk everything out and get back to our friendship. Our most recent break was one of the hardest, but she taught me a valuable lesson during our three week stint of not speaking.

We stopped speaking, because I'd decided we were no longer speaking, and that's kind of how our friendship rolls sometimes. I'll need a break from her wonderful neurosis, and she'll give me the space I need. Generally when Trish calls me, she'll have a mini drama of some kind, or know someone who's having a mini drama and I'll listen and dole out my free advice. However, I am the kind of person that eventually needs some action behind your complaints. I simply cannot listen to the same thing over, and over, and over, and over. I'm proactive! Let's do something to change this problem! We can fix it together!

While Trish is very much up for changing something that's irritating her, it takes her some time to get to that point, but meanwhile she still wants to speak to me about the same issue. That's when I usually decide to envoke the I Need A Break From You Card, and I hate envoking that right, because in many ways I feel like I've failed her. This particular break, though, was more like a breakthrough for me, and now helps the way I view all people. It's an invaluable lesson, and I have her to genuinely thank.

And that lesson is no matter how much you love someone, how much you care for them, how much you want the best for them, and how much you think your way is right for them, they need to figure it out for themselves. All you can do is accept them for the beautiful person that they are, and be a supportive friend if ever they need you.

It was liberating, and now we can get back to business of being best friends.

My darling Trish. She makes me laugh, and reminds me to not take myself so seriously all the time. With all of this growing, and learning, and counseling I've been doing recently, it's easy for me to get caught up in all of the deeper issues in life, and Trish is always there to remind me, hey, chill out. It's only life. Now let's go hang out somewhere, and live like Peter Pan.

Counseling.

Holy shit do I love counseling.

Even when I don't have a major breakthrough, or whenever I dread going for whatever lame excuse, I still love going, because it's such an amazing release. I cry in counseling. I cry a lot. And because I allow myself to cry there, I don't cry as much in public places, which I was prone to doing before I'd go for my emotional cleanse.

I talk a lot about the heavy shit that I've been trying to cope with as well, and do my best not to babble on about pointless issues. I have to go in there focused, go in there with an open mind, and go in there without any fear of judgement. It is my "safe zone" where I'm allowed to think any kind of crazy thought, where I'm allowed to cry without feeling embarrassed or ashamed, and just be as honest as possible with myself.

Because if I'm not honest, well then there's not much point in going, is there?

Today's topic was my newfound sobriety, and the most recent trip-up I had over the Memorial Day weekend when I ignored my sobriety and got drunk. Not super ugly drunk, but I did drink a lot, and considering I hadn't drank anything for four months, I was pretty wasted.

And you know what? It felt awesome. Being drunk again was like hooking up with an old friend and laughing at all of our old inside jokes. I laughed, I danced, I made out with a dude that I had only known for a few hours, and I once again drenched myself in that amazing freedom that alcohol gives me.

The next day, however, my old friend and I didn't quite see eye-to-eye. I was hung-the-fuck-over and wanted to die. I didn't kick myself too hard for momentarily falling off the wagon and getting drunk. It wasn't that big of a deal, and people make mistakes from time to time. I'd survive. This wasn't the end of the world, and if anything served as a reminder as to why I decided to get sober in the first place. Naughty Sammi Jo for drinking an entire bottle of Pimm's and two tequila shots, but know better for next time.

Today, though, what I recognized is that if I'm going to be sober, then I need to genuinely be sober. I can't swing back 'n' forth pandering on sobriety. I'm just sober. That's it. No other option. I simply just don't drink anymore. And I need to really be okay with that, and accept it, otherwise this will be a much harder battle. Before, during my first four months of sobriety, I always had the option in my head that maybe I'd go back. Maybe I'd learn how to be a "casual drinker" or a "social drinker," or I'd be able to teach myself how to have one and then stop. Even though I was on a six month stint of No Alcohol Ever, part of me already knew that once those six months were over, I'd be back at the bar with a giant Long Island Iced Tea pitcher to celebrate. That just made sense, and instead I celebrated early at this Memorial Day BBQ.

Getting drunk on that Sunday only reaffirmed my decision on getting sober, and staying sober. No more cutting corners and having a small sip here, or a little taste there, and justifying it in my head that "I'm not really drunk" or "it's only one sip so it doesn't count" any longer. I am stronger in my conviction, and it's a good feeling.

I've also accepted that being sober is a big part of my life now. Before I tried to play it down like it wasn't a big deal, and sweep the conversation under the rug, but I've accepted that this is who I am now, and it's okay. It's time to let that Old Sam go, say a final farewell to Sharon, and fully embrace the new, sober me. Besides, new Sober Sam ain't half bad. I'm learning to like her more and more with each passing day.

