A full year of adulting

I didn't realize it was New Year's Eve until I woke up and checked Facebook. Thank goodness for Facebook.

This year was weird. You can't deny that. Weird stuff happened. On a personal level, and on a societal level. Two of my favorite animals in the world died. Other people I know lost loved ones very suddenly. Not to mention all the celebrities and people of import. I mean, Fidel Castro died. That guy's been around forever. Britain left the EU. Donald Trump beat the first female presidential candidate and is going to be our president. Did anyone really see that coming? We now have virtual reality devices we can use in our homes. Network TV is almost dead. Countries are planning feasible trips to Mars. Millions of people spent the summer running around catching Pokemon. Phones were banned on airplanes because they were in danger of exploding.  We're literally living in the future.

For me, this year was really weird because it was the first year since I was five where I did not attend school. I was a working woman! Two different jobs too. Now I'm working in a field that's actually what I went to school for, with one of my closest friends.

This year was tough. You know it was tough. You read my last four really depressing blog posts. But I'm proud of this year too. Because I did so many fun things, and I did so many adult things!

Here is a list of highlights from my first year as a real adult.

Real life

• Matt and I got our first married-person apartment, which meant I got my own kitchen for the first time in my life and it's wonderful. 
• We painted said apartment purple. 
• I finished and framed a cross-stitch design I've been working on for years. 
• We got Sophie, who might be the most affectionate and friendly cat in the world. 
• Since Griffin is no longer an only child, he is no longer as needy and neurotic as he used to be. 
• We built up our savings account and got Matt through another couple of semesters of school with no debt. 
• Matt's family took us to Disneyland and I legitimately felt that I had come home. A lot of places I build up in my head and then I'm disappointed when I get there. Not so with Disneyland. I could happily spend the rest of my life there. 
• I tried to be a better friend. 

Fake life

• Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life happened. I stayed up til 7 am watching it, which was an awesome decision. 
• Many, many people fell in love with Hamilton and were really excited about it. 
• Captain America: Civil War happened.
• Zootopia happened. 
• Finding Dory happened. 
• Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them happened. 
• Rogue One happened. 
• Each of those movies made me cry and made me really happy for movie franchises that never die (except Zootopia which was new but it made me happy Disney still does great movies). 
• This is Us proved that networks can still produce touching, uplifting, enjoyable TV. 
• Netflix knocked it out of the park with their original series. Stranger Things was life-changing, obviously, but their new cartoon Trollhunters (starring Anton Yelchin who died on my birthday, thanks 2016) is quality young adult television. And they gave us GG, so thank you Netflix. I have been, and always will be, your friend. 

This is my life. A nice balance of adult responsibilities and childlike delight. My parents wrote in their Christmas letter: "Emily still likes movies, cats, and all things Harry Potter." I have some goals for next year, involving all three of those things, as well as self-improvement-y things that everyone else makes goals about too.

But more than anything, I'm going to be happy. So I'm going to take those things that make me happy, and I'm going to do them. Because I'm an adult. And I can. 

Emotional breakdowns and Carrie Fisher

I've only written four posts for this blog, and I'm already falling into my old bad habits. I keep starting posts then losing steam and never finishing. And it's because I really only feel passionate about what I'm writing when I'm really, really depressed. So then my blog isn't even fun to read because it's just me complaining!

Whatever. It's not like I'm getting paid for this.

I did a lot of things over the past week. Matt and I drove back and forth to Salt Lake several times, we hung out with family, we went to concerts and movies. I woke up early, got out of bed, did chores, did my make-up, basically did the normal people things I'm not used to doing.

And Monday night, I crashed.

Matt had all these big plans when I got home from work, but I just got home and laid down on the bed and cried. Not like, normal crying, like panic attack, hyperventilating crying. And it was the third time I cried that day. We'd gone and seen La La Land earlier and I cried during the movie because it felt so real and I cried after the movie because it felt so terrible.

So I was already feeling pretty down. And then after work I was so exhausted and I was mad at myself for feeling exhausted, so Matt and I got into bed and watched Captain America: Civil War. And of course I cried again. Four distinct times in one day might be a record.

The worst part about feeling this way isn't knowing that I'm failing myself, it's knowing that I'm failing Matt. He didn't sign up for a loser wife who wakes up at noon on her day off and then takes a nap at 6 because she's just so tired. And who considers taking a bath as her "productive thing" for the day.

A secondary worst part is thinking that maybe you are just a lazy, entitled Millennial after all.

Oh, and then, on top of all this, Carrie Fisher dies. (Which was the first thing Matt told me when I woke up yesterday.)

Most of the celebrities who died this year didn't really have unfinished work, I think. Garry Marshall had already done Pretty Woman and the Princess Diaries. David Bowie had already finished his new album. Alan Rickman was done with Harry Potter. Prince had made that guest appearance on New Girl.

But Carrie. I still needed her to be Leia. She wasn't done.

