So, as I have done two previous times in my life, I asked when I was pretty sure of the answer. I had put off asking, because I was both pretty sure of the answer and unwilling to disturb the status quo. Because I kind of like having a roommate who treats me like a princess.

With HWSNBN, it was supremely complicated by the fact that I had had an epic crush on him for more than a year. When we got together, it was a total high of finally being with the person I wanted to be with, who I had basically given up on him being attainable. Once I ‘had’ him, I wasn’t giving up so easily. I knew he wasn’t treating me properly (this is where I first learned how you should never be with someone who won’t hold your hand in public) but I kept going back. I never carried a cell phone on a regular basis until I started waiting for his phone calls. In retrospect it was a combination of timing, mixed up self-esteem, and mixed up signals. I’ve only talked to him once in the past few years and I feel no ill will or residual feelings for him. It took me a year to disengage though, a year between him telling me he didn’t want to be with me, and me finally leaving. And he only told me about how he didn’t have feelings for me, because I pushed the issue, and I asked. Of course, he was perfectly willing to keep hooking up with me that year. On his terms. And I let it happen.

With OLB, it was more simple, except he made the fatal mistake of telling me “I’m not going to be the guy who falls in love with you.” Which immediately turned on my twisted thought process of “Oh yeah? Watch this.” Even though, on a day to day basis I didn’t even LIKE him that much. The sex was great, but we were also only together on his schedule. By the time I asked the question about his feelings, I really didn’t care about the answer, I just wanted the situation to be done. I was certainly no prize (who wants to date the crazy alcoholic girl?) but he pulled some jackass moves, like making a blatant show of pretending he wasn’t going home with me, and then also when we ‘relapsed’ on hooking up during that disaster of a Chicago trip (really? We’re going to drive out together and share a hotel room? We know exactly what’s going to happen) he spent most of the 13 hour trip back telling me how much I sucked as a person.

So, suffice to say, I have some experience in asking for answers you know, don’t want, but need.

This situation is different, because he’s not a jerk. He’s a really good person. He treats me really well; we’re not hooking up so maybe that has a lot to do with it. He told me in October after our brief foray into drama, that he didn’t have feelings for me. I accepted it. I mostly respected it, other than some incidents. Since the new year, I’d been on my best behavior on that level. And he has been my best friend in DC, the person who supports me when I don’t deserve it, and the person I want to spend the most time with. (Which works out, since we’re um, already roommates. Seperate bedrooms, watch Jeopardy together, get along just fine on a day to day basis roommates). And over the months, my feelings kept evolving, until my therapist finally said to me “You really love him, don’t you?” And it hit me like a ton of bricks and I was like, “Fuck.”

It’s been driving me crazy lately. Because he really stepped up when I needed support in the past couple months and there were a hundred little things that made me think, well maybe…but probably not…but maybe.

And so I finally asked. And he said no. Which I knew he would. For all the ways he has treated me better than other boys have, I knew. I just had to Know.

I have a special gift of being attracted to impossible situations. And I’m strangely okay today; the thing is, he isn’t asking me to make plans to move out (which I also asked if he wanted me to do), and I think once a few days of awkwardness have passed, we’ll be just fine as roommates. I think we can even be friends. And I’m pretty sure if I asked him to walk me home from SMART this Tuesday, he’d say yes, which is another level of mind fuckery, but I have to learn.

Three times. Three boys. Three different situations. One heartbreak, one ‘fuck this noise’, and one yet to be determined. I’m kind of numb today. My mind keeps devolving into third level what-if and maybe scenarios, because my mind tends to live in a perpetual Dawson’s Creek episode when these things happen.

Motorcycle Drive-By just came on the music I have on in the background. I used to listen to this in regards to HWSNBN, especially because of the references to NYC. (“New York City’s evil; the surface is everything/but I could never do that/Someone would see through that/And this is the last time we’ll be friends again/And I’ll get over you, you’ll wonder who I am”). There was this period where I knew I was going to get over HWSNBN and get past it, but that it still hurt. That I reserved the right to listen to sing along with scary relevant lyrics and compose overly analytical dramatic blog entries about it. (…seriously, it’s in the archives). I didn’t do that with OLB, because I didn’t have the feelings for him I had with HWSNBN.

