The Power of Being Vulnerable: PART ONE

TW: Mental Health and Illness are discussed in this post.

There is so much power in vulnerability.

As paradoxical as that may sound, it is very much true. These past couple of months in college have forced me to become a stronger person, and has forced me to illuminate my own positive attributes.

The thing is, in college, you are surrounded by a sea full of ridiculously amazing, inspiring, and wonderful people---and it is difficult to get away from them. So, you're forced to find what makes you special...unless, you are content with feeling completely uninspiring.

Yesterday I went back to my old college program and I spoke to one of my mentors about my experiences in college so far. I could tell that a lot of people were elated to see me. And that really boosted my self-esteem, because in my senior year of high school,  I felt like I had become a nuisance to the programmers there because i was always at the program. I literally went to the program every single day.

My mentor was inspiring (as always). I was telling her about how there are so many amazing people at my college, and how easy it is for me to feel talentless when standing next to them.

"I just think everyone I meet is so beautiful and inspiring, but I don't see any of that in myself," I said to her. Clearly, my mindset is self-deprecating. It's been that way since I was a small child, and it enveloped my entire thought processes when I was a witness of domestic abuse within my household. Not thinking I said anything wrong, I continued speaking, mindlessly, until she interrupted me.

"That isn't true. Despite what you think, there is a distinct reason why you were accepted to that school. They didn't make a mistake with your admission," she retorted. In my stunned silence, she continued lecturing me about the un-likelihood that Berkeley made a mistake in admitting me, and how crucial it is for me to see the light in myself that everyone else sees. I listened to her. And, for once, my brain was silent. I wasn't consumed with negative thoughts trying to convince me of why somewhere her reasoning was wrong, and that there still had to be something wrong with me, even after completing my first semester at the university.

Let me tell you this: overcoming low self-esteem and -image for years is not an easy thing to do, as is mental illness. My self-depreciation can be attributed to my mental illness, but still is not excuse for me to be so hard on myself. I don't mean to that my experiences are synonymous with other's, but mine is my experience.

I don't feel as badly about myself as used to, but I have realized that being so low for so long has caused me to mentally program certain thought processes in my head. I hadn't even been thinking about how much I have improved when I said that I don't see the light in myself. I actually have seen it; I have given myself enough of a clue of it to follow my interests. Slowly but surely, I have conquered some once-paralyzing fears, just this semester. I know that I am a much stronger person than I was back when I was sixteen, or even a year ago, yet I still continued to blurt out that I was worthless.

The same thing happened to me today when I was speaking at an Alumni panel for my old high school. About an hour before going to the event, I had been fretting over what a whole bunch of high schoolers were going to think about me. I changed outfits several times (my wardrobe consists only of graphic t-shirts and jeans. There's not much to do with that); I changed my hair style even more, so as to reflect a care-free attitude (how does one pull off effort, effortlessly?); I wore earrings, took them off, then put them back on. Doing all of these things made me later to the even than I had initially planned to arrive. And, upon arriving for the event, I ended up changing clothes again because I was not satisfied with my appearance. Yes, I brought an extra shirt, and yes, I covered that shirt up with a jacket. It was pointless, obsessive thinking.

It wasn't until the panel was over I realized how utterly exhausting it was to think about what other people thought of me. If that was me in one day, then what had it been like for four years of high school?

I then remember that I had been telling everyone about how nervous I was. Giving voice to my emotions is one method I find calms me down, but not always to the positive disposal of other people. They reassured me, and it wasn't until I really got into my element that I calmed down.

After the panel, I found myself feeling very "powerful" as my old English teacher described it later.  A small, soft-spoken high school freshman came up to me afterwards and told me that Berkeley was her dream school. She asked me the typical "what do I do to get in your shoes?" question, as if success is formulaic and non-discriminatory. It was the same kind of question I would have asked at her age, but I answered as big-sisterly as I could. I think I reassured her by telling her that I struggle with shyness and anxiety just as she probably does, but I told her that her efforts to reach out were just one of the ways to be successful.

Even though I sometimes can't see it, I think I am doing much, much better than I realize. My friend even told me that I am a better speaker and seemingly more confident person than I give myself credit for, and that struck me as well.

I don't know if this negative and mechanical self-criticism I do to myself is just another level of maturity that I need to overcome, or if it is a product of my mental health struggles, or if it is just my own personality (I highly doubt this one), but I know that it is there, and I know that I want to change it. These past couple of days have taught me how much my own thoughts about myself affects my relationships with other people, and my own outlook and success.

