2013 isn't such a bad number.

Earlier this year my father and I had one of our, what are you doing with your life Helena? What makes you happy? What are you afraid of? talks. I love these talks. And they don't just happen with my father. I have these talks with friends, family, and even strangers at times. I have them fairly regularly too. And after each one, I feel pumped and ready for action. 

Yes! I'm gonna go to Europe!
Yes! I'm going to move to Nashville!
Yes! I'm gonna go chase my dreams of being a carnie! 

Then the high wears off and I'm back to feeling like I can't do anything. My dad has often analyzed with me where this stagnant fear could possibly come from- hence why I keep looking back on my life trying to figure it out. Was it something my parents did? A traumatic event? Biological? For some reason, in life I'm bitchin', fun-loving, energetic, and unabashed. But when it comes to my career- I'm a turtle. A neurotic, over-analytical turtle. 

One day my mom finally asked me a good question: "Helena, are you afraid of success?" 

Interesting...

What would it mean to be successful? Doing something like this? Sharing my heart and soul with people who may not even give a shit?

Or does it mean something else? Like giving up the possibility of hearing gurgles and "goo, goo's, and ga, ga's;" of getting married and settling down in the suburbs and replacing trips around the world with trips to the supermarket. 

I want to be an artist and travel the world. Maybe even go back to school to get a Master's Degree one day. I write what I know and sometimes that means writing within the family - writing about very personal things. 

But even a career would require settling down at some point. Can I do that?

Take my relationship status for instance. I've had 3 unstable relationships with men I knew it'd never really work with. I don't think I need to paint a picture of what that says about me, I think we all get the "jist."

Sure, there were times I thought about marriage and being the mama hen - working minimum-wage for the rest of my life, settling down in Oakland County, MI, and having babies. My love for them would consume us and they'd live happily ever after. And I'd be happy I made them happy.

But there was always that gut feeling deep-down, far, way in the back of my mind that knew what I was doing. 

Lord don't let me lonely...

My last serious, "serious" relationship (the one I left on in my last post) where I almost gave up everything was with a narcissistic, passive aggressive, manipulative alcoholic divorcee with kids. 

When people use the terms: narcissist, passive aggressive, manipulate... I know what they mean - technically mean.

I've heard women say things like, "he's such a narcissist, "he's such a passive aggressive asshole," or, "he manipulated me." Even though I had dated my fair share of assholes I had never really encountered these types of men. Narcissist, for me, came from the Greek mythological character, Narcissus who fell in love with his image. Passive? Aggressive? Passive was for pussies. Aggression was an Eminem song. And manipulation? I'm a woman. C'mon now. 

Then during a year of major life changes, God sends me the complete package. And I fell so damn hard. 

I can honestly say I fell in love on our first date. I had been single for years, doing the non-commitment thing and when he arrived, it was time for me to let go and love again. Which is exactly what I did.
There was something different about him. I felt like I could be myself with him. I didn't hold back any of my feelings for fear of this or that. I ignored rules and told him everything. I met and fell in love with his kids - something I'd never have allowed in my life. For the first time I let myself consider forever with someone.

Forever included giving up my hopes and dreams to live in the same city wherever his children lived, helping him raise them, and take care of him as well. 

He had become my world and I began to matter less and less. This wasn't how it was in the beginning but he was good and I eventually got hooked on his validation. By the end of our relationship I had become a puppy. A puppy that would get kicked repeatedly and still come around wagging its tail. 

And there's the thing. I knew I couldn't live like that for the rest of my life. When it was good it was great, but when it was bad it was horrible and that's usually when I'd breakup with him. But those miniscule good moments kept me coming back- that and he had convinced me he was the last fish in the sea. I didn't want feel this way forever! If I was this depressed now- how would I feel in 5 years? 10 years? So many signs said, stop, this isn't what you want and you know it.

And what about my career? That was all I ever wanted and had worked for years trying not to have children and settle down.

But this was not totally unfamiliar territory for me. I had a major reality check this year in which I had to question my own commitment issues. And there wasn't much question about it. 

My first love had been a drug dealer with no ambition to do much else (without my pushing him to be "the man I knew he could be" of course).

Then every other guy after- players, party-ers, fellows with possible psychological issues, more addicts who with enough love would be the men I knew they could be, men with ED, and ethnic men who could never marry the hussy American and so and so forth.

It's pathetic I know. I was a clear case of a woman not wanting to settle down but I let myself fool myself anyway, not thinking I would fall in love with the least eligible man to commit to. 

So I lost myself. And by March of this year I couldn't do it anymore. I had become a terrified little mouse. I fought but he won. He always won - usually in the form of convincing me that without him, I was nothing. It was physically one of the toughest things I ever tried to do. I had to push him away, end contact, pretty much pretend a man who lived 7 minutes down the road from me didn't exist. 

During our breakup he asked what I'd do instead. I told him, "well I plan to move at the end of the year."