This is its own situation. I’m not saying I’m okay about it now or that I’m not going to have a thousand slips into illogical thinking. But I’m also going to subscribe to the brilliant Jill-IAN theory of thinking, which is “In six months, this isn’t going to hurt like it does now.” She made this revelation, sitting in the Irish Pub across from PLI, and then tossed her hand and said ‘What is it that say Neumsy? When one door closes a window opens?’ With her cavelier Brooklyn accent I couldn’t help but laugh. And six months later, it wasn’t that is didn’t matter anymore, it was that it barely mattered. And then that six months after that, it absolutely didn’t matter.

I have been writing this entry for the past two hours. And I wanted to write it, because maybe the third time is the charm and I will lose my gift for impossible situations. Because as far as impossible situations go, he is an ideal. He is a good person and has treated me very well. I have to remember that “good person” does not immediately equal “good person for me.” And maybe if I can let go of this situation I will find one that is not impossible. Even though that is completely impossible to believe right now.

Part of me wants to ask questions. Because my brain, naturally inclined to over thinking and over analyzing, really needs answers. For peace.

But part of me refuses to ask the questions. Because I’m afraid of the answers. If I ask, and find my fears a reality I don’t know what I’ll do. For now, conscious naivete seems to work on a day to day basis. For now, I’m too terrified to rock the equilibrium.

It’s too god damn hot in this stupid south of the Mason Dixon line city. It’s going to be a really long summer.

I can’t write. I want to write, but it’s just not happening.

The political issue that’s been bothering me the past few months is the war on birth control. As a “good libertarian” I’m torn on the requiring insurance to cover birth control issue, because I’m already torn on health insurance issues in general.

But as it stands, and health insurance is what it is, and if health insurance covers Viagra they should damn well cover the pill.

And the insane attacks on Planned Parenthood are infuriating.

The following is none of your damn business, but lord knows I share too much information, but I was 17 years old and I was terrified. Pregnancy scare. And after freaking out to the-boyfriend-at-the-time I found Planned Parenthood, and I found the abortion laws in my state (and neighboring state).

I was 17 years old and I know at the time I thought I was So Grown Up, but in retrospect I was a naive kid. And GOP wants to stop the girls who were scared like I was from getting help. Planned Parenthood will not tell you to have an abortion. Planned Parenthood will give you medical care and tell you about your options and it is insanely affordable. I was very lucky – I am a white, overprivileged suburban girl. My mom knew (somehow. I have no idea, but she just knew) and sent me off to a doctor, but there are thousands of girls who are not lucky. (And not that it’s any of your business, but the scare was just a scare. But I would have had an abortion if I needed to.)

I’m sharing this, because I know I am not the only 17 year old girl who has been terrified. Who counts and recounts the days on the calendar and realizes… Who tentatively has to call her boyfriend, who she loves in the way in which 17 year olds love each other, and say “I think I might be pregnant.”

I would not want any other girl in my situation to not have Planned Parenthood involved if they needed it. I would want them to get the care and advice to do what is right for them. And it’s none of my business what they do, and it’s certainly not the governments business.

So fuck you, GOP. Fuck you for effectively screwing over your wives, girlfriends, and sisters.

It exists as noise. Almost like a buzzing. That’s the only way I can describe it. That, and this weird detachment. You’re there, but you’re not. You are seeing the most ordinary, day-to-day things, but its if they’re on a whole different plane of existence.

About a month ago I was taking the Metro from my therapist appointment to my psychiatrist appointment (…yes), in a state of pretty hardcore withdrawal, and suddenly the unease crept up on me. I was already shaky and sweating, and the train was hot and crowded. A couple stops in I got a seat and managed to breathe, and then I was distracted by rushing to catch the bus at my stop.

I was early, of course, and so I went to get something to eat, and it was when I went to pay that something happened. Well, more accurately, nothing happened. But I was so disconcerted, I couldn’t figure out what this was. I walked across a room, with this horrible nagging of “What is this? What is this?” It hit me, that this was exactly, EXACTLY the feeling I had right before I had my full scale, all out panic attack in front of strangers.

