Your story isn’t over, and neither is my own. We still have much to write about, so many things unsaid. You have so much to share with this world, really as do I. I find you smart, seriously quite bright, so talented, bold, and brave. Luckily, we are good friends and you often tell me the same.
Your story isn’t over, friend, and neither is my own. We both have aspirations and desires to help the world. Together, we can save so many, from their own minds and the law, although I know we’re in constant battle, fighting our own flaws. But I look past the physical, and really so do you; together we can do anything, together we can brave the world.
Your story isn’t over, dear, and neither is my own. We have yet to meet in real life and make some travels near and far. I want to take you to Chicago, Atlanta, or maybe Timbuktu. I want to come see you in Cali, or fly you to Tennessee; we can spend all night just talking, maybe even eat Chinese.
Your story isn’t over, and neither is my own. We have so much to celebrate, both together and alone. I know things will be amazing, there’s so much in store for you. Right now my life feels uncertain, but you say there’s big things coming for me, too. Some things may be happy, others sad, even frightening. But I think we’re in this together, friend, and with each other we can do anything.
At night I think my story's over, but really it’s so not. So I promise to keep fighting if you’ll simply be my friend.
Tuesday, May 29, 2018
Thursday, May 24, 2018
Leaving The World That Was Never Meant For Me
I knew from the first moment that I held the flute in my hands that there was something magical, something calling me to it. I felt challenged, I felt joyful, I felt like I had purpose. In the band room, I felt accepted, valued, like it was where I belonged. It didn't take more than a year or two to decide, to know firmly in my heart: I'm going to do this forever, I'm going to be a band teacher.
High school served as confirmation: though my entire life was chaos and constant storms filled with confusion and emotion, the band room and my flute were what kept me afloat. I poured my soul into music, and it was a fitting outlet for all of my intense feelings, all of my pain. The band room continued to be my "safe place" and a shelter from the storm. I spent as much time there as I could, doing everything I could to cling tightly. Sometimes it would be doing odd jobs for the band director, other times it might be just sitting in the director's office shooting the bull. I don't know if my band directors ever knew that they were my lighthouse, my beacon of hope, but I hope they did.
My feelings of question and failure first came in college. I failed Piano 2. I received heavy criticism in my band auditions numerous times. My Conducting 2 teacher made me feel inferior and made sure that I knew I'd never amount to much: he let me pass with a C. I pushed through, though. I made it to student teaching and felt confident that I had found my place, that the band room was still the best place for me. I found myself falling in love with every aspect of the band director life: the music, the connections with students, even things like horn repair and loading buses. Every minute of my time in the band rooms where I student taught felt like home, felt like my calling.
Then came all of the applications with no response, the interviews that ended with rejection. The hours I spent in the car, dressed to impress, left me feeling empty and scorned. Why am I wasting my time? Clearly I am failing! It took nearly a year to get any job, and even then it was pure luck and connections that this job practically fell into my lap. I spent much of my time at my first job somewhere in between feeling like a failure and feeling like a success. Some days I'd spend my hour-long commute home in the silence of my tears, other days I'd be blasting music and dancing: there was no in between. Uncertainty became a common place, and I was assured by others this uncertainty would pass with time. It never did, at least not completely.
For the last four years, I've found myself continuing to waver, to question, to feel inadequate. With every step, there was that constant feeling of fear, the sounds of worry eating away at my soul. Oh, they're going to figure out you are full of crap soon enough! What did you just do?! You'll be called to the principal's office over that, just you wait! There were nights I'd lose hours of sleep worrying over a parent email or replaying a failed rehearsal in my head. There were days that I'd drive away unsure if I wanted to sob uncontrollably or beat my steering wheel to a pulp. The highs felt amazing, but the lows started consuming me entirely for days or weeks at a time.
I knew the day was coming, it was only a matter of time. I knew last spring, when I found myself putting things off and spending my planning periods doing anything I could to avoid real work. I knew in July, when the thought of going back to work made me feel so repulsed that I thought I would vomit. I knew when I sent an email in the middle of the night to my boss explaining that I was being hospitalized. I knew in November when L said that she was being asked too many questions about my health and stability, things she shouldn't have known as a supervisor but knew as my friend. I knew in January when the cops and ambulance came to work, catching my boss off guard. I knew as the days started creeping into May and there was no news of being rehired. I just knew in my head, my heart, even my feet...I knew I was going to be fired.
I've been told to not look at this as a failure, but several parts of me instantly go there. My cognitive distortions run away with the idea and come back with a completed novel spelling out my shortcomings in full detail. You did this to yourself! You're going to just be wasting time and money going back to school...it's only a matter of time before you fail at the new career, too. I worry that my desire to jump into mental health is driven by personal interest and the same ideology that drove me to teaching: finding shelter from the storm.