"For what?"
"To get my career started. Since we met you knew I wanted to move to a city I had more chances in."
"And what if it doesn't work out? What will you have then?"
Wha... "Then I'll have some really interesting stories to tell my grandchildren."
"No one will ever love you as much as I do."

I didn't realize until I began to process everything that that last statement is one of the most manipulating things a person can say. That's like saying, "you're not loveable to anyone else, only I can tolerate you." And for a long time, I believed him. 

His attitude that any woman would be lucky to have him convinced me that I would be an idiot to ever let him go. Was he lucky to have me? No, I was the lucky one. 

No, I was lucky to have a man 13 years my senior, recently divorced, with two kids, and an alcohol addiction who never wanted to do anything. I could go on but then I'd be crossing a line so I'll bite my tongue. 

First, was the angry phase. This was actually a fun phase in which my girlfriends and I went dancing, singing, and bar hopping. I was doing sketch comedy at the time and the anger began to show in my sketches. The guys who knew me best in the class could tell. As one put it, "Helena, there's hahaha, fuck you. Then there's hahaHA FUCK YOU! (said in demonic tone). 

Okay. Let's not get mad at men anymore, let's just make fun of them. Which I did. But I still had the male fun police on my ass trying to bring me down- including my ex who always seemed to text me just when I starting to feel okay. So I gave up on men and focused on my stronger-than-ever female friendships to help get me through it. They supported me no matter how sarcastic, bitter, or even self-destructive I got at times. 

My dad and I had one of our talks during this time. I wasn't feeling inspired anymore and struggling with sketch comedy. I had stopped writing for me and felt forced to write what would sell and make the average dumbass laugh. I had been told my stuff was "too smart."

Well fuck that! Fuck men! Fuck Michigan! 
What was I gonna do with my life? My father and I decided I was going to start my own comical Midwestern version of Pussy Riot. 

But that didn't happen. Instead, enter sad phase. 

My anger had gone from- that PIECE OF SHIT ASSHOLE, PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE FUCKER to, that piece of shit... asshole... passive... aggressive... fucker. Womp. Womp. Luckily my friends didn't go crazy and swear me off. Instead, they let me be sad and go on and on like I was some crazed Sylvia Plath. 

I wrote. I prayed. I listened to a lot of Fiona Apple and Paula Cole and made plans to set off for California by February 2014. 

In my quest to find out what I was doing with my life, I now had no excuses. I was single and commitment-free! I was working on my art and healing. I had even lost some weight and was taking care of my health. 

In July I went out to L.A. to look for apartments, got into some sticky situations, had a meltdown and felt hopelessly lost. My future roomie let me stay with him while I visited. One night I just cried to him that it felt like I was never going to make it through. He just kept saying, "you're gonna be okay kid. Acceptance is right around the corner." 

I got back to Michigan and decided to hell with 2014, I needed to leave before my 26th birthday. I needed something bigger. I had to make a major life change because that black hole was still pulling at me. 

But then enter crazy phase. Some news came my way and I lost it. I went crazy. I was back to angry phase only crazier!

For a couple days I couldn't eat and just cried anytime I had the chance. I felt beat. My parents who I lived with at the time would yell at me - they didn't understand what happened to their daughter. For them it was A+B=C. He's an asshole. You broke up with him. Why are you the one crying? 

My response was overly dramatic. I just couldn't fathom why God would bring someone so evil into my life. I had been ready. I loved with all my heart. So why him? Why when so many would end up getting hurt? 

God must really love me after all the f-bombs I dropped during this time. But since he wasn't answering these questions, I decided to put on some red lipstick, curl my hair, and go out into the world with the attitude of well, what have I got to lose except my mind which is already gone. 

So I picked up my friend, a pack of smokes, and we drove to a very public park where we tried to light all my letters and pictures on fire. It took us a few tries - apparently letters don't burn as easily as you think. I think it's the clear coat that encases them. It was also windy. But we finally managed and smoked cigarettes as we watched every tangible memory of him turn to ash. It was a very small pile which was both depressing and funny at the same time.

Suddenly someone who had been missing for a while began to creep out - my 18 yr-old self. I remembered when I had done this after a breakup with my first love. I had been alone that time - with few good friends in my life. But this time, I was surrounded with love and light and equally pissed-off women to join me in the crazed dancing, singing, drinking, and smoking which I did for roughly 10 days in a row.

I also began concert hopping because it seemed to be the one thing that would consume my brain, if only for a couple hours. The relief was welcomed though and those few peaceful hours saved me. Anything to take my mind off the pain. 

The night my friend and I had gone to the Heart Concert, I had finally started eating again though my appetite was small. I had also been pinning like a mad woman for quotes and eCards about shitty men - anything to make me laugh, feel better, or inspire me. 

Earlier that day, I found an image online of a little girl dancing...

... and the more I got into the concert, the more this image would pop up and I began to envision myself as a young girl. Remember my little Shirley Manson-esque self? She appeared next to me on the lawn of Pine Knob - singing, dancing, and spinning. 