Tell me how you feel.

Tell me how your day was, and what important things are happening in your life.

Because I want to know. Because I care. Because I see you. Because I hear you.

I like talking. It's one of my favorite things I enjoy doing. I like making a fresh brew, I like getting comfy on the couch, and I like having long, in-depth, intense, analyzing, touching conversations with people. I really enjoy sharing feelings, and going over similar situations that we've each gone through in our lives, and making that connection, relating to another person, that feeling of completeness, like "I'm not alone," even if for a brief moment until the conversation has passed.

I've been 25-years-old for about seven months now, and I have to say, its been pretty awesome. This has been one of my most defining years, and there has been a lot of self-discovery. A lot. So much self-discovery, I just don't know what to do with it all. Except maybe talk about it, and tell everyone what I've discovered.

It was hard in the beginning to even acknowledge that I had a problem. I mean, everyone gets out-of-hand drunk the way I used to. Or at least that's what I would tell myself. I thought I was fine, that I was in control, and the denial that I had surrounded myself with was one of the tallest, thickest walls I've ever had to break down. I would even go so far as to say I had "alcoholic tendencies".

No, my friend, you're just an alcoholic. Deal with it.

What a terrible thing to say about myself. I didn't feel like an alcoholic, and I didn't look like an alcoholic, but I who's to say what an alcoholic feels and looks like? I felt stupid even thinking any of that for one second. I didn't want to be that girl who was all preachy and would say things starting out with, "well, my counselor says..." all the bloody time.

But really, my counselor was the first person to bring it to light that I even had a problem in the first place, and got me seriously thinking about my choices, and the reasons behind what motivated me to suck down seven drinks in two hours. And it went back to the same reasons why I used to smoke, and why I used to do drugs: because I'm insecure, and I needed a form of escapism in order to deal and cope with my real life problems. I'm also socially awkward, and have some serious anxiety issues, low self-esteem, and wasn't confident enough with myself to just be.

Just be.

Just be myself.

I always, always would need my safety drink in order to be the cool, smart, funny center of attention, and whenever things would get a little out of control, I could always fall back on "blaming it on the alcohol." And Sharon.

Oops, I slept with your friend. Blame it on Sharon. Oops, I started a fight. Blame it on Sharon. Oops, I called you a cunt and spat in your face. Blame it on Sharon.

Sharon was everything I wanted to say, everything I wanted to be, everything I didn't have the guts to do when I was just myself, multiplied by 100. She was mean, rude, obnoxious, in your face, and a swift slap in the head. She was, however, also hilarious, charming, sexy, confident, and extremely persuasive.

The thing I could never figure out, though, was how to be the super awesome side of Sharon, and ditch the asshole side. Nobody liked me when I was breaking shit, and causing a scene - me most of all. The shame I felt after each morning, waking up to another stranger, in another house, or discovering new bruises down my body because I had once again lost my balance and fell over crashing into something, felt never ending. The cycle was brutal, and the worst part is that I didn't even know I was in a vicious cycle. I just accepted it as the normality in my life, and let the shame build itself higher and higher inside, while losing my true self in the dark depths of depression. And because I was depressed, I drank more, and more, and more, and more. I drank alone. I drank alone in my pajamas. I drank alone in my pajamas in bed. I thought about drinking at 9 o'clock in the morning. I thought about doing shots in my weekly meetings with my managers. I got excited and an intense rush when I knew I'd be leaving to go drink.

My whole. fucking. life revolved around that goddamn alcohol.

There were a lot of reasons that lead me to finally give it all up, but the straw that broke the camel's back, was when I lost my iPhone.

I know. I'm such a materialistic bitch.

I lost my iPhone? My PHONE. I couldn't stop because I was hurting my family and friends around me? No, I stopped because I lost an expensive phone after only owning it for two months, and replacing it was an expensive pain in my ass.

But hey, whatever gets you to open your eyes I guess...

Yes, I lost my phone, and I made a conscious decision to stop doing stupid shit that was going to put me in stupid situations where I would do stupid things like LEAVE MY EXPENSIVE, BRAND NEW IPHONE OUT ON A TABLE FOR ANYONE TO WALK BY AND SWIPE WITHOUT ME REALIZING BECAUSE I WAS SO FUCKING WASTED.

So yeah. And I've been sober ever since.

First of all, sobriety is awesome.

Second of all, sobriety is hard as hell to maintain all the time.

