Carly Catastrophe

{September 30, 2008}   Update

So, after learning that at least one person I know was googling me, I made my blog private. I’ve since changed my mind. What? I’m a woman, I can change it whenever I want dammit. I thought about deleting a few posts too but I have decided against it. This is my creative outlet and I would like to keep it as such. Although I do wish that some people would leave it alone and not google me. If you really want to know what’s going on in my life, you know how to get in contact with me and I would be more than willing to talk with you about it. I know I can’t stop you from googling me and I wouldn’t try to but, I am going to ask.

Regina, please do not google me. You know my home number, my mother can give you my cell number from there, and if you send me a myspace message I’ll give you the screen name I use now. But please, don’t google me. It kinda creeps me out.


Ps, why is it that when you google me, you get my blog and when I google me, I get info about an old actress who did B Horror movies?

I have this problem where everytime there is some semblance of happiness in my life, that little chemical imbalance called depression kicks in. And the happier I am, the greater the depression. I sit and dwell on the disastrous what ifs until it drives me mad. I should be happy. I really should. At 20 I’ve found the person who no matter what will go down in my history as the love of my life. And his presence in my life is a reminder of my value and not the proof of it. But with all of that, comes the fear of losing it. And with that fear comes depression. And with depression comes that longing for self destruction. I’ve been doing well though. I mean, I’m in my head in a bad way but I’m not resorting to drugs or anything. I’m sure I’ll get out of it soon, I usually do, but this part bites.

{September 10, 2008}  

I’ll attempt to turn this string of consciousness into a cognitive narrative of sorts. I can’t make any promises, the way I think is so bizarre. All at once I’m thinking of so many different things. But there is one constant theme in all of this. Him. The joy he causes me. The fear of losing him, the sweet reward after two plus years of waiting. I’m leaving in a month. Less than a month really. I’ll be off finding myself or whatever it is you’re supposed to do when you leave the nest. He’ll be here. With them. People he trusts and respects. People I trust and respect too contrary to popular belief. People who don’t think I’m a good person. People who are probably right about me. I’m terrified that when they find out they’ll tell him it’s a bad idea. I’m more terrified by the idea that he may believe them. I know I’m not perfect, that I still have a lot of growing up to do. But I’m trying and he makes me want to be better. His love is the first good thing to come my way in years. That light at the end of a long dark tunnel. My only hope of being more than that silly girl who had an abortion. And I’m so sick of people judging me for that. I know I made a mistake. I was 18 years old and I didn’t know what else to do. I was more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. And if I could take it back, I would, in a heart beat. I’d give anything to make it right. I know I probably don’t deserve a second chance but I need it.  It’s hard to succeed when everyone’s expecting you to fail.

et cetera