My mind was spinning through all of my archives of embarrassing moments, guilty pleasures, and personal regrets, trying to think of a secret to share. I thought of one, and my heart started pounding and I got butterflies while thinking about how to word it. After the third sentence, I thought everyone sharing right now is perfectly wording their secrets, and started to feel anxious that mine was too wordy. I began a miniature obsession about if my secret is good enough or concise enough or shocking enough. And I thought about how to get the greatest level of understanding of my secret. And I think I started to break a sweat.

Then, I realized my secret was something completely other than the one I was planning out so thoroughly, and I realized exactly why and how my secret was my secret.

When I was a little girl, in first grade, I developed a habit of making up secrets for attention. Anything from, “I’m already 6-years-old” when I was only five to “my baby brother died in a house fire which destroyed our whole home which he started.” (Yes, I actually said that. To my teacher.) Anyways, this is kind of embarrassing, and I’ve had moments in middle and high school where I start to say something similar – not to that severe of a degree, but just to be able to better relate to the conversation or get people interested.

Now, I understand that that was childish and self-centered. So now I’m super conscious about saying anything.  Honestly, I believe this is a large contributor to my social phobia.

This may seem unrelated, but bear with me. One thing I am aware of is that no matter how bad things seem to be for me, some one else always has it worse. My own car is currently out of commission due to an accident – but at least I have my mom’s van to borrow. My family’s having a hard time selling our house – but at least we have someplace to live. I have to wake up at 5:30 or 6 most mornings for school – but at least I have the means to get a university education. I may have body image issues – but at least I’m not hospitalized due to damage done from laxatives, not eating for days, or forced purging and internal bleeding.

I understand that I may be dissatisfied with my life, but some one else out there actually has something to worry about. And that statement is exactly why I couldn’t share a secret tonight. I may have something embarrassing or an insecurity or regret, but all these other people have actual stories to tell. Everyone else deserves the attention of sharing their secret. I’ve never been molested (thank God), nor have I ever told my ex’s next girlfriend a secret he shared with me that cause her to abort his baby, nor have I watched my grandmother die of cancer. Those people have actual things to say. Everyone else deserves to share their secret. And I feel like I’m just saying things to get attention. I’m terrified that what I have to say is invalid, insincere, or irrelevant.

My secret is that I’m so scared that anything I have to say is insincere, or that my brain is just bringing it up for attention or that anything I’m going through isn’t nearly as real or severe as what some one else has been through or has to say, and therefore invalid. I feel inadequate when I’m not concise. If I add something unnecessary in my response in class to a professor in the morning, I think about how I should have edited it or re-verbalized it entirely for the rest of the day (and sometimes into the next).

This is why I have (and perhaps will) never be able to write a song. This is the reason for my current writer’s block (going on a whole year now; it’s terrible). If I try to come up with something poetic or artsy, I’m afraid it feels all flowery and fake and forced and dumb. No matter how badly I feel like writing, some one out there has a real message to get across, so I don’t write. Some one out there has an actual story to tell. Some one else out there has real inspiration.

My social phobia, my writer’s block, my brain’s processes.

My secret.

There she is, happily married, has always had an enjoyable and rewarding job, loving being a wife and cooking and working out and trying new things, driven, and being exactly where she feels she is meant to be. And here I am. I graduated High School last summer, and then went away to a wonderful school that I loved, only to be flipped on my head. My Vocal Performance major, which had been all I had known, ended up not being what I loved or thrived doing. Linguistics, my new focus, was not offered as a degree at that school. Also, it turned out that I actually felt limited and trapped on campus rather than the “Go, be free and independent!” that freshman year of college is supposed to promise.

So I came home. I transferred to my local community college, taking some courses that will work towards my degree (nothing specialized, unfortunately – just Spanish, film, English Comp, etc.). Now, I NEVER imagined myself being here. I still kind of can’t believe I’m here. Unlike my sister, I am exactly where I never hoped or thought or imagined I would be. I’m going to community college. I’m working a part-time job, to make money, to buy gas, to drive to my part-time job. I then come home, where I live with my parents, and put up with three obnoxious, past-their-cute-prime, eat-my-favorite-articles-of-clothing dogs. I have a car that thinks going into the shop once a week is a spa treatment – seriously, it’s been in the shop three or four times in one month.  I didn’t just come back home to figure out what to do next, or to work and get my degree, I came home to an unfriendly not-so-welcome into the grown-up world of court dates, used car shopping, boss issues, and realizing just how unaffordable and tedious being a grown up is.

I’ve been feeling a heck of a lack of drive. There’s no diploma I’m working for, or a career I can’t wait to start and do things with, or anything like that. The next thing in life I’m really looking forward to or excited about is getting married, starting a family, being a good housewife and mom and cooking and laughing. But it’ll be quite some time until I (or my significant other) can afford a wedding and place to live. And so it’s turned to myself. The only thing I can think to set goals with is to work out X many times a week, or tone up this or that part of my body. But even that gets old and tiring and discouraging.

