7/26/16

How I Broke My Foot and Found Happiness (sorta)

Dear Pussycats,

Long time no talk. I know that I always say things like this, but I'm human, I'm sorry, and I think it's time we get down to business.

I haven't posted in a long time because I've been really battling what I want to do with this blog, and frankly, what I want to do with my life (omg, I'm a millennial, what else is nu).

Not feeling particularly inspired or inspiring, I've been very distant with this blog.

In my heart, I truly miss blogging and I really miss creating. But if I'm being total honest, I think it's because I've been battling with sad vibes and a bit of happiness-entitlement.

I've been applying for opportunities; I've taken writing classes and even dyed my hair. I bought into this work-out/diet program that involves shakes, color-coded measuring cups and going to sleep hungrier than the hour before Thanksgiving dinner is ready.

On Sunday, I was attempting to better myself by bopping and sweating to a work out tape (you know, the kind where the girls are aggressively hot and aggressively aggressive) wearing a worn-out sports-bra, multi-colored floral bike shorts and my hair in a sloppy bun. And then it happened...*Crack*...I broke my foot.

I was chasing happiness and perfection like a tiny raccoon with a roll of oreos and some garbage dangling in front of my face. It felt like every tiny way I was pushing to better myself came to a crashing halt both emotionally and physically.

At first my boyfriend and I didn't believe it. Yes, I was in pain, but, clearly I couldn't've broken my foot.

The next day, I ubered myself to the Hospital (as one does when she is living alone in Brooklyn) to learn my unfortunate fate. Hobbling to and from different hospital rooms to get various x-rays, with what felt like hours in hospital rooms without any human interaction (let's just say I'm on level 100 of Best Fiends and Ira Glass is my good pal now), then they told me that my foot was "definitely broken."

I honestly couldn't believe it. They also told me that I wouldn't be able to get a cool cast that people could sign (literally my biggest kid dream), and that I would have no choice in my right foot, foot-wear for the next 3 to 4 weeks.

"What kind of sign was this from the universe?" I thought to myself while I was lying ass-up getting my foot coated with a weird-make shift cast.

I hobbled in crutches to the wrong floor, then I had to get dragged around in an wheel chair by the employees who felt bad for me (which was embarrassing because I am able-bodied and everyone in the waiting room looked at me like I was the most dramatic person ever). But hours later, I finally ended up on my boyfriends couch, in a boot, sobbing to my mom on the phone.

"WHY ME?!" Is another thought I actually had (remember, I told you I was garbage). Now don't get me wrong, the media completely lies to you, because I think it's sometimes awesome when people feel sorry for you – you feel like a tiny princess who is being cared for and adored. This is the same kind of the reason why I love birthdays! I live for the attention and affection because I have low-self esteem and it feels good to be liked and worried about (sue me!).

Speaking of low-self esteem and general self pity - earlier today I found myself curled up in a ball comparing my life to beautiful people on Instagram and thought: "why am I not happy?" "why is my life not grammable?" "why is everyone happy but me?" and I felt more and more alone.

Trust me, I know I sound SO dramatic right now, but I just realized that while it's fun getting attention and feeling cared for by others when you are down and out, it's actually pretty gross when I feel sorry for myself.

Yes, it's true, I've been trying really hard to make my life the best it can be. And yes, it's true that I've been rejected from different opportunities. And yes, it's true I broke my damn foot – but I'm not entitled to happiness. Happiness doesn't have to do with deserving it. Happiness has way more to do with your own personal outlook.

That is so much easier said than done (especially for a wine-glass-mostly-empty kind of gal). But just like how my damn foot snapped, I also snapped. I'm tired of feeling sad for myself. I'm tired of not creating content because I'm scared people won't like it or won't read it, and I'm tired of not being my truest, most authentic self.

Lying in a huge dirty pile of clothes on my boyfriends grey, couch that doubles as a cat scratching post, I sat up. I put on this gorgeous dress that I purchased recently, that didn't fit at first – but on a day like today it magically did!



While this may be a tiny tiny victory, it is still a victory, and I hope to use the blog to share more personal victories with you!

So I'm back, with no promises, no expectations but instead with a lot of excitement!

I missed you friends!

What is a little victory you've had recently?

Keep it sassy pussycats,
xoxox
Sasssquatch

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