It's awesome for so many reasons, one of the main reasons being that I am saving a ton of money. Just like when I gave up smoking, I now find myself with extra bundles of cash lying around for no apparent reason, and those little bundles of cash I spend on other things that are beneficial to me, or I tuck it away in my handy dandy savings account (where I'm actually saving money) for bigger Life Dreams.

I also don't hate my life as much, because I'm no longer getting shit-faced and doing things to make me hate my life. That's a big win-win for me.

And yes, I'm also healthier, and no longer looking so haggard like before.

But it's hard too. It's really hard. I still have my days when I'm weak and I'll just stare at the bottles of spirits in my house like a diabetic in a candy shop, and wish so hard to just have a little taste. I'll open the bottles and smell the danger inside. I'll think to myself, "well, one won't hurt anything." I'll even dip my finger in the bottle and taste a tiny bit. I've let myself have one sip here and there from my friend's drinks, and there was one time when I even had a tiny glass of wine because I was so stressed out, and wanted something to take the edge off.

It is an evil dance I tease myself with sometimes, and a lot of times I'll think to myself, "fuck it, I'll just have one. No one will know."

But almost instantly I'll remember evil Sharon, and I'll remember the shameful mornings. I'll remember how bad it was, and how I don't ever want to go to that sad place ever again. And I'll cry a little bit inside, because goddamn a vodka would go down so smooth right at that moment.

It sure would. And it would also be the easier thing to do. Just give up, let go, and fall back into my old habits. Because I know one will turn into two, and two will turn into four, and four will turn into shouting, and shouting will turn into crying, and crying will turn into sobbing, and sobbing will turn into exhaustion, and exhaustion will turn into shame.

Been there. Done that.

Instead I crack open a diet Coke, or pour myself a lemonade, or sip on some sweet tea, and think about what four months of sobriety has been like.

Well, I guess I've been at work, I've been at the house, I've been to different gigs, I've been to Raleigh.

I've been around.

I've mostly been working. Working and writing. Writing and working. I've been so busy just dealing with stuff, I forgot what I told myself back back in March. I need to make sure I'm taking time to chill out, decompress, and unwind from life.

If I don't, then the tiredness will catch up with me, and it will seep out in different unhealthy ways.

Right now I'm in Raleigh, NC waiting for Mel to get off of work so we can run a few errands before it's time for me to head back up to VA. Once I'm back at the townhouse, I'll have the evening to chill out before it's time for me to start back at work for another week. In between all of that I'll be going to gigs, and writing up reviews for an awesome music blog that I've started contributing to, and working towards my next big Life Goal, which is to move to Seattle, WA and immerse myself in that life for a couple of years.

But right now I'm alone in Raleigh, NC for a couple of hours. I'm alone, and it's quiet, and I don't have to worry or stress about anything for a little bit. I can enjoy this break and relax. I almost feel a little guilty because I'm not obligated to be doing something right now. What will I do for the next few hours? Well, I'll post to my neglected blog for a bit, and then I might read from one of the many books I've started, but have left unfinished.

And it will be glorious. I won't talk to anyone. I won't listen to music or watch TV, or have something else blabbering in the background to fill in the silence. I'll just be alone with myself and properly embrace this rare break in time.

I have missed you, my sweet blog. I've missed our time together, and sharing with you how I'm doing, and how I'm feeling. I hope that I'll be able to share more in the future, and not leave such big gaps in time. Because I realize how precious it is to have such a space like this, and I want to utilize it to its fullest, and see where I'm able to go with it. We'll see. We'll see how I do in the future.

Momma told me that she'd never seen a child cry harder than when I cried on my fifth birthday.

I don't remember crying. I imagine that I have the memory of me standing in my sparkly birthday dress, holding the telephone, straining to understand what you'd said to me, dropping the phone, and then running off to cry for hours.

But I don't have that memory. I only have Momma's words, and all of her stories of how shit you were to her, to Mel and I. Sometimes I wonder why she retells me the stories over and over of how awful you were to all of us. Maybe in some way that's her therapy, or her way of reminding me of the reality, and not letting my imagination run off with crazy thoughts like maybe you've changed. Maybe you've turned over a new leaf in your life and you want to make amends with your past. How could you have changed? You're an alcoholic. You cheated on my mother numerous times. You gave away all of the new baby clothes that Momma bought for us to your sister. You gave away our cribs. Mel and I only had five outfits to share between the two of us, and we slept on a mattress on the floor while Momma was away in Italy for a year on TDY with the air force.

Or don't you remember?