I had to get out of there. I threw out my just purchased food, went outside, and called Brent. After freaking out on the phone for a few minutes, I realized it was just exacerbating things so I got off the phone to distract myself with my iPad and read the Message Board of Note.

The distraction worked. I haven’t had another incidence since.

But it lurks. There are creepy little moments when I’m home alone, it’s dark, and I shiver for no reason – often its enough that I slam my laptop shut and retreat upstairs, where there’s more lights I can turn on, because I am nearly 29 years old and still afraid of the dark. Sometimes, I weigh the pros and cons of getting in the shower (because I have had terrifying panic attacks in the shower, including one where The Roommate had to collect a shaking, sobbing me). When I got off the Metro at Rosslyn I was lucky enough to pick the correct turnstile for the elevator (there’s no way I could have handled the escalator at Rosslyn, especially with luggage. I think its longer than Dupont.)

I’ve suffered from Depression on and off for over ten years and I have always been high strung. My “normal” is anxious. So when the anxiety got incredibly ramped up last summer, it was scary. Depression I’m fairly familiar with, and while it was worse this summer than it’d had ever been, it wasn’t a shocker. Then, in the sweltering haze of July, when Keithers was out of town, I sobbed on the phone to Brent because I was at the end of my rope. At that point I couldn’t eat or shower or leave my apartment because I was so paralyzed.

Depression and anxiety are ugly. They don’t make you an attractive person. No one wants That Girl. Sure, people put up with it for awhile, but eventually they’re basically rolling their eyes and thinking you should stop being so fucking dramatic. In recent years, I’ve “owned” my mental health issues, even been defiant about them (“yeah, so I’m a headcase. Wanna make something of it?) but really, underneath that is just a whole lot more anxiety and insecurity that really I am just too screwed up. These are the moments when I sincerely doubt the prospect of future employment/success/relationship/happiness.

Which are exactly the same moments that I need to stop being such a baby and think this too shall pass and these are not real problems.

There is no way in hell you could get me on the escalator at the Dupont Q Street exit though.

Chicago with the sibling was fun. He put up with my desire to find quirky stores, because I want to find some very simple decor objects for my bedroom. We went to the zoo and watched the tiger and bobcat for an excessive amount of time. We ate a lot of good food. We watched Season One episodes of Law and Order, which is really entertaining because it was practically a different show back then. Plus it was 1990, and you can tell from the hairstyles and clothes and the way they refer to AIDS as a “new disease.” I am also impressed with my brother’s ability to drive and navigate the city – we didn’t take public transportation at all.

I got to Jersey on Wednesday, and since then have been pretty lazy. Brent and I went to Trivia Night on Thursday and had our worst game ever. We got a geography question wrong! We’ve never gotten a geography question wrong. But it was fun anyway. Also, telling Brent really dumb ideas/thoughts that I have is still fun, because, as he puts it, he can’t “unknow” them.

Now I have laundry in and I’m trying to motivate myself to write job applications. I have the resume updated. I have copies of cover letters I’ve written that will just need to be tweaked. I have a bunch of jobs bookmarked, so there is stuff out there – albeit with incredibly low pay. And of course most of them are for positions with “assistant” in the title. I was so happy and proud to be out of the assistant trap when I got The-Job-That-Failed. And now I’ll be going back to it. I’m not too proud to turn down any job, but it still stings. And if I think about it too much, I’ll just get depressed, so I’m going to try not to think about it.

Instead, I’m going to go have some delicious homemade chicken soup, fold my laundry, and then maybe, just maybe I’ll have it in me to get a job application together. The first one is always the hardest.

I’m at my brother’s place in Chicago. Chicago – the city I hate because of the nine months I spent hiding in Hyde Park, drinking cheap vodka, and trying to be a grad student. 

I had a great time in Minnesota with David and Ellie. There was gossiping about Message-Board-of-Note, and heart to hearts, and laughing at ridiculous things, and getting teased incessantly, and giving David a hard time, and cats, and lots of cheese, and did I mention lots of laughing? I needed to laugh like that.