Though re-wiring my brain to love myself more will not come without undulated work and stress, I think doing so will be beneficial. If I trained myself to get into this rut, then I can get out of it.

I am sure of it.

With loving thoughts,
--E. 

Enjoy Your Last Days of Freedom.

Hello!

Remember that Buzzfeed Community post I told you about?

Well, it's received over one thousand views since I posted it, which was on January 4th of this year! It's only been a week, and it's been doing pretty well! I am proud of this progress, especially since views are like crack to me (sorry, was that a bad joke?).

I'm pretty astounded. I'll keep posting to Buzzfeed in the future.

Don't know if I was actually supposed to post this information, but whatever, no one is currently stopping me.

School starts up again next week. I've been trying to make up for the lost hours of production. I am currently at a Starbucks, watching stressed out grad students study, and study, and it's giving me anxiety, but more so a perverse sense of...enjoyment. Like, I enjoy the adrenaline rush of being in a learning environment. 

These past few days have have been dreadful at home. I know I will eat those words in a week, but for now, I don't care. 

Enjoy your last days of Freedom,

-E. 

I think I am in Love...With Me

So, despite the fact that I have been voluntarily caged inside of my brother's room this entire winter break, I think I want to make some changes. 

I have recently been sprung with the epiphany that I want to be more honest with myself this year. not that I haven’t been particularly honest, but honest, in a different sense of the word. I mean that I want to do things for myself primarily, before serving the needs of others. 

I got a taste of that by applying for, and enrolling in the college that I wanted to be in. But I found myself in some run-ins with my spiritual docket during the year.

This year was about making new relationships, building new bonds, and starting anew. Transforming in every sense of the word. But I do not feel like I was necessarily doing it for myself. A lot of the bad things I experienced were because Iw as serving the needs of others before I served myself. For instance, I’d find myself sitting through ridiculously long, meaningless conversations, taking the brunt end of criticism, being the awkwardest person at the table simply because I didn’t want to be along.

I will try harder to be alone.

My greatest fear is being alone. I may have inherited from my mother who happens to be the worst pokerface player in the universe (okay, so I hyperbolized the shit out of that one, but you haven’t met my mom), because she does not taking being along lightly at all, I won’t go into details on that, but just know that it is a huge deal for her.

I noticed this year that I clung for dear life to the growing wings of fellow friends and classmates, sometimes with undulating anxiety. I did it without consideration for their space, nor my own. I’d literally force myself into situations with people simply because I was afraid of being alone with my thoughts. 

These past two semesters (Summer and Winter), with the exception of living in the dorms and the enormous size of my college, I noticed that I’d always be around people, whether they were beneficial to my spiritual presence or toxic. I never strayed. My days were literally filled with continuous meetings, random outings, nonstop social interaction with people of all sorts.

While this is a major change from the person I used to be—extremely socially anxious, feared human touch to the extent that she’d isolate herself from human contact by running to the nearest library or empty room at all times—I don’t think it was necessarily helpful for me to focus on my own talents. I realized that I stopped writing (you may have noticed that I made one post in 2015, one of the most eventful years of my life thus far); stopped singing; stopped playing my violin; and most importantly, I stopped reflecting!

Okay… most of what I just said is a lie. I did most of these things, just through other outlets. But what I mean is that I didn’t do nearly enough of it as I had been doing in years prior. 

I will say that this year I became more expressive, and less afraid to show my vulnerable side. I cried when I wanted to, laughed when I needed to, and sang whenever the spirit moved me. 

Vulnerability, exploring my vulnerable side, was really the theme of 2015. One way I showed vulnerability was by taking thousands of pictures of myself. Whether candid or posing; I took them. Remember when I used to cringe at my own reflection? Well, I don’t do much of that anymore. I kind of served myself mouthfuls of my own image, but in moderation, so that I could develop a tolerance for myself. That makes me sound like a toxic substance, but I know that I am not one. I instead became a soft, cuddly, artistic black skinned beauty with eyelashes that are insanely long, and a smile that brightens up all rooms. 

I actually started complimenting myself. 

I think this was because I had control in the photoshoots. Giving myself ultimate control really taught me to control my negative self-talk, and to accept the completely normal human being that I am. 

I can’t say that I am completely cured of negativity, but I can definitely say that I have created milestones, and am probably closer to loving myself than ever have been. 

I’ve said it once before, and I will say it again: I think I am falling in love with myself. And that’s a good thing. 

With lotta love,

--E.

