The Pretty and The Ugly.

Over the past 5 months since my last post, I have picked up my laptop at least once a week and tried to squeeze some ounce of feeling out of myself to pour onto these pages, and every time I came up short. There was no passion, no deeper feelings to express. Well, there were I just didn’t seem to realize them. I kept wondering “What am I doing wrong?” I used to write blog posts in my head all day long wishing I had a place to put all those words. Well today I have finally come to the conclusion, I was afraid. I was afraid that I would write down all those raw feelings, the pretty ones and the ugly ones, and no one would like them. So I would walk away from my laptop all those times feeling defeated, because this was a project that I wanted to start and was serious about, and I was giving up before it even got off the ground. All because I feared everyone would say “Well that’s not right, you shouldn’t feel that way, you shouldn’t feel those things!” That people in my close circles would call me up and say “I read your blog, you don’t seem that way to me, are you okay?” My answer would be “Yes, I’m okay, but sometimes I’m not, and I needed to write that down.” So here I am, picking the laptop up again, grabbing some courage, and writing it all down, the pretty and the ugly.

Today I need to get out some of that ugly.

November 17th, 2015.
For those of you who know me well, you already know where I’m about to go. My very best friend passed away unexpectedly that day. It was easily the worst day of my life. And every single day since that day has carried a weight that is hard to describe. Robert Fucci was my best friend since I was 10 years old. We met in 5th grade and I made up this ridiculous nickname for him “Frogbert.” As we got older I forgot the Frog part and just went with “Bert.” It was fitting for him, easy and no nonsense. He was the type of friend who would call you and talk to you for hours because he enjoyed getting to know people. He, unlike most of us, took the time to appreciate and build his friendships, even with people he had not seen in years. When I was in 8th grade my parents and I moved up to Orlando from West Palm, where I had lived since the age of 6, and trust me  I was not overjoyed with this decision. I was 13 and they wanted me to move away from my life and friends, right before high school. You can only imagine the hell I put them through. -by the way, sorry mom, better late than never!- But as I was 13, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. So we moved, and even though I did not see Robert again for another 2 years, he called me at least once a week, and we talked for hours like we had done since we were 10. He had this quality about him that when he had a conversation with you, you could tell he gave you his whole attention. He was that type of person, he valued the interactions he had with other people, no matter who it was. And he was so fearless, to a worrying degree, might I add. But he was brilliant. When he died, I felt so lost. Truly like the ground had been taken from underneath me and I constantly felt like collapsing. The ONLY reason I didn’t was because he would not want me to. He would want me to go on happily, and face all my fears, achieve all my dreams, and never give up on myself. I got through the next few months very difficulty, the majority of it is a blur. I don’t remember the month of December that year, just the major life event that occurred. I sort of remember January, and February the smoke started to clear from my brain. I think when someone you love dies, the feeling that washes over you is so difficult to describe to people who have never been through it. And everyone handles it so differently that it’s hard to make them all understand how it feels. It’s like an emptiness, but also a huge wave of sadness, loss, and anger all at once. Confusion is mixed in their also. It takes courage to feel those things. And the days that I have enough courage to feel it, even still a year and a half later, it’s like reliving the moment I found out. Death is not a happy subject to talk about, but it’s important that we do. I wish there was a final goodbye, where I could explain to him how much his friendship really meant to me, how much it shaped me. How knowing him for half my life has impacted who I am. But I can’t tell him, I can only hope he knew when he passed.
Through all the pain I carry from his death, I can still smile and enjoy my life, but that doesn’t mean it’s always real in the truest part of my soul. But I’m still okay, and I’m going to continue to heal. If you have lost someone dear, know that I hear you, I feel your pain. I know what it’s like and you are not alone.


Remember to be kind.

When I was younger I couldn’t wait to grow up. I would look at my older sisters and their independence, and think about how I couldn’t wait to have that. The ability to stay out late if I wanted without a rule saying when to come home, drive a car, and go wherever I wanted whenever I wanted. Now at that age, 12-ish, the only place I was concerned with going was the mall to hang out with my friends, but the point was I wanted my freedom. When you’re 12 no one ever tells you that making your own choices and having those freedoms as my sisters did means you have to be responsible for the outcome. What an idea! My parents weren’t responsible for me anymore and when I screwed up I had to fix it? No, no this can’t be right, give me my curfew and Jonas Brothers CD’s back please, responsibility is not as fun as I thought it would be.
Now that I’m 22, I hate being responsible, when I cause problems, or hurt someones feelings, I suck at apologizing. I know other people who have this problem also, but I couldn’t tell you why it is. I’d like to think it’s because I care so much for the people I’m around that when I hurt them I can’t bare recognizing what I did, but if I’m being honest that sounds too selfless. Now it’s not like I go around hurting people daily, but I’ve lost friendships because of this problem. Maybe it’s pride, maybe I would like someone to apologize to me, maybe it’s the “playing the victim syndrome” as I like to call it. Either way, it’s not making the world a better place, which is what I would like to do.
I genuinely love all people, I think everyone deserves second chances, most of the time I give them 12, but that’s because I believe in people. As a fellow human, I’ve made mistakes, I’ve broken hearts, and hurt people I care about. So when someone does the same to me, it’s easier to understand where they’re coming from. We all let each other down at some points, but what matters is how you react. You can choose to let it shape you into anger, and resentment, but who does that help?  No one. So instead take your pain and make something beautiful, get your feelings out.
I think that’s what this blog will be for me, a place where I can write down my feelings and thoughts about whatever I want and maybe it will change my perspective. Maybe someone reading this will be inspired to be more positive. After all, we could all be more positive, more apologetic, hold ourselves more accountable for the way we treat others. We’re all alive and existing and feeling, we all share in this great human experience, so remember to be kind.