They picked me up from the airport on Wednesday night, and when Ellie spotted me, she jumped out of the car and bounded towards me and gave me a big hug. It was much needed. 

Thursday, there was wandering around little neighborhoods in St. Paul and coffee and even though I shouldn’t be spending any money, finding the best thing for my room at home ever. Also, people are disconcertingly nice. I also helped David with a paper, because he has no ability to bullshit, and well, I am the master at it. I was coming up with all these pretentious sounding sentences and having way, way more fun than I should have. 

Thursday night, a friend of Ellie’s came over and we had pizza (better than DC pizza, no match for Jersey) and it was very educational…I learned a lot about Twin City culture. 

There was much laughing and giving David a hard time and I can’t convey the hilarity of it all because it really is a case of “you had to be there” but we coined a lead in phrase that we repeated in different scenarios my entire visit. 

Friday was a lazy morning. Then there was a trip to Minnehaha Falls, and then Mall of America, just because they insisted I had to see it. We looped around one level; the place is insane, there’s an amusement park with a roller coaster in the center. Friday night we were supposed to go out for dinner, but car troubles prevented that, so we ordered take out, watched random shorts, and Seinfeld, and Greek. 

Saturday, Ellie and I went to a meet-up.com board game night, and it was hilariously awful. We were the youngest ones there, and I will simply say that people should not play the dirty version of Apples to Apples if they don’t know the terms. Afterwards, we had to laugh about the whole thing. And go home and watch Teen Mom. 

Sunday there was delicious burgers, and then Ellie and I attempted to play tourist in downtown Minneapolis and St. Paul but it was a giant fail. And of course we picked the coldest day I was there to try and wander around outside. Oh well. We came back and made popcorn and finished off Season One of Teen Mom, because I got Ellie addicted. 

I left yesterday morning feeling 10,000 times better than I did a week ago. 

(Confidential to Ellie: Pics and quotes coming when I get home to Alexandria. I will end with this one quote)

Ellie: Libertarians: You can’t take them anywhere.
Rachel: I think it’s more like “Men. You can’t take them anywhere.” 
Ellie: Libertarian men you can’t take anywhere. 
Rachel: Now, Libertarian women you should take EVERYWHERE
David: To show off “Hey look! I got one”

It feels like a break-up. That’s the closest emotion I can conjure up. When you go through a break-up, you have the immediate, initial reaction of tears, and then you pull yourself together, and then you freak out about feeling somewhat okay, because things are not okay.

I am wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt that technically belongs to an ex-boy. My hair is a mess and I’ve made no attempt to tame it. And right now, I don’t care.

There is part of me that is devastated. After all the awfulness of 2011, this job appeared in December (within walking distance of home, no less!) and suddenly everything made sense. I moved to DC in September 2010 for a job that didn’t work out, for a life that didn’t work out, and since everything happens for a reason, all that happened because this magical living opportunity was going to land on my lap, because this magical job situation was going to land on my lap.

There is a part of me, however delusional, that this happened for a reason too.

An answer to a clue of jeopardy reminded me of a song I haven’t listened to in forever (“I’m Movin On, by Rascall Flatts). I remember listening to that song over and over again in December of 2004, right before I finished college. This was after a fairly difficult year, when things were finally working out.

There’s a line “I’ve found you find strength in your moments of weakness.” and “I know there’s no guarentees, but I’m not alone.” If I know nothing else, I know this: I have the best friends and family that anyone could ask for. And that I have had moments in my life where I felt devastated, as if nothing would ever be okay ever again, and there were certainly times when I felt worse than this.

And as delusional as it sounds, something is going to come out of this. This.Is.Not.Over.

(and to those of you who have been putting up with me since Wednesday, I am so grateful to you. I know I say it all the time, but you are all amazing)

When I got the job offer for The-Job-That-Wasn’t 2.0 I was in the West Village, in a Starbucks. It’d been a frantic few days, since Keithers needed to know like, last week whether he was looking for a studio or a 2 bedroom.

