The Ugly Side

     Yesterday I found out that I am breakable. I discovered in myself that I have a lot of flaws that the people closest to me can see, point out to me and just demolish me. I found out that these flaws of mine are slowly bursting through the cracks of my surface and I don't know how to stop them from leaking out.
     I am fat. I wouldn't call myself obese, but I am certainly not a size 6. Try a size 16. And I have always known that I have been larger compared to most girls, but it never really affected me until I became aware of just how beautiful other people were.
     I don't know how to properly do my makeup or my hair. This has always been a problem for me. I have just always been one of those girls that lacks the motivation to spend 20-30 minutes on my hair and makeup everyday. But I discovered yesterday that maybe I should start trying.
     I definitely don't know how to dress properly. For me, comfortable is the best way to go, especially with early morning classes and the lack of motivation to impress other people other than my friends and family.
I discovered yesterday that I am not beautiful, but in fact, I am ugly.
But, I also questioned whether ugly was a good or bad thing to be in society as it stands now.

The Happiness Problem

What do you do to make yourself happy?
Believe it or not, I have heard this a bajillion times. And though "bajillion" isn't a word, I wanted to emphasize the fact that I have heard it a lot. Like... a lot, a lot. My therapist asked me every time we had a meeting, my grandma has asked me it, and my significant other has asked me it - friends, families, concerned teachers, etc. I usually give generic answers such as hobbies of the time period asked, or sleep (sleep always makes me happy) sometimes I would say food (because who doesn't love food, right?). But I never gave, like, an in depth answer as to what makes me happy. Maybe it's because I don't really know. I used to be able to say that singing makes me happy, but I don't really get to do that a lot now, which is understandable with two roommates and paper thin walls blocking myself from neighbors. Writing was a hobby that I would love to pick up again, but with homework, mid terms, finals right around the corner, time for my boyfriend, time for my family and chores... well, writing a big long story (like I really want to) is just kind of out of reach. Music tends to make me happy, but really when i think about it I only listen to music on my way to classes, so maybe about 20-30 minutes a day am I just bobbing my head to some smooth tunes, with a genuine smile on my face.
Smiling. It's sad, but, since moving to college I have literally mastered the art of a fake smile. I can crinkle the area next to my eyes, paint a sparkle on my pupil, and smile like a pro - but the smile that I am giving people is such a lie.
To be honest, I'm happy when I hear my grandma's text tone (Rue's whistle from The Hunger Games, 'cause she's a nerd) and I'm happy when I hear Harm's text tone (a generic League of Legends ton, 'cause we're nerds). But how long does that happiness last? A few seconds as I'm replying? And then is disappears while I'm waiting for them to text back. And sometimes they get busy, and can't text back.
I'm happy when I get to sit down after classes and talk to Harm on Skype, and play some games, maybe watch a T.V. show or movie.
But the problem I am having lately is the in between parts. I know that humans don't necessarily need to be happy ALL of the time, but I am one of those people who kind of needs it. All the time.
These little moments every day are not cutting it for me, and I feel like I am trapped inside this little snow globe of a community with nothing to be fillers throughout the day.
Sometimes I have to tell myself over and over that they are going to text back soon, or I can talk to Harm soon or I can sing under my breath, or turn up my music.
My problem isn't the lack of ability to find happiness - it's the lack of time periods where I am truly, honestly happy.

The People You Meet In College

When I first made any contact with my roommates at Dixon Lodge I kind of knew that I liked them right away. I was worried that Em would be too shy and Bay would be too in your face. I was stupid in judging two beautiful books by their cover. I started by adding Em to Facebook in hopes of stalking her in order to figure her out, but to no avail; her posts were ordinary and sometimes fleeting, leaving no trace as to who she really was on the Facebook page. She then told me to add our oter roommate, Bay, and I did, receiving her number not too much later. Em and I texted a few times, mostly talking about the legistics of being roommates, while as Bay wanted to know every little detail about me there was; what my favourite music was, colors I liked, movies and people. Both of them struck me as unique. 

When I met them face to face I was shaking. What if they looked at me and just cringed? What if all of this hard work I put into building a foundation to our relation was for nothing? The opposite occurred. Both Bay and Em hugged me and just smiled. We all three stared at each other and things just clicked, like we all were in the right place at the right time. 

Bay is bright an quirky. She likes music and makeup and clothes and I always know where to turn to for advice on girl things, and she is always ready to help. She is the one I turn to when people are pissing me off or when I am crying because she doesn't tell me everything will be alright but she listens to me and seems to know just the right way to calm down without telling me to do so. 

Em is sweet and funny. At first glance she is shy but when she breaks free of her bubble it's like a light switch in a dark room. Her voice is powerful and whenever she says something it has a purpose, which I absolutely love. We talk about boyfriend goods and bads and I know that whatever I say to her won't be judged. 

I know that a lot of people are friends with their roommates but I think we are more than that. 

I completely adore them. 

Emotional Rollercoster Act I

          Sometimes I think of myself as a special kind of poison. When that has a really nice 

flavor, scent and it's own unique feeling. I feel like I attract people, which is nice, because I 

typically like people. Well, the nice ones. The problem with me is that I'm one of those poisons 

that slowly eats away at everything, it starts when we meet, and then, if we become friends (or 

more than friends) I feel like I just eat everything away until you are left with just me. Which is 

good for me, because I love having friends, but its bad for you, because.. well, you just have 

me. 
         
          I know that this sounds kind of sad and give me attention-ish but it's just how I feel. I think 

Harm knows all to well of my poison. When I moved to Oregon to live with my grandma, one 

could say I was an emotional wreck. I was diagnosed with PTSD and along with that came 

anxiety attacks that rocked my world, and no, not in the good way. I'm talking, movie status 

panic attacks, rocking back and forth, breathing heavily, panting, crying. I was a disaster. My 

grandma knows all too well about my issues, as well as my therapist. 
          
          When I met Harm I was better, but definitely not what you would call a sane person. He'll 

read this and disapprove, but he has saved me just as much as my grandma and my therapist 

have. They all worked together without necessarily meaning to to help me become a semi-

sane person. Harm is the epitome of understanding and empathy, because, although he did 

not know what it felt like to be in my shoes, he tried his best to understand me and, best of all, 

he believed me. 
         
          I had only been dating him for two months when I told him about my past, he didn't 

second guess me or ask any questions, he didn't say he was sorry. I hate it when people tell 

me they are sorry for what I've gone through. He didn't. He just nodded his head, looked me in 

the eyes and told me that I was strong, and that I deserve to be treated like an absolute 

princess. So what did he do? He treated me (and still does) like a queen. He believed me, he 

believed in me and he didn't say he was sorry. I fell in love.