Stress.ssertS

So, I have done some self evaluation, with the aid of several people in my life, and come to the realization that I am a ridiculously stressed out person. I used to put it all on my anxiety ridden psyche, but have come to accept that stress is outside of my ability to handle stress, it is a horrible drug I've taken advantage of for too long now. I freak out and cause unhappiness which is the exact opposite of what I would like my life to be. 

Today, knowing all of this, I chose to be more relaxed and came to realize that everything still worked out. I don't need to scream like godzilla's coming just so I can get some work done. And, those around me seemed more comfortable as well. Today is a good day.  Also, my crazy 'rent is still crazy but not angry, so that's neat too. I have a car. It's still the symbol of brown pride I had before, but it is more mine. 

I feel like me again. I have money, at least some, friends who are neat, people who don't suck, and events that have a bit of a turnout. I have happiness and an understanding of math related things. I have parents and a brand new, fresh from the store niece named Nataly Izabella and I couldn't be happier. I am in love with this very moment. And the walk to the car yesterday meant a lot, even if it wasn't meant to. But maybe it was, because they told me it did. 

That last sentence was simply for myself to write down, you shouldn't understand it.

The only unresolved topic in my life now is the existence of my father, but that is another story that I can't fit into my thoroughly satisfied life. 

I can't fucking wait for Camp Titan. I can't wait to live, I can't wait to be happy like this forever. 

Peace and love...

Meaningful words from an empty heart.

So, as we drove to school this morning, my mother asked me to say a prayer for my Dad. He has an interview today. She turned down the radio, got my sister's attention, and waited for my less than enthused self to pray a prayer that would fix any ailments and ease any worries. Surprisingly, the words that spilled out next were uplifting and resembled prayers spewed by pastors and ministers alike. I thanked God, asked for strength and referenced and inner light and tied it all back into his "comforting" ways. After the wave of satisfaction from having busted out a legitimate message to el Dios, I realized how empty the words were. Rather than a sense of completion or comfort, I questioned to what extent I had strayed from what I once believed. I'm in no way stating that I no longer believe in God or that I lied when I said those things, I just think that my many Sunday school classes said that prayer, not me.
For so long I have been the one in my family looked to to write an invitation or sign a card...now I feel prayer has just been added to the list. Just look to me when you need to sound Christian, because Lord knows that you shouldn't look to me to act it. Living in a strict Catholic home lately has effected my sense of self. I am guilty and quiet, and I don't know why. When I used to wake up to a window on my right, I wake up to a crucifix and a picture of Mary. I feel lost in a personal haunted house, filled with dead saints and living rules.

Well boys and girls, we'll be moving from our religion class to our history.

Since the move I have been less than excited to go "home". It is not that I feel unwelcome, I just feel trapped beneath a magnifying glass. My aunt calls me "the girl who never comes out of her room". I've decided to take it as a compliment.
What old Mexican values haven't recognized, though, is the constant and deathly need to study...and facebook. Outside of the two I am at school, the SRC, or sleeping. VH1 would hardly be interested in this day in the life.
It's weird though. I am scared to go anywhere in the house after 9 because everyone is asleep and, should I get home at that time, dinner is not an option. Not that I am starving, but it's one of those house guest type moments. Sure, they've told you that you're free to anything in the fridge and whatever else, but are you really going to go steal their steak and rummage through their drawers? Nope. And I realized how much family I have in Santa Ana this week. Every day, as we drive toward the 55n, we see a family member on the way to work/school. Not once has it been the same person, which means that the Perchez family has taken over Southern California, watch out.

From history, we move to math.

That's a lie. I'm just going to update on school and the related. Classes are going well, for being classes. My Political Science teacher is a bit off though. He sounds like Bill Cosby with a slurr and teaches from memory. I don't know how I feel about my inability to understand him let alone the subject itself. I feel I would succeed had it not been for his "foreign" tongue. Math is more entertaining to me, which says a lot. One, I usually HATEHATEHATE math, two, I am actually good at it this semester. It's weird, I know, but it's something about an Egyptian man that really gets my calculator revving.
Chicano Studies is AMAZING. Not only have we discussed the importance of food in the Mexican culture, we've seen and spoken of all of American history from the perspective of Chicanos. It is so incredibly enlightening and I wish that we had learned this, the true story, in grade school. Did you know that Columbus is the the Mexican people as Hitler is to the Jewish? You learn something new everyday. My geology class is fun, but uninformative. I have been to every class and feel like building a volcanoe would be more effective. The test was surprisingly hard, but I didn't study. So, there's that. And my art class! What a joke! For those of you who know me, I have partaken in some artistic tendencies and seen an art class or two, but this is disgusting. The "professor" opened the class with a discussion on the "old show" Laguna Beach. And, although she had a chance to tie it into the beauty of the ocean or SOMETHING relevant, she continued on to say how fun it is for her to say "Jessica! Stephen!" I have grown progressively less intelligent since I have enrolled in the class. To ice that wretched cake she calls an education, she has shown us the same exact powerpoint everyday since class started. Can I PLEASE be given a better example of what a college education gets you?