A tiny little voice inside of me said “don’t do it.”  I’m not sure why, but self-preservation is a powerful thing and it tried to shout in my ear, and I was stupid and ignored it.

I did it anyway. And then knew from Day One that the job was wrong.

That decision was a year and a half away and a million years ago. There were other paths I could have followed. I could have stayed in Jersey. I could have waited until February and moved to DC with no job. I chose.

And then after rehab, after it was all over, I could have run. It would have been so easy and sensible to curl up in Jersey. I’m still not sure why I didn’t, even though Brent was like ‘do that.’  Instead I stayed. Against rational.

So, here I sit, (typing on my roommates computer; mine is dead) with a different job, different apartment, and just a life that is so much different than the one I allegedly moved down here for. I live in Alexandria (not DC) and work in Alexandria too. My roommate is among the closest of friends I have in the DC area because proximity will do that to you. I have friends down the street.

I love, love, love Alexandria in the way I used to love Astoria, and that is saying a hell of a lot.

Alexandria, VA. Who the hell would have thought?

The first nine months of 2010 were mostly smooth sailing. It’s true I was obsessed with escape; I wanted out of Jersey, and I wanted into DC, I wanted out of the “assistant trap” of my then current job and into something more “career oriented.” But I was okay. My job itself had few faults, I had my two best friends right in town, and really, I’m an introvert, so all that alone, isolated time was not really a big deal.

Then I moved to DC in September of 2010 and it fell apart very, very quickly.

2011 was awful. It was the worst year of my life, no doubt.

Things came together so quickly, and I didn’t realize it completely.

I was back in the hospital again and out of nowhere, got offered a spare room in Alexandria (right outside DC). I. Have. No. Idea. Luck? God? Fate? Mayans getting in their kicks before the world ends? I have no idea.

In September, I moved into my miraculous housing-find in Alexandria. In October I had some boy-drama for the first time in many years. It was dumb, and he was dumb, and I was dumb, but whatever I felt over the course of it was completely and totally human.

It has been years since I felt so completely and totally human over a boy. And so it was.

And then in early December, everything came together. And I have no idea how it happened, but I wound up with a job that is 7 minute walk from my apartment.

So I wonder. As is my nature. WHAT THE FUCK NOW.

This living situation was meant to be temporary, for one. This weekend finds me getting rid of my moving boxes because I am certainly not moving in February 2012 (that was in my head as a deadline) because I am sick of looking at them. When I move I’ll suck it up and just buy more boxes. Right now, I want them all to go away. I want to feel settled.

Here.

Be Here.

2010
2009
2008
2007
2006
2005
2004

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?
Well, I could list all those things like winding up in a psych ward, an inpatient rehab, and making a record number of trips to ER, but that’s just depressing, isn’t it?

2. Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don’t think I made any New Year’s resolutions. This year my New Year’s resolution is no more trips to ER

3. What countries did you visit?
None

4. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
Continuous sobriety and ego strength.

5. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory?
It’s kind of a blur – unemployment and too much drinking will do that to you. I will probably never forget March 6-7 though. And there are plenty of eventful things I’ll never forget either

6. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Not giving up on DC – I didn’t run back to Jersey, despite being tempted to do so many times (Getting offered my old job back, being angsty and a mess at the end of October). I stuck it out here, and I forced myself to go out and be social, and I found a job. Although the life I’m creating is in Alexandria, and not DC proper. Believe me, this is not what I planned, but this little corner is good for me.

7. What was your biggest failure?
Drinking too much and doing stupid/destructive things while drunk

8. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Lots of black and blues and hangovers/withdrawals.

9. What was the best thing you bought?
The best thing I did was hire movers to haul my stuff from DC to Alexandria, because they were awesomely efficent

10. Whose behavior merited celebration?
So many people.
Jill-IAN: For continuing to make me laugh hysterically at the craziest things, and, as she did 5 years ago, refusing to let me mope.

Joe: For always knowing the right thing to say and being on my side even when I’m wrong.

Ellie: For listening to me and encouraging me and sending me a plane ticket to visit her at the height of my drama and angst and weepiness. (Even though I didn’t get to use said plane ticket. Ellie should use it to come visit me instead. Hint. Hint. Hint.)