How about when you drove us to our babysitters house and she said she could smell the alcohol on your breath at eight o'clock in the morning. Or what about all of that credit card debt you ran up and Momma had to pay off? Of course there's also all of the child support we never saw, all of the birthdays and holidays we spent just the three of us, and the hole that was left not just in the family photos, but left inside of Mel and I.

I am that girl with daddy issues. I've always been that girl with daddy issues. I have abandonment issues, separation anxiety, codependency issues, and my god let's not even get into all of my issues with men. My issues aren't In Your Face issues that people can see and readily identify with, but rather they're more like hidden land mines that explode when I'm least expecting it at the most inopportune moments. I have breakdowns and don't really understand why, and because I am such a cliché it all goes right back to you.

Without even realizing it you've left a bread-crumb trail that leads me right back to you.

And I hate you for that.

And then I hate myself for hating you, because that's not very nice.

Hate, that is. Hate isn't nice at all. It's a horrible feeling, and when hate festers for too long it becomes poisonous, and then you become sick. The tricky part about this sickness, though, is that there's not a pill I can take to magically make myself feel better, or make the symptoms go away.

A couple of weeks ago you sent Mel a friend request on facebook with a message asking how we're doing. Just like that, like it's no big deal.

Here's the thing: you're not a friend from high school that we lost contact with, and now it's such a great surprise to hear from you.

You're our fucking father that left when we were too small to understand why you decided to leave. You left two kids confused and left us feeling like it was our fault. Like somehow we weren't good enough for you. Why would you do that? Why would you leave your own kids? Why would you leave us behind? Fair enough if you and Momma weren't getting along and the marriage dissolved, but why leave Mel and me? Why not make more of an effort to be with us? Two cards a year with $50 inside just doesn't do enough. It doesn't mean enough. If anything, your lack of effort to be with us speaks so much louder than the yearly Hallmark cards.

Your sister sent me a friend request on facebook. I sent her a message, and she sent a quick reply. I've left her message and her friend request looming on my facebook. Your friend request still sits there as well. I don't know what to do with it really. I don't want to be your friend. And then I feel bad, once again, for not wanting to be your friend. And I feel the need to apologize to you for that. I'm sorry I don't want be your friend. I wish I did, but I don't. And that hurts me more than I think you'll ever know.

I've toyed with the idea of getting to know you, and getting to know that whole other 50% of me that has a giant question mark on it. I'm half filipino. That's an entire culture that I know nothing about. Maybe one day I'll learn more about it all, but I don't want to learn about it with you. Momma tells me that I have your feet, and a lot of your bad habits. I drink like you (or at least I used to; I'm sober now). I'm terrible at managing my money, which I know you're pretty bad with as well. I used to smoke the same cigarettes you did (or do...do you still smoke?). I don't know if I have any positive traits from you. I hope so. I hope there's something positive that you've passed on to me. Maybe my love of music? Momma isn't really big on the art stuff (she's an engineer), so I'm guessing I probably get some art stuff from you. Maybe. Maybe not.

I want you to know that I've forgiven you, and the mess you left behind when you chose to leave us. I had to forgive you and let go of all of that anger a long time ago, because it was fucking up my life in so many different ways; it was holding me back. I'm a very understanding and compassionate person, and that I know for a fact I got from Momma. She was once very understanding and compassionate before she became calloused. I tell people she's the strongest person I know, but that strength stems from a lot of pain.

Just because I've forgiven you, though, does not mean that I'm ready for a friendship. It doesn't mean I want to go over to your house, have family barbecues, and catch up on twenty-one years of absence. The anger is gone, yes, but that hurt still remains. It hurts, and I'm sad, and I'm confused, and I'm fucked up. I don't know what you want, or what prompted you to all of a sudden leap over the internet and extend a virtual friendship, but you should know that I don't need you. None of us do. We're perfectly okay just being a trio, and we've been okay for a long time. You should know that if the day ever does come when I'm ready to sit across from you face-to-face, you are one lucky son of a bitch to even be in the same room as me. Because I am fucking awesome, and I'm really sorry you missed out.

Like, real peace and quiet.

Like, sitting out on a pier watching the boats float by on the Potomac River, kind of peace and quiet.

No phone constantly beeping and interrupting. No laptop. No pestering. Just silence.

Back when I was at uni, it was easy for me to sneak away if I ever needed time to simply be alone and take a time out from life. All I had to do was lock myself in my room for a few hours, or duck out of the flat to one of the nearby parks. In a jam-packed city with people stacked on top of each other, I managed to find secret pocket holes all alone just for me.

I'm realizing these days that I never properly cherished those moments that I got to be by myself. Nowadays there's always someone hovering around just a few feet away, and my claustrophobia begins to slowly suffocate me. Someone is always around. Someone is always calling. Someone always needs something from me.