Onto language arts kids?

I speak all of this at you, not in a pessimistic or resentful manner, but in one of fact. I am not unhappy nor am I angry about anything but my art "professor". Otherwise I am surprised at how easily I have acclimated to all these new situations I've been confronted by. I am simply happy to be at school, almost paid, and surrounded by some neat people. That's a lie, it is before 9am in the offices, I am surrounded by no one. I wouldn't doubt if all of the Exec office is dead asleep right now. I wish I could be too.
Regardless of my lack of sleep, I am happy. And glad I could update everyone (i.e. Kami).

Have a great day kiddos, same time next week?

What can I say? I'm all over the place...

I'd like to start by making what mainstream America would call a "shout out" to rock em' sock em' Kami. You have been epic and a vital part to my forcibly drawn silver lining. I would tell you that on your page/blog/whatev but I'm still learning how to work this damn thing. 

Now, onto the point...

I have a craving for intellectual stimulation. This summer has played on every other aspect of myself as a human being and now I need to think. Not some sort of internal evaluation or anything of the likeness, but some good old fashioned book learning. I think that is why I am so excited to start school already. I'm tired of being on campus day in and day out, going to meetings that are useless but satisfy Nicole's need to micromanage. I do the same monotonous tasks and give updates on slow moving changes, make trips to marketing, argue with Nicole over making trips to marketing, and then head right back to attempting at planning bigger and better events. I have put out a lot of hype, and I sure as hell plan on seeing it all out. I just need some excitement in the form of knowledge. It's gotten to the point where I am up until about 3 in the morning watching the latest updates on fox hoping to absorb every bit of information. 

I need another art course or possibly a writing class, finally. I haven't truly written anything creatively for about two years now and it sucks. 

As for my previous post, life is a bit better on the family front. No, money has not magically appeared in our hands, it is instead disappearing rather quickly. Somehow though, amidst all this resentment and fear, it is just what we needed as a family. My sister is less than rude now and my father is learning to actually interact with us rather than being the man behind the scenes. There are no scenes to be behind now and he has been forced to be a parent. I'm not in any way demeaning his skills as a father, but he lacks the ability to openly communicate with those around him as freely as he seems to want. Also, my mother is becoming less of a crazy bitch than earlier, because she knows that we are all sacrificing and her fear of losing control has been met and the world hasn't exploded. There have been tears, oh yes, but we are learning that there are ways of maintaining the most important foundation to anyone's happiness, which is a home. Not a house in which you dwell, but a haven, kept only in the hearts of those you love. 

Which reminds me...

As of late I have found myself questioning my faith more and more. I seemed to have lost any and all belief in the religion I had once identified myself with. No longer was it the center of my life, but a looming shadow of doubt lurking in the back of my mind. Not only had my lapses in assuredness forced me into a constant state of confusion, but also overwhelmed me with a guilt I had not felt before. How could I question the one thing I was raised to always take refuge in? When did I stop believing in God and start leading a life of sin? What constituted sin if I had been a generally good person but had minor questions? Did said questions become a greater sin than any imagined? 

As I said, I was confused. But, as a result of my recent familial situations, my mother's religious instinct finally kicked in as we sat to eat this evening. When we were a newer family, younger, we would pray until each thought had been heard and every miracle thanked. More recently though, we would simply thank the maker of the meal and be off on our individual ways. As my mother served the food tonight and we began our usual routine, she asked in the most meek manner if we would pray with her and my father. For those of you who know her, she is nothing less than boisterous and overbearing, so to hear her ask in such a way immediately stole my attention from my surroundings. Then, as one who had come to resent her religion, as many resent what they do not know, I took their hands with exasperation in my breath and sarcasm in my mind. To my surprise, my father began speaking to God. He thanked Him for our meal and did the regulatory "bless hims" and "bless hers" and finally said, "and I pray for those people who are trying to help us, Lord, that they may be strong and do what is best for them and theirs." Where the hell did that come from? Immediately my inner faith, the reserves which none could effect, was restored and I felt the genuine feeling of contentedness that I had not felt in a long time. I began to believe in the God I was taught of as a child and the God I had grown to love as a teenager. Now as I am drowning in these problems of mine, I am reminded of that one dude named Jesus and all that jazz. Corny, I know, but I am a little bit more whole now that I've found my marbles (which, for metaphors sake, would be the multi-colored kind but with a small cross or something inside. I don't know, something religious. haha) and I almost feel like the lesson to the crapfest has been learned and everything HAS to get better now. 