My mom’s been bugging me about getting back into extracurricular activities that I loved in high school, which are not as easy or simple to get involved with or that have a point as when they’re run by your school (for example, working towards a recital or concert or opening night of the Spring musical). There is an audition for a play I’m going to do, but that’s in June (and as I’m writing this, it just hit me that maybe my week away in Georgia to see my best friend in July might hinder that involvement. I know a lot of times, they want some one who will be at every rehearsal – especially for any role bigger than “Chorus Dancer #6″ or “Frightened Inmate #3″). I’ve been encouraged to call my high school voice teacher to begin lessons again – which I probably will, and I’ll enjoy it, but it’ll just be to pass the time. I know now that I don’t want a vocal arts career and so I don’t know if I’ll see much reason to it other than to just further improve my skills for… what, exactly?

When I put in a lot of job applications around town when I first transferred back home, two places were interested: a sandwich shop in the town right down the road, and the Cafe I work at now, which offered me an interview and job sooner than the former had. That being said, the sandwich shop did call me twice about an interview, but I had to tell them I just couldn’t add on another job with being in school and already working part time. However, now that school is over, I called them and asked about an interview to possibly add it on as a second job. But they seemed hesitant about reconciling my current sporadic schedule and about the number of people they already have that will discontinue their employment there in the fall when school starts up again (I’ll probably just go on with my current job and school schedule, like I did last semester), and that they would call me back. And I don’t know if I really want them to ask me to come in. I don’t know if I want a second job because I might as well make money if I have time on my hands, or if I think it could be fun or if I actually don’t want it but for some reason think it might be enough of a change in my life to make things interesting. I might have a new goal of learning how things worked and the recipes and the menu. I just don’t know.

So this is where I’m left. To all of you who have it figured out and are happy and fulfilled with your lives, congratulations. You’re very fortunate to be in your position and I hope it continues to give you many years of contentment. And for all those like me, I’m sure we’ll get through and something exciting and meaningful will happen to us eventually.

And I’m just trying to figure out where to go from here.

Anyway, I just re-dyed it. The purple color the lady at the salon had done had faded a lot.  I just got a drug store hair dyeing kit and the color is even more the shade I originally wanted it than ever. Aaaand it makes me want to dye my whole head that purple. Really.

Even though I’m only eighteen, I’ve been struggling lately with grown-up things – particularly since I just got my first speeding ticket. Things like points on my driver’s license, court hearings, living to work/working to live, and being generally dissatisfied and discontent with my life all around have been sitting heavily in my head. Just sloshing around in there. And I just absentee voted for my city’s school board because I’ll be out of town next week.

Overall, I have a really great life. But when compared to how I want my life to be, it’s not close at all. I know this is how life tends to be, but I think it’s even more poignant because I’m eighteen and am now legally an “adult.”  But I still feel like a teenager or kid just pretending to be grown up. And what really frustrates me the most is that it’s never going to change. I don’t see a way my life will ever be what I want it to be. I’m going to school full-time and working part-time (soon to be full-time in the summer). All just to have enough money to buy gas so I can drive to work and go to school.

Back to the hair-dyeing thing, my main reason to not just do whatever with my hair I like is my boss. Or any boss, really. Where on earth could I work with purple hair? And I love painting my nails and doing my hair and dressing nice, but I can only paint my nails a neutral shade for work. I have to have my hair up and in a hat for work (which makes it difficult to recover into a good hair day if I go anywhere after), and I have to wear just a too-big black t-shirt and jeans and sneakers. For work.

And you know what? I don’t ever see it getting better. Because I’ll eventually graduate and then I’ll just be working. And having to worry about a house payment or rent. Or kids. and their school. Which means I’ll probably have to get a career job and have quotas and clients. And a cable bill. And of course a credit card bill, which I’ll probably have to apply for pretty soon. And I just don’t understand how NOT having a credit card doesn’t equal having good credit. I mean, if you don’t even put yourself in situations where you need a credit card and just be responsible and pay with cash or debit, then shouldn’t you get a default A+ or whatever? But no. Sadly, society isn’t that sensible.

I feel like I’m having a mid-life crisis. Which is really bad, because if it is mid-life, then I won’t even live to be forty. Mid-teen crisis? Whatever. And I need to fix it, but I don’t see how except to keep playing Zelda on my gameboy advance in my spare time, and holding onto that harmless shred of my childhood.

1. The girls who come in wearing very obvious self-tanner and huge Snookie-poofs and order very complicated and picky salads, and then their boyfriends order an actual sandwich and then they say “ugh, I can’t believe you ordered that, how can you eat all that?” in a whiney, obnoxious tone.

2. People who think they deserve everything there and own it all already just because they have some sort of remote connection to the owner. Or they know his first name.

3. Anyone who wears way too much perfume or cologne.

4. People who hand their sandwiches back to me and say, “Didn’t I say to grill this???”  When, in fact, they did not.

5. The women who randomly walk up to the counter and say “CHOCOLATE MILK?!?” And I’m all, “uhhh, what about it?”  and they’re all “They didn’t bring it over!” and I’m like, “it’s right there in the cooler, you get it yourself.” and they try to act like they were still right to be angry as they walk over to get it.