An awesome friend of mine recently brought up that she often "can't shake the feeling that the world wasn't meant for me." I can totally relate to that in so many ways, and as I sit here looking around this empty void of a classroom, the feelings are almost overpowering. I don't know that teaching was ever really meant for me, just like as a middle and high school student I felt that the confines of teenage life was never really for me, either. I don't ever "fit the mold" of most anywhere I try to place myself: I am entirely too volatile, too outrageous, too unique. I always felt out of place, and still do. I constantly stop to question my purpose, my existence, because I merely cannot wrap my brain around who I am and what I was made to achieve.
At the end of the day, I just want to find satisfaction in my life. I want to feel joy. To quote Dr. R, I want "a live worth living and being present for." That life was not standing in front of a band room, but it's also not hiding from the world inside my house eating junk and binge watching shows on Netflix (though that was most of my life last summer...). I can only hope that my life worth living and being present for comes into focus as I gravitate towards something new, something in which I so desperately want to work out. All I have ever wanted is to help, to feel myself positively impacting the lives of others...so maybe therapy is that place?
High school served as confirmation: though my entire life was chaos and constant storms filled with confusion and emotion, the band room and my flute were what kept me afloat. I poured my soul into music, and it was a fitting outlet for all of my intense feelings, all of my pain. The band room continued to be my "safe place" and a shelter from the storm. I spent as much time there as I could, doing everything I could to cling tightly. Sometimes it would be doing odd jobs for the band director, other times it might be just sitting in the director's office shooting the bull. I don't know if my band directors ever knew that they were my lighthouse, my beacon of hope, but I hope they did.
My feelings of question and failure first came in college. I failed Piano 2. I received heavy criticism in my band auditions numerous times. My Conducting 2 teacher made me feel inferior and made sure that I knew I'd never amount to much: he let me pass with a C. I pushed through, though. I made it to student teaching and felt confident that I had found my place, that the band room was still the best place for me. I found myself falling in love with every aspect of the band director life: the music, the connections with students, even things like horn repair and loading buses. Every minute of my time in the band rooms where I student taught felt like home, felt like my calling.
Then came all of the applications with no response, the interviews that ended with rejection. The hours I spent in the car, dressed to impress, left me feeling empty and scorned. Why am I wasting my time? Clearly I am failing! It took nearly a year to get any job, and even then it was pure luck and connections that this job practically fell into my lap. I spent much of my time at my first job somewhere in between feeling like a failure and feeling like a success. Some days I'd spend my hour-long commute home in the silence of my tears, other days I'd be blasting music and dancing: there was no in between. Uncertainty became a common place, and I was assured by others this uncertainty would pass with time. It never did, at least not completely.
For the last four years, I've found myself continuing to waver, to question, to feel inadequate. With every step, there was that constant feeling of fear, the sounds of worry eating away at my soul. Oh, they're going to figure out you are full of crap soon enough! What did you just do?! You'll be called to the principal's office over that, just you wait! There were nights I'd lose hours of sleep worrying over a parent email or replaying a failed rehearsal in my head. There were days that I'd drive away unsure if I wanted to sob uncontrollably or beat my steering wheel to a pulp. The highs felt amazing, but the lows started consuming me entirely for days or weeks at a time.
I knew the day was coming, it was only a matter of time. I knew last spring, when I found myself putting things off and spending my planning periods doing anything I could to avoid real work. I knew in July, when the thought of going back to work made me feel so repulsed that I thought I would vomit. I knew when I sent an email in the middle of the night to my boss explaining that I was being hospitalized. I knew in November when L said that she was being asked too many questions about my health and stability, things she shouldn't have known as a supervisor but knew as my friend. I knew in January when the cops and ambulance came to work, catching my boss off guard. I knew as the days started creeping into May and there was no news of being rehired. I just knew in my head, my heart, even my feet...I knew I was going to be fired.
I've been told to not look at this as a failure, but several parts of me instantly go there. My cognitive distortions run away with the idea and come back with a completed novel spelling out my shortcomings in full detail. You did this to yourself! You're going to just be wasting time and money going back to school...it's only a matter of time before you fail at the new career, too. I worry that my desire to jump into mental health is driven by personal interest and the same ideology that drove me to teaching: finding shelter from the storm.
An awesome friend of mine recently brought up that she often "can't shake the feeling that the world wasn't meant for me." I can totally relate to that in so many ways, and as I sit here looking around this empty void of a classroom, the feelings are almost overpowering. I don't know that teaching was ever really meant for me, just like as a middle and high school student I felt that the confines of teenage life was never really for me, either. I don't ever "fit the mold" of most anywhere I try to place myself: I am entirely too volatile, too outrageous, too unique. I always felt out of place, and still do. I constantly stop to question my purpose, my existence, because I merely cannot wrap my brain around who I am and what I was made to achieve.
At the end of the day, I just want to find satisfaction in my life. I want to feel joy. To quote Dr. R, I want "a live worth living and being present for." That life was not standing in front of a band room, but it's also not hiding from the world inside my house eating junk and binge watching shows on Netflix (though that was most of my life last summer...). I can only hope that my life worth living and being present for comes into focus as I gravitate towards something new, something in which I so desperately want to work out. All I have ever wanted is to help, to feel myself positively impacting the lives of others...so maybe therapy is that place?