We'll see. Maybe it is simply my way of finding hope throughout this endeavor, maybe I am inventing some sort of escape for my family to take, and maybe I am just questioning again, but I sure as hell like this piece of life I've had returned. 

PEACE.

I can't do it anymore mom.

Where do I go? 

What do I do?

How can I help?

What do I say?

I honestly can't take it anymore. For those of you who are unaware, my father was laid off just before Christmas last year, which has put my family in a very complicated position. Luckily, because we had been on the cusp of purchasing a new home, we had a good amount of money in savings, giving us a sufficient amount of time to float a bit before finding a new source of income. Then, as days of job hunting became weeks of hearing nothing, then months without any hope, we arrived as the horrid point which I find myself now. I am working my ass off to get TTF to a place it has yet to see and make Titan Rewards more epic than anyone had ever expected. While I bust myself to meet deadlines and meet expectations, I have yet to be paid. For some reason unbeknownst to any in programs, financial aid can't grasp the concept of monthly scholarships which resulted in the office closing for a week. Now, as I sprint past the two months of working for free mark, the financial situation at home worsens. Our savings is entirely dry, my mother is too sick to continue working at an intense rate, my father has picked up a low paying job as a file clerk, and my eleven year old sister is in the process of getting braces and entering the expensive world of travel softball. My tuition is due, my car doesn't magically have gas every week, my phone is broken and often times needs to be paid, and the money is gone. 

I have worked hard to let go of certain aspects of my lifestyle, looked for alternate forms of work, and am in the process of begging for Financial Aid to let go of a bit of money to sustain myself. I am doing all of this not for myself but to help my family in it's time of need, but am only met with disdain and arguments. This evening, as I returned from what I felt had been a highly productive day at school, I was greeted with yelling and screaming because I am ungrateful. My answers are met with tears and I am scolded for "not really understanding that we have no money." She says that I don't take it seriously. That is the biggest amount of bull shit I've ever heard. She is perfectly aware of my anxiety and my lack of sleep and my job search. Now, she has to criticize me for "working for free" and demeaning all that I have been working so hard for. I have not considered my family through out this ordeal, apparently, and I have no respect for her. But honestly, who can respect a person who proved to be ignorant to anyone's feelings for so long? Why should I feel bad for not cleaning my room when she justifies it's mess with the idea that I don't take pride in my home. When she asks how I think she feels, my response ("I feel that you take my clothes on my bed very personally") stirs even more hatred in her eyes and response. 

Her inability to control her emotions disgusts me and I am quite sure that she knows it. I cannot even speak to someone who is so blind to her actions. Every word she just shouted meant only that she cannot take the time to see that she is not the only one effected, and although it feels better to have someone to blame in a situation like ours, there is absolutely nothing I can do that I have not yet done. 

I do not respond to your childish threats, nor will I ever respect you when you treat me this way over and over again. Since the divorce you've taken your emotions out on me. Since your illness worsened you've taken your pain out on me. Since your stress grew you took your impatience out on me. Just because I was the only one you had doesn't mean you have any right to treat me that way. Not then, not now, not ever. So honestly, if you're reading this, I would appreciate if you took a moment to reevaluate everything you just said to me. When you compared me to all the people you were sure had second and third jobs, how you demeaned me intellectually, emotionally and as your daughter, know that I can't take it anymore. 

Don't come into my room crying and apologizing. Don't call me and admit to being a bitch and not knowing why. The first time I understood and the second time I appreciated your apology. Now I cannot take it seriously. 

I love you, but you hurt me too much. 

It is approximately 10:22p at home. Here in Indiana it is 1:22a. 

The adventure was more than tiresome. 

We first got to LAX in perfect time, despite having left later than anticipated, and got our boarding pass after a terribly unnecessary wait. I barely made the maximum weight limit, hitting 46ish pounds.I then embarked on my anxiety attack train and attempted to keep up with Joe and Faith as they led me through the numerous paths that eventually led to the fateful metal detector. Much to my surprise it didn't hurt one bit, and I experienced the airport floor without shoes. That was special. We then took a break so that Joe could enjoy his nostalgic moment with his lunchables and we eventually boarded the plane. As a result of an adrenaline related attempt to calm my nerves I bit down forcefully on my wallet to find that it didn't help. I then got the seat away from behind Faith and Joe and was accompanied by some creeper with giant rings, a skull tattoo on the back of his bald head, and a strange habit of staring at me the entire flight. 

I came to find that the worst part of a flight is not the fear of lift off or even the dreadful time in the air, but the time we land. It is as though one is hitting the break and is risking hitting the car in front of them. It was gruesome. 

From there we got to bar hop, learn conveyer belt etiquette, play a tram game, and enjoy a hearty McDonald's breakfast. We boarded a smaller plane not much later and continued on from Detroit to Indianapolis. After what seemed only moments we landed and retrieved our luggage. We continued to the check in for our limo and came to realize that we would be traveling with a number of other ILead attendants. It was pretty neat. We got a chance to meet and mingle with others who were being forced to endure this conference. 