Charlotte: For being my twin from across the ocean.

Various Message Board of Note People, who I won’t list for fear of leaving someone out, who read my angsty-whiny posts and responded with support every single time.

Keithers: For being understanding, for taking care of things while I was away from DC, for looking after me even though it wasn’t his job and I sometimes resented it, and for being the best roommate ever, even when I was being the worst.

The Roommate: For giving me a place to stay when I had nowhere to go and removing 10,000 tons of stress, and for being the best roommate ever, even when I was being the worst.

Brent: No words necessary. He is my best friend.

Basically I have amazing people in my life. I am very lucky.

11. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
First and foremost – my own. Hundreds of times. More minor – occasionally co-workers at the Job-That-Wasn’t-2.0.

12. What did you get really, really, really excited about??

Moving to Alexandria. Finding a new job.

13. What song will always remind you of 2011??
The entire Taylor Swift album “Mine,’ particularly the song Long Live, several songs that the girls in rehab played incessently (Firework, Turn on the Lights, and One Step At A Time), White Horse, also Taylor Swift (“cause I’m not a princess, this ain’t a fairlytale”), Just The Way You Are, Bruno Mars, Until The Night, Billy Joel, Bend and Not Break, Dashboard Confessional, The Way You Loved Me, Taylor Swift, Songs Like These, Carrie Underwood, Spring Street, Dar Williams,

14. Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?
Thanks to the last couple weeks, happier.

15. What do you wish you’d done more of?
I wish I had socialized more and gotten out of the Glover Park place more.

16. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Drink

17. How will you be spending Christmas?
Jewishly

18. Did you fall in love in 2011?
No.

19. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

No.

20. What was the best book you read?

Middlemarch, George Eliot. A classic I’d never read.

21. What was your greatest musical discovery?
N/A

22. What did you want and get?
I got myself fired from my job instead of having to quit (well not exactly), I got a new place to live that is way, way, way better than Glover Park, I wanted to be more social, and I am, and I wanted a new job, and I got that. I am crossing my fingers that this isn’t another case of getting what I want and then watching it all blow up in my face.

23. What did you want and not get?
Sigh. It was unwise to want what I thought I wanted in the first place.

24. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
My birthday was uneventful, but celebratory. It fell on the same day as my parents’ “supper club” with the psuedo family. I turned 28.  I’m going to be 30 before I know it – shoot me in the head.

25. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

I can’t think of anything. Well, I can – but, anything to happen differently would mean I wouldn’t be exactly where I am right now, and I think I am finally, finally in a good place. So, for all the disappointments, I’m very grateful to having been dropped into Alexandria for living/job.

26. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006?
I was unemployed for months – so I wore a lot of whimsical pajama pants

27. What kept you sane?

This is a trick question since I went completely insane in 2011. What helped was my parents, Brent, Keithers, The Roommate, and MBON. Oh, and Xanax.

28. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most??
Other than the usual stand-bys (Christopher Meloni, as Elliot Stabler, Josh Lyman, Jon Stewart), I did develop a thing for the local weatherman, as well as a contestant on the Jeopardy tournament of champions.

29. Who was the best new person you met?

Technically, I met The Roommate in 2010, but that hardly counts. I am incredibly grateful for the amount of meeting, which led me to have a place to live. Some drama happened, but I think we’re okay

30. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011?
“If you are going through hell, keep going.”

That when it comes to boys, I will never learn.

I wish you would

I am several degrees of crazy and I do really, really stupid things.

2011 has been a bitch of a year, and I’ve been a bitch of a person. I am difficult, at best. You have put up with me. I know this.

Please give me 2012 to prove myself. I am not hopeless. I hope.

Dear 2011,

Fuck you. Seriously. Fuck. You. You have been nothing short of awful.

In you, I have self-sabotaged, beaten myself down, and killed every good thing that could have come out of you. You are awful. You are almost a totally worthless waste of a year. You don’t even get to take credit for the amazing people in my life that helped me survive you, because guess what? Most of them hate you too.