Saturday, May 19, 2018
Self Pity Is Unattractive, But Here I Am, Doing It Anyway...
Tonight I feel like laughing at the contradictions of my current life. It is at times like these that I find myself completely baffled and confused about what the realities are and what are the lies. Sure, there may be truth in everything and opposing sides can coexist, but isn't there a limit to that?
I've been told I am hard working, dedicated, and good at my job. Yet here I am, getting fired. People say that I'm not a terrible person, that they care and will always be here. Yet, here I am finding myself being ignored and abandoned.
People cheat and lie constantly. Love and trust leave you broken hearted. Nobody really wants to help or keep your secrets, they just want to use it all against you later to make themselves look and feel better. Nobody honestly gives a fuck about anything but saving their own skin.
I feel too much. I care too much. I want too much. I love too much. I'm not allowed to have a bad day, I'm not allowed to be myself. If I help, people wonder why. If I love, people question my motives. And that's the thing...I don't have any. I'm not trying to get ahead or throw anyone under the bus. I just want to see others happy. I just want everyone to feel loved, understood, accepted, safe. I don't want anyone to ever have to feel the pain I feel almost every single day, the pain deep inside that eats away at me and makes me want to scream. Nobody deserves to feel that pain, that darkness, that eating away at your soul.
Except me.
I doubt that anything I ever say or do will make people truly care about me or accept me for who I am. I don't deserve to be loved or treated with kindness. I deserve to die.
But that's not allowed either. Because nothing is allowed for me. Everything I think, feel, desire, do is wrong.
I am wrong.
I am a mistake. A mistake that has to bear the torture of self-hatred every day for the rest of my life.
Maybe someday it will change?
I've been told I am hard working, dedicated, and good at my job. Yet here I am, getting fired. People say that I'm not a terrible person, that they care and will always be here. Yet, here I am finding myself being ignored and abandoned.
People cheat and lie constantly. Love and trust leave you broken hearted. Nobody really wants to help or keep your secrets, they just want to use it all against you later to make themselves look and feel better. Nobody honestly gives a fuck about anything but saving their own skin.
I feel too much. I care too much. I want too much. I love too much. I'm not allowed to have a bad day, I'm not allowed to be myself. If I help, people wonder why. If I love, people question my motives. And that's the thing...I don't have any. I'm not trying to get ahead or throw anyone under the bus. I just want to see others happy. I just want everyone to feel loved, understood, accepted, safe. I don't want anyone to ever have to feel the pain I feel almost every single day, the pain deep inside that eats away at me and makes me want to scream. Nobody deserves to feel that pain, that darkness, that eating away at your soul.
Except me.
I doubt that anything I ever say or do will make people truly care about me or accept me for who I am. I don't deserve to be loved or treated with kindness. I deserve to die.
But that's not allowed either. Because nothing is allowed for me. Everything I think, feel, desire, do is wrong.
I am wrong.
I am a mistake. A mistake that has to bear the torture of self-hatred every day for the rest of my life.
Maybe someday it will change?
Saturday, May 5, 2018
Finding Your Place When You Identify As Bi
Finding Your Place When You Identify as Bi
by Megan Glosson
I love a guy with glasses or a woman with long hair. I'm a sucker for romantics, but also just large asses and beautiful eyelashes. I admire height but also intelligence and awkward humor. I prefer brunettes, curly hair or straight. Black, white, or purple, it's all the same to me, but a kind and caring heart is a must first and foremost.
If you know me well at all, you know I find both Heath Ledger (RIP) and Jennifer Garner incredibly sexy, just the same as Shemar Moore and Susan Kelechi Watson. Man or woman, a beautiful person is a beautiful person in my eyes. Yes, that's right: I identify as bi.
I will admit, I have only been with men and I have been married to a great guy for nearly a decade. That doesn't mean that women don't turn me on, though, and it doesn't mean that I've never tried to attract the attention of a female that I find fun (trust me, I've unsuccessfully tried more than one time in my life). I've had flirtatious fun and even developed crushes on women almost as many times as I have men.
Part of me feels like an outcast, though. I have found myself cut off from straight women the moment I point out a girl with a nice ass or a beautiful smile. I've also felt more than a little intimidated or ridiculed from the LGBT community though because I clearly lead a "straight life." Part of this could be my perception, but they say perception is reality, don't they?
Since becoming open about my sexuality, the heat has really been on. Some have questioned if I am being truthful or if perhaps I'm just "going through a phase." Others have visibly taken a step (or leap) back and expressed their unease. Only one person has not at all been shocked, a friend I've had since high school, and said she's always known.
I know I'm not the only woman in the world who finds herself attracted to both sexes...so why do I feel so alone? Where is the place for those of us who just love people for the people that they are, regardless of any types of classifications? Where can I go and be accepted, not judged or questioned on my motives or my truth? Is being openly bi a crime? I'd like to think it means I have an open heart, that I'm someone who is always open to love the person on the inside not just out. Though a nice ass is always a plus...
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Megan Glosson
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