After passing several corn fields and questionably alienated massage parlors we arrived at the Indiana University, Bloomington. We were greeted by a number of yelling staff members and were escorted to our rooms where we learned the true appreciation of air conditioning. It was mid morning and already 89+ degrees. After several icebreakers, name games, and group separations, we got a chance to eat. I found that it was more pleasant than I had expected it would be and realized my resentment was a result of a sleepless night or two and lack of sustenance. 

We later continued our discussions on various leadership related topics. Our group was lucky enough to get the "evening news"" duty and came up with an amazingly hilarious skit which inadvertently made us all closer and got a good amount of laughs. I then learned that sandwiches, pizzas, and chinese food can be delivered here at most hours of the day. I am sure this week will be turning up more and more as the days go on. I thought you'd appreciate a detailed update since Indiana is the hotspot for all the parties this year. 

Enjoy. I know I am?

Mel

Start Time: 5:38a

I would like to begin with a warning:

I have yet to sleep and am quite nervous about flying for the first time in my entire nineteen years. 

For those who know me, I often write any and all random thoughts in an attempt to waste time, but I think I should get some facts about myself down first. So, ladies and gentlemen, here is the beginning of what should be a fascinating lesson. Also, this is a fad that I seem to be giving into, so I hope this post proves fascinating enough. Here it goes...

I am always nervous.

I curl my toes because I was once told it was cute. It stuck.

I never wear matching socks.

I am allergic to dairy, bees, many soaps and lotions, perfume, and various other life necessities.

I went through a stage wear I only wore hooded sweatshirts and jeans.

I have a very large head, literally. A hat is rarely made that can embrace it entirely.

I love to peel my nails.

I have quit peeling my nails.

If I could spend every moment in silence I would, if only to fully take in everything around me.

I could use more hypo-allergenic lotion in my life.

I like to sing more than people like to hear me sing.

I am to optimism as eyeliner is to the emo.

I aspire to be a psychologist.

I have been involved in 3+ fist fights.

I can make myself cry.

I care about what others think of me.

I once wrote an entire paper on broccoli.

Sometimes I wonder if my shoulder was ever really that injured, or if my surgeon simply wanted money.

I have learned never to hate, but simply to turn the other way.

I have never kept a best friend for more than 2 years.

I know a person's insecurities simply by looking at them.

I used to be the Grace to somebody's Will.

I question my religion a lot more lately than ever before.

I was born at Pointe Memorial Hospital in San Diego.

If I could move to San Diego right now, I would.

I love riding in trains.

I don't care for my things as I should because I know they can be replaced.

I can be a bit of a hypochondriac.

I never liked highschool.

I wish I knew more...about anything.

I come off as eager but I am simply excited to still be breathing.

My mother is like me but shorter and more excited about life.

I have no money.

My least favorite part of drawing/sketching/painting is having to finish it...I feel like it ruins it.

I am entirely too insecure.

I have a deep love for Billie Holiday.

I fear the day that I cannot say "when I grow up..."

I want three more tattoos. 

I have always thought that one day I would become a famous performer.

I resent my childhood.

My favorite color is purple. Sometimes.

If I could be any animal I'd be a turtle.

I stereotype all hospital employees as characters from Scrubs.

I wish I spoke Spanish better.

My mom made me a baby blanket when I was 14.

I don't remember what happened yesterday.

I am in a constant "honeymoon period" until I am forced to see your imperfections.

I have a half sister named Samantha Rose Perchez and a half brother named Caleb Curtis DelaCruz.

I have a grandma who believes in ghosts and tattoos her eyebrows.

My mom almost named me Candy Dulce. Aka I was almost a stripper.

I miss random people.

I dislike people for random reasons.

I like to speak with random strangers.

I have never broken a bone.

I can't touch my tongue to my nose.

I hate the smell of spit.

I could live on Chipotle rice.

I am Hawaiian but have never been there.

My family is famous in Norway (look up Bergie Bergeson, he is my greatx4 grandfather)

I am Mexican, Filipino, Norweigen, Hawaiian, and Scottish.

Chicano Studies made me resent America...a lot.

I become socially awkward around socially awkward people.

I have a list of Things to Do Before I'm 30.

My first love was named Knoxx but he moved to Canada when we were 8. 

I have more relatives than the number of citizens in many U.S. towns. 

I don't particularly enjoy bands whose lead singers have whiney voices.

I like drive-ins.

I like broccoli.

I wish I had more opportunities to write in an artistic sense.

I can't wait to succeed.

I have given myself no choice but to attain every goal I set for myself.

I just can't wait to live.

I have no regrets.

I am finally who I have wanted to be for a long time.

I love until I am given a reason to feel otherwise.

I am ready.