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where am i going? what am i doing? | part one

A dear friend of mine shared this video on Facebook last Friday and I was all like ‘Yo, Jenna Marbles! You make me laugh so much! Let’s see what you got for me!’
And then I proceeded to cry for an hour. 
I highly recommend watching the video before reading on, but it’s not required or anything. This series is about my life in a way I didn’t intend to write about, but here I am. Where am I going? What am I doing?
Disclaimer: this post might be more for me than it is for y’all, but i still think it’s important to write. as bloggers, we’ve got to be more than wishlists and photo shoots. maybe that’s just me. either way, i hope you get something from it, and are maybe even inspired to look back on and into your own life.

I’m 22. About to turn 23. I have no idea what is ahead of me.
When I was 18, I went to my dream school. I had no idea what was ahead of me. I started in a major I quickly realized I didn’t love, so I changed it. I had control to do the things I wanted. My second semester of college, I became an English major and I took my very first Women’s Studies Class. I met a boy who understood American Grammar and didn’t make fun of me because I didn’t. He thought I wrote beautiful poetry, so we would sit in the grass outside of the Main Building and write it together. We even passed notes between classes and wrote joint poems about cats and the moon. I was so happy.
The boy and I started dating and I was even happier. He went back to Dallas for the summer and I would save up money from my barista job at Barnes and Noble to go visit him. I made really awesome playlists with lots of Katy Perry and songs from Spring Awakening and I would make the four hour drive to stay with him at his dad’s house. We drove around Dallas and saw movies and went shopping and laughed a lot. I was really happy.

Back in Austin, I was dealing with a really bad roommate situation. Except I didn’t know how bad it was until the summer ended. To make a really long story short, I had moved in with a guy I was friends with but also had a really emotionally abusive relationship with. He was older and very manipulative and spiteful. He isolated me from all of my friends. I was just a college freshman and he took full advantage of that, but I didn’t know what I was in until I’d signed a lease and we’d lived together for about four months.
When my boyfriend moved back to Austin for our sophomore year, I started staying at his place most every night of the week. Eventually I moved a good chunk of my closet over there and only went by my old place to pay rent once a month. My boyfriend lived with 3 other guys who I was also friends with. They did their best to make me feel at home, but it never was. I had struggled with eating for years, but I was so uncomfortable in this living situation, that I would only allow myself to keep a box of cereal or a container of Nutella and some bread in their pantry. And that’s all I ate.
I remember having a break down because I wanted to scramble some eggs. I didn’t feel comfortable using their dishes and stove. I didn’t feel safe going to my own apartment. I didn’t want to crawl back to my parents’ house and borrow their kitchen. I had no place to scramble some eggs. I didn’t have a place of my own.
My boyfriend said I was complicated, so we broke up. I couldn’t go back to my apartment. I tried to get out of the lease, but everything went wrong. I moved back in with my parents and I continued to pay rent at the apartment for the next five months. I started feeling really depressed.

I woke up and drove to south Austin for class every day, went straight to eight hours of work, and drove back home at night. I lost all of my remaining friends from freshman year in the break up. I felt really alone. I had all female professors this semester and they taught me an enormous amount about being a writer and a woman and about being myself. I had a remarkable friend was there when I needed her, even though she was going through her own rough time. Everything was really hard.
I was in a poetry class this semester with my ex boyfriend. This was a double-edged sword. I was entered in a local slam poetry contest and he came to watch me perform. We got back together that night. He promised me that learning to deal with my complicated self was worth it to him. He said this was what he wanted. I continued to live at my parents’ house, but I spent a few nights a week at his place.
One night we were out eating pizza and he asked what I loved about him. I went on and on about why he never ceased to amaze me and how important he was to me. I returned the same question. He said he liked my poetry.
We fought in his car in the parking lot for hours after the restaurant had been closed. By the early morning, I packed up my things and drove to my parents’ house and I slept and slept and slept.

In May I moved into my own apartment; all by myself. In July I was diagnosed with depression and began my journey to find the right medication. I went back to school, but I continued to sleep and sleep and sleep.
In the meantime, the world was still spinning. I had an internship and a job, and eventually a different internship and later another job. I did the OkCupid thing (that’s another story for another day) and ended up with the guy who had been there all along (yet another story for another day). 
I took time to fall in love, time to take care of myself, time to be really good at my job, and time to finish school. My complicated self started achieving things she didn’t necessarily know she wanted or needed.
That’s all for Part One; Part Two coming soon!

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