I have watched you hurt people I love. I have watched incredibly good people wind up with bad circumstances, and that is your fault. You did this. Not them. So many people I care about are dealing with untenable situations. Sickness be it physical or mental, they are suffering. Fuck you for creating these problems in the first place, fuck you for giving these problems to people who don’t deserve to ever cry, and really just….fuck you; what kind of year brings cancer to all ages, hospitalizes a few for mental illness, and winds it up with domestic violence? Fuck you, 2011. I hate you. I hate you so much.

I should have known you were going to be a bad year. I wanted to be optimistic about you. You started fucking things up from day one. In two days you gave me a bad date, a bruised leg, and an ER visit. (That makes it sound like I had an abusive date. I didn’t; I went out with a very nice boy, but I resorted to my usual MO. Upon realizing I didn’t like-like nice boy, I proceeded to drink away my feelings in a wild night on the town with Keithers. We went to a really shady strip club because it was the only bar in proximity that was open. The ER part was because I got drunk enough to scare Keith into thinking I was going to die, and he called 911.)

From Day 1, 2011, I have just been trying to survive you. For all the times I said I wouldn’t (but did) buy vodka at the little store right across from my bus stop. For all the times that I had to close my office door and cry. For all the moments in rehab when I felt like I was back in middle school. For all those days in that horrible, horrible summer where I simply could not get out of bed. For the mornings I lay there with my eyes squeezed shut praying that somehow I would not have to wake up again.

For that day I called Brent and sobbed on the phone for almost 2 hours in a “Come to Jesus” type scenario. For that day Brent told me “I’m tired of caring about you.” Because really. I am too much to deal with and sometimes, people just get sick of worrying about you.

(Fuck you 2011, in case I haven’t said it enough)

I hate you, for all the vague fantasies you gave me of simply stepping in front of a bus.

And

And yes, I will grant you the points in which it got better. I found a place to live (thank you Roommate), I found a combo of meds that doesn’t suck when I remember to take them properly.

But, fuck you, 2011.

In you, I remembered what it was like to like-like a boy, and then in you remembered how to sabotage things with a boy. In you, I got to hear the words “I don’t want you.” and “I will never fall in love with you.” Thanks a lot 2011, because I hadn’t heard those words since 2004, and you know what, they don’t suck any less at 28 as they do at 21.

I hate you for the way I sunk into self-hatred and angst. I hate you for that panic attack in front of strangers. I hate you for still letting me feel like I would never be good enough. I hate you for the anxiety that keeps me from taking the escalator at Dupont, for the angst that made me utterly unattractive, for the nights where sleep alluded me until 5am, for the self-doubt, for the self-destruction, for the self-loathing. I hate you.

Some might say that I should give you credit for the good things in my life. Supportive family and friends for one. The new living situation that came out of nowhere when I needed it the most. The strangers who walked me home after the panic attack. The Message-Board-of-Note people who have responded to my angsty, whiny postings with nothing but support. The amazing people in my life who know I’m a head case and love me anyway.

Well, fuck you 2011, because you get no credit for that. That was all me. That was not you. And while you may say I’m a hypocrite for blaming you for the bad and taking credit for the good, I will say that is just proof of the one good thing to come out of you: This is not over, 2011. Your calendar may be closing, but This is Not Over. You didn’t win. I’m still here.

I’m still here.

Good riddance,

Rachel

And you ask me what I want this year
And I try to make this kind and clear
Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days
Cuz I don’t need boxes wrapped in strings
And desire and love and empty things
Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days

If you’d asked me a few weeks ago what I wanted for Christmas, I’d have said “a job.”   Christmas came early. December 2011 is like an abusive boyfriend, bringing me flowers the morning after giving me a black eye.

So for Christmas, (and for the New Year) I still want Better Days. I want days of clear-headedness and focus and productivity. I want as many days possible free of angst and tears.

I just want to be happy. And I want 2012 to treat the people I care about better than 2011.

I am on a northbound train to Jersey – I’m making a quick trip for Christmanukah.

I’m watching Love, Actually on my laptop. I’ve started this movie twice in the past week or so, and just never finished it. This is the perfect Xmas movie. And a perfect movie for me to watch when I’m spending the last couple weeks of 2011 high on life.

