How did I get here?

Although that I feel the chances of people really reading my blog and finding my life the half bit interesting, I cant seem to take my hands away from this laptop and write about the changes that I want to occur in my life so bad. I am a mix between scared, lost and wondering where my life will be and what is so important about me that is going to force people to think ::who is she:: when they see me.

My whole life, I have been the person who was the follower in a group of beautiful girls who I felt had it made. I have severe self conscious issues and I am my biggest critic. There were nights when I was a preteen where I would wear a towel around my head because I dreamed of having long hair. There were days at the dinner table where I stared in space, not touching my food, thinking about the perfect body image, wearing that white bikini and having men stare at me like I was a piece of meat. I yearned to be treated the way that women despise by men, because I was never paid attention to, whistled at, "holla'd at," even had a dude grab my arm in the club. My girls were so used to having this attention because they were beautiful, and I always heard them complain about how they hated it when boys did this and called too much and stared at you some kind of way. Secretly, when a guy did give me that lame line that every girl got, I finally felt pretty and wanted. I was in the society where I at least had something that attracted men to me. Was it my smile? My wit? Or the fact that I had developed huge boobs by the time I was 13? I will never know, but I loved feeling like I was pretty by the disgusting excuses that I called "cute boys" who didnt have a penny to there name and was seeking one thing...getting in between.

The worst feeling in the world for me was hanging out at social event with my friends (i.e. party, bar, high-school dance or even the hallway), and all of my peers are getting the attention that I felt I couldn't have. I wasn't a size 2, 3, 4, 5 or 6 in high school up through college like the rest of my girls, I was 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16. Everyday, I wake up and wonder how I am going to be reminded today that I am not the girl with the sexy, slender awesome body. Yes, I was a cheerleader and played softball, but it's called genes. Their was the occasional drag-of-guy who would attempt to cross me, but never tickled my fancy. Even today, with the amazing boyfriend that I have now, he still cant figure out why my self esteem is so low.

With a degree, a good family, great friends, great boyfriend, I still think back to my teenage years, exiting my adolesence and into this young, aspiring woman phase... and realize that I had a good time, but it was extremely difficult for me. Trying to fit in, find myself, figure out love, battling deaths, emotional disorders, self-mutilation, alcohol, drugs, sex. All of these barriers and battles I have encountered created this person who is typing right now.

So where do I go from here? Should I type out the experiences with men who I felt would take away the stomach aches caused by self-loathing and depression, but instead, they made me feel worse about myself? Or the times where I would lay face down in the bathroom, tears in my eyes with a razor blade in my hand, ready to feel that euphoric high from cutting that no one else could give to me? No. I already wrote about these experiences in my summer diaries and I can't bear to replenish those memories. I am here talking to you all because I want to share with the world that regardless your childhood, background, bad experiences, if you want to pick up, move on and be somebody, go do it. I really believe in myself when it come to reaching my dreams, and as I chuckle, I don't know why.

It's hard to sleep now at nights because I am so ready to move to the city, and begin the next chapter in my life. Waking up at noon everyday to roll over and see your childhood room at 22 isnt the exact life I pictured when I was a teen. I imagined hearing horns honking actually, outside the window. Pigeons flying by, walking up and down the busy street, even waiting for the subway. Being a country girl whose destiny is to be a succesful journalist in the big city isn't the typical career path, but it works for me.

I am patiently waiting on the phone call that tells me that I have the job.

It's killing me. Knowing that I have a meal ticket to get the hell out of dodge, and it might slip away from me. Everyone keeps telling me to keep faith in the Lord, and that if it is in God's will, that it will happen. Patience. (inhale-exhale) I have faith. I am just tired of being broke, laying up in my parents house, waiting on my next move. I can't stop thinking of getting off of work in the city on a Friday, coming home, showering, blogging, then walking to the downtown local cafe', small club, bar... where I could run into a journalist or someone that works at Harpo Productions, the local news stations, actresses, actors, radio personalities, musicians, and simply ask them:
"How does it feel?"

I end this posting today with this: keep the faith. Keep working hard. Keep praying. Never give up. Keep smiling.