Leia is a great heroine. We all know this. I don't need to spend time talking about how strong and scrappy she was, how she always took charge when Luke couldn't hack it, how she got on that speeder and left him behind, all while staying smart and sexy.

But I think Carrie is a great heroine too.

Yeah, she was a drug addict. Yeah, she had at least one affair with a married man. Yeah, her dad was also a drug addict who left her mom for Elizabeth Taylor. Yeah, she was pretty imperfect and probably made a lot of really stupid mistakes. But she was smart. And she was funny. And she cared about people.

And she never stopped trying.

She was a manic, bi-polar depressive with a history of drug addiction and alcoholism and one defining film role when she was 19, but she was also known to light up the room with her vivid personality and sharp wit. She was an advocate for mental health but didn't use her own mental illnesses to explain her behavior. I feel like she made the most of her life and never apologized for who she was.

I want to be like that.

I'm not gonna do drugs or sleep with Harrison Ford, but I'm going to keep trying. Even when it seems impossible. Even when walking on the treadmill for ten minutes seems like a waste of time, I'm going to make myself do it because it's better than walking on the treadmill for no minutes. Even when I wake up feeling like the worst person in the entire world and a disgrace to my family and my community, I'm going to get up anyway because if Carrie embarrassing herself during a live show because her medicine was wonky and she couldn't even speak, I can survive another day of Utah winter (fingers crossed).

She's our princess, she's our general, she was an unstoppable force, and I wish she wasn't gone.

Control

I'm weird about having control.

I wanted to do everything for my wedding myself (which got me into trouble because people thought I was leaving them out on purpose), but I don't like planning family parties or dinners. The less involved I can be, the better.

I don't mind being in the passenger seat while someone else drives, but I don't like taking public transportation because I don't like having to conform to their schedule. I want to go where I want, when I want.

Sometimes I wish someone would plan me a surprise party, but the idea of letting someone else take the reigns on something so important to me makes me anxious. What if they do it wrong???

When someone invites me to plan something, I have a tendency to either take it over or completely back off, depending on whether or not the person in charge takes my suggestions.

I say "Let people live however they want! It's their life!" but when someone close to me isn't living up to their potential as I determine, it's so difficult to keep myself from telling them how to run their own life. They could be doing it so much better. (Like I'm really one to talk, but therein lies the irony.)

The thing I probably hate most, however, is when people tell me how to do my job. And there's no antithesis of this. I just hate it.

So what does this say about me? I like making decisions. I like getting things done. I often think that my way is the only right way, and I hate waiting around while other people dither. Just make the decision, and follow through.

However, I don't like getting involved if I can't be in charge. I don't want to have any responsibility placed on me if things fail. I get easily frustrated during group planning sessions. I also really, really don't like getting told what to do, especially by older men. (One time, Matt and I went with his dad and his brother to a shooting range, and I shot a couple of times, and then I wanted to sit and read my book while they finished. Some old man came up to me and said "You need to shoot more! Tell your husband to let you shoot!" I said, "I'm really fine, thanks" but I thought "How DARE you tell me what to do and how to live my life?? More irony since that's all I want to do for people sometimes.)

Maybe irony is the wrong word. It's really just hypocrisy. I am a person who is both flaky and controlling.

I just need things to always happen the way I want them to happen, but I don't want to necessarily be the one to make them happen. Is that too much to ask for?

This week, I am going to make a concerted effort to follow in the footsteps of my personal role model, the beautiful, powerful and emotionally damaged life-giver and benevolent ruler, Queen Elsa.

I'm going to try really, really hard to just let it go.

Why blog?

I've tried to blog a couple of other times. You've probably read them. I always start with these grand aspirations of bestowing wisdom, or making insightful and scathing comments about the nature of humanity. But it always just devolves into whining.

This time, I'm going to be honest with you. The point of this blog is to whine.

Like I said in my first post, my life is really, really good. I am extremely blessed. But as I'm sitting here writing this, I feel smothered by a cloud of melancholy. For no reason! Other than the fact that my brain hates me.

I have depression and anxiety, which I control through medication. The medicine doesn't protect me from getting depressed. It protects me from having panic attacks in the work bathroom, from crying myself to sleep every night, from being so worn down that I can't even function.

I still feel terrible, but I am capable of doing my job and doing my chores while feeling terrible.

I also am kind of a hypochondriac and I have that impostor syndrome we millennials get. Despite the fact that I have both education and experience, I feel like a huge fraud. One day they're going to figure out how spectacularly unqualified and useless I am, and then it will all be over.

A long time ago, I realized that my biggest challenge in life would probably be overcoming myself. Forcing myself to be productive. Overcoming that stupid voice in my head that is constantly telling me how worthless I am. When something goes wrong, my immediate reaction is to think "I am a failure. I am the worst. I should not exist." Over the silliest mistakes!