I posted on BuzzFeed!

Yeah, you read that title correctly, big shot. Check it out!


Cynical Article Placed Here

These Restaurants Are Racist As Hell: Shut 'Em Down!

I was waiting outside The Great Wall restaurant, located on College Avenue, looking at the menu taped on its window, exactly as some people are doing right now. I'm person who likes to marinate my thoughts before I act upon them, so I stood out there for about ten minutes. I noticed that the waitress kept passing by the window that I was looking into, but I thought that maybe she was just doing her rounds. Maybe I lingered for too long, I have no idea. 

I walked into the restaurant, tired as hell with a bag of groceries in my hand. I looked at the same waitress that had been watching me outside and she looked back, but not in a way in which I would have expected. She simply looked puzzled, and I could tell she was analyzing me because her gaze shot sporadically from my face to the food in my hands. Us looking at each other like this happened for a painfully awkward thirty seconds. I thought she would have said something at that point, but she didn't. She just retreated to the back of the restaurant to the kitchen. That was when things got awkward. Instead of being seated in this restaurant, I had to walk all the way to the front with my groceries in my hand. I was practically chasing after the waitress just so that I could ask her for a seat.  

I ask to sit somewhere, pointing in the general direction of the tables, but I am instead relegated to the Take Out Chairs, located right next to the cashier's desk. I felt strange being placed there because my intention was not for take out; I wanted a place to sit down and eat. Looking back, I now think I was placed there so they could watch me like I was a child.

All this time I kept thinking, "E., don't go there. It's not about race, it's not about race. Maybe you're just a strange customer seeing that you are by yourself and all."

The waitress and the cashier are staring--almost glaring--at me, and yet again I 

think "It's not what you think E., just come and be demanding, but be courteous."

"What are you having?" Asked the cashier. I placed my order, and the cashier, without looking at me, says that I'll have a ten minute wait. I say 'alright' and sit, once again in the Take Out Chairs. But then, after several minutes of experiencing a painful awkward feeling bubbling up inside me, I take the initiative to place myself at a table, and gallantly used their wifi (which I asked for). After a ten minute wait, I was given my food. A waiter comes up to me to tell me that my food is ready. I get up, foolishly leaving my laptop and bank card on the table behind me. The next event bugged me out. My food was wrapped in Take-Out, rather than the typical service. I was automatically given the take-out order. Even though I hadn't asked for it.

"Okay, that's it," I think. "I'm done with being civilized."

Now as we type, I am watching a fair skinned woman, eating alone just as I am, get served as if she were the pasty-white Duchess of Cambridge. I had to run to a seat right after they gave me my food--in take out trays, might I add. And the waitress keeps roaming, asking if everything is okay with everyone, except for me. And I keep seeing, I am facing the door. As each person walks through the door, they are immediately greeted with a question: "What are you having? Is that for here or to go?" Not awkward stares as if I were deranged madwoman who just reentered civilization after forty years of living in the woods. Am I jumping the gun? Should I say something? I am so afraid to even ask for a cup of water.

I got up to get water, and they just poured me a cup. I said thank you, and there was nothing. No communication, no unspoken reassurance. Nothing. Hospitality, my ass.

Did I seem threatening? I had my headphones on. I had groceries beside me. I was by myself. I am a five-foot-two plus-sized black woman with no athletic ability whatsoever-I cannot, in the least, seem threatening or harmful. That is unless you've got some prejudice linger inside that dense brain of yours that you think avoiding me because of the way I was born gives you justification to treat me wrong. In other words: you're a self-absorbed, prejudicial prick, who's internalized racism so hard, you wouldn't see it if it controlled your life.

After I sat in there for about two hours, the waitress finally came up to my table with a question.

"Are you done?" she asked.

Really? Are you fucking kidding me? She asked me if I was done. With what, exactly? Was I done with prejudiced bullshit and mitigating my feelings every fucking time someone did something obviously racist to me and other black people?

Yes, I am so fucking done, thank you very much.

I left that restaurant, huffing under my breath, saying that they were racist as hell and I was never coming back.

I wanted to say so much. I wanted to blame them for everything wrong in this country. I wanted to generalize their race. I wanted to confront the manager, but my anxiety would have overpowered me, and I would have been crying more than I was sitting and eating in that chair alone.

I was screaming on my way home. Screaming about injustice, because that was what I faced. 

This happened on January 1st. I hope that this isn't what the rest of the year will look like. 

Racial relations have got to change for the better in 2016.

Adieu,
E.