"I'm twisted. For loving you. I'm twisted. For the things that you do. I'm twisted for the love that we made. And I'm twisted, for the lies that you gave."

And I danced harder and harder. It was like a pile of bricks had been weighing down my back and the harder I jumped, spun, and rocked, the lighter the weight became. The image of a little girl next to me kept saying, Don't be sad! Dance! Dance! Dance! And don't ever stop!

For days I did just that. I let go of all the cares and began to live as if I was going to die. Like I was seventeen again. And it was the most incredible feeling in the world. 

I smoked cigarettes, drank Jack, danced like a fool, sang loudly in the car, and opened my heart to the world. I had re-connected with old friends and reached out for new ones. 

Some people might've said it was bad. I was getting too crazy. I was going to lose it. But I didn't. I look back on that time and am so happy it happened. I needed to let loose. 

In all of this nonsense, the reminiscing on my life, and over-sharing - I had lost so much of me. The light in me was burning again after the breakup but I was still giving the power to others and letting others control the light in me. Even during the breakup I was looking for all my faults, where I had done wrong, and places where I could bare the blame. I had to be perfect not only in a relationship but out of one as well. I had forgotten how to fail and have fun while doing it. 

My sister once sent me a letter with inspirational quotes, my favorite one being: Even if you fall on your face, you're still moving forward. And that's what I was doing. I was letting go of the past and dancing my crazy ass into the future. If you had met me at this point you could've asked me to do just about anything and I probably would have. My appetite for life was coming back and I wanted to experience everything life had to offer again.

As one friend said, "there's no right or wrong answer here Helena- just follow your heart. Go where it takes you. You will not be lead astray." 

During this time I had met someone and even though I don't believe in rebounds, I had decided not to let all these rules dictate my life and we started dating. I was afraid at first. I wasn't sure I was ready, what was going to happen, and to top it all - I had decided to move to California by October which was less than 2 months away. 

Well, it probably won't work anyway. As I told him, "by the time October hits, you'll probably think I'm crazy and I'll be tired of your sorry ass."

His response, "or we'll fall in love."

Hahahahaha. Oh. 

That's what happened. 

It was good but something told me it wouldn't work. We broke up and I was again smoking cigarettes and trying to figure out what the hell I was doing with my life.

I was praying hard. Okay God. Where do you want me to go? I know I ask for a lot of signs and I'm not asking for a burning bush but please, tell me what to do. Please! Should I move to California still? Go elsewhere? What?

The very next morning I got a text from my future roomie in L.A. asking if I'd like to be his roommate.

Hallelujah! 

The first person I wanted to call and tell the news to was this most recent beau.

So... what was supposed to be a "goodbye, I'm leaving for California" phone call turned into a "hello, let's go for a walk and kiss."

And kissing turned into "good morning baby." 

People have a lot to say and some would've said, he's just a rebound, don't put much thought into it, you know you're not that interested. One friend had even tried convincing me not to date him when we first met implying I was settling for the first guy who wanted me. 

I'm glad I didn't listen to her. Things went south with us and despite the two painful breakups caused by two equally painful things - I wouldn't take my time with him back for anything. It was rough in the beginning but he was patient with me. He made me laugh and kissed me back into believing in love again. We rode bikes and jammed in the car like we were teenagers. He was calm and walked me through my anger while helping me get over my ex and all the pain that had been leftover. It felt good to be with someone, especially someone who clearly loved me even when I was crazy. He believed and supported my dreams. We shared things and I fell in love with him - even his family was amazing! I owe him so much and even though I was hurt for the way things ended, I could never say he was a bad person. We were just incompatible. He helped me pack for California and we were going to long-distance it. But we broke up while I was in Texas visiting my best friend.

I arrived in Los Angeles October 17 with a broken heart. I had to unpack a car that kept reminding me of everything. Funny how life follows you huh? 

I had come out here to get away from anything and everything that could hold me back but here I was crying, not because I just moved thousands of miles away from home, but because I still had his bike rack and now every time I look at it I'll think of him. 

What's more ironic is that I drove cross-country to live in a city like L.A. with no job or sugar daddy lined up to take care of me, just a dream and my life savings; and here I am, on this blog, reminiscing and asking all the questions I asked myself back home.

I've been here for almost two months now. I'm still healing my heart but I when I do cry it's over someone who I don't resent and who I believe was a blessing. 
 
I know happiness isn't a person or a place, my mom told me that when she suspected I was a restless soul. But we try to kid ourselves. So here I am in California, searching for the salt that's been missing from my life. I look into the past, relationships, schooling, whatever can be analyzed in hopes I'll find it. My thought process being, maybe once I find it, all my life's problems will be solved. 

In the meantime, I check things off my bucket list. I can officially cross-out, "leave Michigan." That's pretty amazing, but then what? I never looked much beyond that. Just because you have one, a five-year plan doesn't predict the future and our plans don't always work out the way we want them to.

"Give it a year" they say. So until then, I'll keep writing and over-sharing.

Thanks for reading!