I'm not trying to excuse my laziness or my obvious flaws. I have a lot of things I need to work on. But you know, I was #6 in my senior class of 600+. I graduated college at 21, and I never failed a class. I work more than 40 hours a week, doing jobs that I don't think I'm qualified for. But I do them. I work hard. I refuse to believe I'm just a loser.

And yet, I have a really hard time getting out of bed in the morning. I have to force myself up. This morning I cried because the prospect of getting out of bed seemed so daunting. It's not always this bad. Most days I'm fine. But in the winter, especially, and during certain times of the month, I have no energy. Wearing contacts instead of glasses feels like a big accomplishment. And I get really frustrated because I can't do the normal human things everyone else has no problem with. Thus, I struggle to cope with adulthood.

What's the point of saying all this? To inspire pity? To explain why I'm a flake/bad friend sometimes? To complain about how bad my life is, even though I know it isn't? To reach out to and help others who feel the same?

Honestly, I just need to get it out. This is completely and totally, 100% about me. Writing in a diary isn't as helpful, because it's still trapped inside of me...just in a different format. I need to let it out into the universe. I could get a therapist, but they cost money and ask questions. I could just complain to Matt, but I'm sure that get's old. I don't want to drown him in my negativity. I could call up one of my many friends who also experience anxiety and depression and commiserate with them, but I'm not really the kind of person who seeks someone out to complain to.

So I'm putting it here, on the internet. So there is a possibility that someone will hear me, but nobody is forced to listen. And there's even the possibility that someone will comment "Love you, Emily!" thus giving me the online validation I crave.

Much better than writing in a diary.

Also, if I keep up this blog, it's not always going to be this negative. I want to talk about my favorite books and movies and my cats and tell anecdotes about my life. I'm just having a really bad day today. But writing about it makes it a little better.

About me

If you're reading this, you're probably my friend on Facebook. Actually, if you're reading this, you're probably a family member. Which means you already know everything about me. So I don't even need this post.

But I'm going to write it anyway.

I am 23, which means I am old enough to put my age on the internet and not worry (much) about cyber predators. I am a college graduate, which means that on paper I am qualified for my job. I am married, which means I don't have to go to singles' wards anymore and I don't have to make new friends.

I have two cats.

I have no children (human ones).

I have the same laptop I had when I started school.

I can put my leg behind my head.

I'm out of interesting facts.

You know how some people change over time? I didn't. I'm one of those people who hasn't changed their entire life. In high school we all had to bring in baby pictures, and everyone could immediately identify me because I look the same.

So I go to the same church I went to as a kid. I read the same type of books I read when I was a kid. I watch the same type of movies I watched when I was a kid. I still like animals more than people. I still like being the center of attention, as long as I'm comfortable and don't feel intimidated.

I'm still intimidated by beautiful, confident women. They send me right back to high school, when I felt a thrill whenever one of the cheerleaders or "popular girls" spoke to me. I was the girl who wanted to be popular, but that doesn't happen when you read at lunch, never date, and actually do your homework.

Also I look really young. I think that ties into self-confidence. I have a theory that if you look older, people treat you like you're more mature, so you start to act mature. People still treat me like a kid, so I still act like a kid.

Cop-out? Probably. But I'm good at those.

You might be thinking, how did this "about me" post turn into me ruminating on how unpopular and awkward I was in high school? I could say it's because my experiences in high school help define who I am today, which is true, but I really just like talking about myself and my (real or perceived) problems.

Maybe I should call my blog "The Narcissistic Philosopher."

(That's actually not very catchy. Never mind.)

I'm back

Hello. It's me. (Emily)

Once upon a time, I was an intern for a news organization. It was my first real "grown-up" job, and it was tough. I worked a lot, I had to commute to a city an hour away, I had to wear nice clothes and look "presentable."

It was a struggle. So I decided to write about it.

I've taken all those posts down because they are embarrassing, but to summarize: the people I worked with were weird and funny, I sniped a Star Trek book from a guy who looked like Morgan from Chuck at a silent auction, and I spilled purple-colored liquids on myself a lot. It was an interesting summer.

Now, two years later, I'm back to writing on this blog again, because I'm still trying to cope with adulthood.

My life is actually really good. I love reading blogs, especially of people who are friends-of-friends, especially of people who are struggling with something and are choosing to share all the messy details on the internet. I don't know, I guess I really love raw emotion and I love trying to understand how people feel. And sometimes they say inspirational stuff about how even though life sucks it will probably get better, so that's good too.

But I can't really run a blog like that. I'm a college graduate working a full-time, paid position in the field I studied where I don't even have to dress up nice (because it's Saturday and I can, I'm wearing a Batman T-shirt and the hot pink sweatshirt my friend Shannon got me to replace the one her golden retriever ate), I'm married to a really great guy and we don't have any problems, no one I love is dead or dying, I get to sleep in as late as I want because my shift starts at 2 p.m., I have Netflix AND Amazon Prime. There is literally nothing bad in my life.

So why is it still so hard?

My name is Emily, I'm an adult, and I'm really bad at it. Welcome to my blog.