And I do appreciate my friends and family. It's sweet and a good feeling to know that people need you, to know that people want you, to know that they seek you out at times when they need words of advice, or a companion out somewhere. But my god, my sweet god, I can't do it all the time.

The thing that I've come to realize is that it's nobody's fault but my own that I don't have time to myself. If anything, before I had this insatiable need to be alone, I made sure that all of my time was scheduled with someone doing something. Before I yearned for some real quiet time, I was always on my super smart-phone making sure that I had plans for each weekend, that I was busy at work with multiple projects, that I was filling my weeknights with scheduled phone calls so I'd have someone to chat to for all time. And I never said no when a text would come through, or an IM window would pop up. I always made myself available to everyone who wanted a small piece of me.

I've discovered that I need to do a better job of balancing my time, and making sure that I have an adequate amount of "me" time set aside alongside my other social activities. It sounds so simple, and yet, it seems to be something I find difficult to ask for.

I can feel the agitation, the irritations, and my lack of patience start to boil, and before long I'm snapping at people, rolling my eyes, exhaling in that annoying teenage manner, and spreading my irritability around to everyone else. It's at this point when I usually upset people so much, I end up pushing them away, and getting a little more space than I wanted.

Be careful with what you wish for, because you just might get it. And in the end, do I really want to be alone? No. I mostly just require some time to decompress from everyone, from the world, from my day-to-day business. It's so easy for me to get bogged down by life. I just need a break from it all. Is that okay?

Sometimes I think no. Sometimes I think I don't deserve it, because, hell, life isn't really that demanding for me. I have all of these first world luxuries, and now I'm asking for time alone? How could I be so selfish! But time alone, for me, is priceless. Peace and quiet is what I require in order to function, to keep my sanity, and continue being that person that people want to call to spend time with. In a world where you can keep a constant soundtrack of background noise with TVs, cell phones, radios, and city stirrings, sometimes I think we forget how important it is to listen to absolutely nothing.

My dinner this evening was a cup of tea and raspberry Lindt chocolate. A meal made for champions I'd say. It's raining outside, I'm tucked up in bed, and all I can think about is how much I miss my old stomping grounds in London Town. God, I miss it so much.

I miss the accents, the busy pedestrians too preoccupied to realize that they've knocked straight into me, and the constant stir of the city. I miss the airplanes flying overhead, the buzz of the traffic outside my window, and the orange glow of nighttime. I miss my friends, our high heels clacking on the uneven sidewalks, and chatting up strangers while trying to keep my balance. I miss my walks in the park, my rides on the buses, and the feeling of pure happiness whenever the sun decided to emerge from behind the grey clouds and kiss me on my cheeks.

I miss my city.

While I do miss it all, and all of the trinkets it holds inside for me, part of me knows it's going to be a long time before I ever live there again. What a sweet naive girl I was to think that I'd be able to go back within two years! I don't think so, darling. It'll only be brief trips and longing memories for now. But someday, when I'm ready and the timing is right, I'll go back for another permanent stay, and I'll be reunited with the first city I had a love affair with.

These days I work, I pay for things, I sort things out, and I do my best to save up money to do new, bigger things I have planned for myself in the future. Yes, it's all vague, and I purposefully leave the details out so I don't jinx it. Every time I open my big mouth and share any kind of idea I have on here I muck it up in some way shape or form. All I'll say is I'm ready for a change, and this change doesn't involve my passport, rather it simply involves a little creative initiative on my part.

I'm twenty-five now, and have been for roughly four months. I guess being a quarter of a century old isn't so bad. It's a lot fucking better than when I was twenty-four, I can say that much. Wow, twenty-four really sucked. The depression sucked. My hairstyle sucked. I sucked. Everything was just shit.

Now, though, things are still shit, but I'm nowhere near as depressed about it all. I do my best to be grateful every day for the things I have in my life, and somehow I feel myself settling a little more in my own skin. Two years out of uni, and I'm just now starting to think I'm almost recovered from it all. The time I spent there can now be translated into "when I was younger" stories, and I'm not scared to look back on the mess I used to be. Don't get me wrong, I loved every single minute I was there, but the dark days were some seriously dark periods in my life, and it used to be hard to think back on it.

I'm not reflective in 2011 as I normally am. At least not yet, anyway. I'm focused on what the future months have in store for me, and I'm ready to tackle it head on. I am ready for this change. I'm ready to start again. I'm ready to move forward, take a deep breath, and plunge into the deep end.

Forget everything you know and start over.