And of course, I’ve been walking around humming “All I Want For Christmas Is You” under my breath. It was during my last days at Skidmore that I became obsessed with this movie, and I played the song in my car constantly. One night I picked up Sebastian and I had it playing and he laughed at me saying “All YOU want for Christmas is HWSNBN.”

He was right, but I was in such good spirits, I couldn’t be bothered to be embarrassed.

This Christmas there is no one I am unrequitedly coveting. (though the “this is self preservation” scene, where Kiera Knightly realizes that Andrew Lincoln is totally, quietly, unrequitedly in love with her still gives me pause. And the “To me, you are perfect scene.” Because sometimes, in the throes of unrequitedness, the simple act of caring for someone has to be enough.)

Because for all the times in my life when I felt like my heart was breaking, I have never been sorry for caring about someone, even with my history of being misguided. I sign cards “With love” and say “love you muchly” before I get off the phone. It is, perish the phrase, a season of love.

So despite the cold, cynical parts of my heart, this year I will continue to embrace the warm fuzziness and use the season as an excuse to be a sap. I will forgive, and make amends, and love unapologetically.

And so of course, I had to kiss him. Again.

Last weekend I was seriously stressing about how insanely high my credit card bill had gotten. I knew paying rent and COBRA wouldn’t be a problem, but I’d be dipping into my savings way more than I liked (and oh how the savings dwindle when you are unemployed.)

On Tuesday evening I got the email: “We are prepared to make you the following offer.”

On Friday I had a job. Not only a job, but one that was a promotion from the one I’d originally applied for. The CEO was impressed, they said. (Please note: I now work for a very, very tiny company, one even smaller than The-Job-That-Wasn’t 2.0. But hey, it’s still a cool thing to impress a CEO enough to get you out of the assistant trap and get you into a job title that won’t make you self-conscious to hand out business cards.)

So Friday night I couldn’t stop smiling, and I made the first level of the pies for my impending dinner party, and when The Roommate got home, we just hung around, occasionally exchanging bits of commentary, and yeah, I know there’s been pseudo-drama with us that’s mostly my jack-asinine behavior that’s at fault, but it is nice that we can just “be” when we’re around each other. And then we made an amusing trip to Target Saturday morning.

Michael came over around noon on Saturday, and I had not seen him in months so it became a very fun session of cooking, reminising, catching up, babbling, and yes, lets talk about how Rachel loses her gaydar completely when a Libertarian is involved. Michael is one of the most gregarious people I know and he will engage anyone in just conversation or whatever. So while we were cooking and talking, The Roommate was putting together chairs (wins more Roommate points for engaging my dinner party that logistically was going to be a mess although a few expected people didn’t show, so it would have worked out) and I think Michael actually forced Roommate into having a good time. Which I did not know was possible. The Roommate does not have fun.

And then – successful party, I think. The food wasn’t as good as it could have been, I forgot to put out cheese with the chili, and the salad just never got made. But we all just hung around the table, and people laughed a lot, so is that a good sign of a successful gathering? I think so. Plus, it was also an impromptu celebration of my new job.

And then, I had a date, of sorts, on Sunday. This is a change from my usual mode of boy drama. This boy has told me straight out that he likes me, told me he thinks I am “beautiful and intelligent”, and held my hand in public. He made me feel adored, which made me realize – the recent boy I like-liked never made me feel like that. He was very good to me in many ways, from the pajama pants to the pancakes, (and one time, in the midst of the worst panic attack I have ever had he made sure I was safe and protected). And to him, I owe the roof over my head. I will always be incredibly grateful to whatever bizarre arrangement the roommate and I have. But I get his point now. It has been so long since I dated and I am so used to emotionally unavailable men, for whom you have to fight for an ounce of their attention. I forgot that sometimes you can just be yourself, and a boy will like you and pay attention to you.

This isn’t going anywhere yet. It hasn’t even started. But he held my hand in public, and he walked me to my doorstep and kissed me tonight, and he asked me if he could see me again soon.

And of course I said yes.