6. Men who are more than twice my age who insist on “taking me away from all this” and promising that I “will never have to make another sandwich again… for money.”

7. People who order while talking on their phone. Especially when they’re in the middle of a monologue and I feel like I have no way to ask any follow-up questions (what kind of bread, any cheese, what kind of toast, etc.).

8. Girls that come in and only order a toasted bagel with cream cheese to go. Not only because this is the exact scenario in which I almost cut off my finger the other day (my boss doesn’t think a bagel-slicer or pre-sliced bagels is sensible), but because it really makes no sense. We’re a cafe/deli. We don’t even make our own bagels, we get them from New York Bagels every week and flash-freeze them to keep them fresh. So it’s not like there’s any special reason our bagels are better than anyone else’s or anything. So if you really want a to-go, toasted bagel and cream cheese, I really just don’t understand why you don’t just go to Starbucks or Tim Hortons or even New York Bagels.

Now, because I do happen to be in a relationship, I know a lot of readers will not consider my opinion valid on this topic. But I have been through Valentine’s Days single before, too.

It annoys me when people freak out about anti-Valentine’s things. No amount of “boycotting” is going to make the holiday go away. Sure, it’s Hallmark’s favorite money-making holiday, but that doesn’t make it evil. Don’t get anything from Hallmark, then.

I guess my point is that, if you don’t plan on celebrating V-Day this year, why ruin it for everyone else? Why give a normal day with a label for the sake of tradition have the power over you to ruin your day? Or even week? (Or, in the case of the links and blog posts I’ve been seeing, every day of February until Valentine’s.)  There’s no real harm in Valentine’s Day.  Why act like it’s the worst thing to happen to you?

You know that quote, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent?” This holiday is the exact same way. This day is not “ruining your life.”  You are the one making yourself feel depressed or angry.

And, in my opinion, the worst part is that most of these very protesters of Valentine’s will abandon their claimed stance on the topic one they are in relationships. It’d at least be much better to hold your opinions of V-Day regardless of your romantic status.

2. “I-was-just-thinking-about-yous.”  Whether from some one you know romantically or are simply friends with, these short, little messages are just sweet and encouraging. I know a lot of people – myself included – feel very out-of-sight-out-of-mind. It is so encouraging and ego-boosting to know some one was thinking of you and wanted to see how you are doing.

3. Appreciation of some one being well-dressed. Specifically, men appreciating women’s wardrobe. “You make that dress look remarkable” and “I love that color on you” is never heard nowadays. I went out running around in grey, corduroy skinny jeans and black leather boots and some one asked me why I was so dressed up and proceeded to look at me as if I were grocery shopping in a prom dress.  Now, I’m not looking for compliments everyday, and I appreciate that the (awesome) people I know don’t judge me on how I dress. I just think that appreciation of being conscientious about how you present yourself has been lost a little. (Or, perhaps, appreciation in general has been lost a little.)

4. The value of knowing how to cook. Personally, my mother and grandmother are two of the women I’d love to be most like, especially for their ability to cook anything. My grandmother knows everything you could use to substitute for anything else, what oleo is, and the best methods for keeping things tidy. My mother knows what goes with what, can whip up the most delicious meals in no time, the best ways to cook things, and exactly what to do when you make a minor mistake – like putting a cup of sugar into the mixing bowl rather than a tablespoon. I know not everyone really cares about how dinner comes to be as long as they get food, but especially in this economy, it’s invaluable to be able to make French fries and pizza  as well as actual dinners and entrées - on your own instead of paying for them every day.

5. Being just friends. Especially this past school year, I’ve experienced example after example – and even been straight-up told – that when guys first meet you, they’re friendly and interactive, but when they find out you’re not on the dating market, they aren’t so much interested in pursuing any kind of friendship with you. That, or that guys aren’t really friends with girls they wouldn’t date. I am NOT generalizing guys in any way; I know several men that don’t do this and I would never say men are all the same. However, I have simply encountered more men that do this than I expected.

What are your thoughts? Do you have any additions?

We were at Grammy’s house.
She had cleared out the garage, installed a fireplace with couches surrounding it.
But she was asking if we thought Granddaddy would like it.
He died in 2004.
But he hadn’t – she was explaining.
So Deanna, Mom, and I sat on the bench of a picnic table to the side of the room (no, that doesn’t make sense. It’s a dream. Irrelevant.). Grammy’s hovering, facing the door. (the door’s to our right.)
And we’re all just waiting for him to come home.
And there he is – he just walks right through the door in his coat, smiling, and is just talking about his day like he hasn’t even been gone for the past 5 years (I’m counting it to be 2011, because it’s December).
Deanna stands up – not excitedly, just normally – and goes and helps him with his coat, and hugs him.
But I’m paralyzed.
I can’t even say hello,
or even “look how much taller I’ve grown since you last saw me.”
Or look at him, really.
All I can do is hold my hand over my face,my eyes squinted shut as tightly as possible,
sobbing.
Silently.
One of those cries that you do in a room with thin walls that you don’t want anyone to hear.
And your mascara is in all of your tears and going into your eyes and stinging you.
And the shock that I sink into won’t let me stop.