Anonymity

I left school. Everyone is pissed at me for doing so. My parents, my sister, my grandparents, I can even see the glimmer of disappointment in my friends' eyes although I know they're happy to have me back.

But it finally got to the point where I was so unhappy there that I started feeling a way that I think everyone feels at one point in their life. I started feeling like maybe this was it. This was the best it was going to get. The marriage I had made with my life that constituted the point "for better or for worse" had given up on the better part and was only able to give me the worst. 

Every other thought that ran through my mind was pessimistic and depressing. I didn't know what to do. It got to the point where dragging myself to work was bad enough but class, too? It was impossible. 

I felt helpless and discouraged. Like there's was nothing I could do to take myself off the path I was leading myself down and I was doomed to fail. Not just fail my classes but fail my family, my expectations, my life. I felt like I was doomed to fail myself. Like I would never amount to anything because I just wasn't worth it. I wasn't worth the trouble or the money or the saving. I wasn't worth it. 

So I made the decision and I left college. For the most part, I enjoyed my time there. I liked classes. I like the people I met. I liked my job. What I didn't like was feeling anonymous. 

Which is kind of ironic because I'm writing this anonymous blog for strangers who will never know that I am the author. My high school teacher or one of my coworkers or the guy working on the line in Chipotle or the girl that sat next to me in Calculus could be reading this and have no idea that it's me. That is anonymity. 

But what I hated about going to a state school as big as mine was the feeling I got walking around by myself, unable to connect with the people around me. The only thing that tied us together was the school we all attended but they all found something else to click with. Maybe it was a class they were both struggling in or the same complaints about a dining hall or how excited they were for the game that weekend.

And I couldn't tell you why, but it's so hard for me to bullshit my way through those conversations. It doesn't make sense to me. That I can't sit down with a stranger and discuss simple things. Not like I can discuss important things either. 

It's moments like this when I actually realize how terribly low I think of myself. I don't think anything of myself. But at the same time, I think so highly of myself. I'm a walking contradiction. It's like I'm the dirt on the bottom of your shoe but I'm also the best shit in town. I'm funny as fuck but I'm also as boring as watching paint dry. I'm nice to your face but I'm a bitch behind your back. I'm a good person that does bad things. At least, that's what I'm trying to tell myself.

If I was honest with myself, which I very rarely am, I would look myself in the mirror and list out all the horrible things I could say about my character. It would be an extremely long conversation and not one thing I would say to myself would be a lie.

I'm trying to change this things about my character that I find fault in without fully admitting to myself that it's a fault. Maybe that's not the way to go. Maybe I should sit down one day and just say to myself, "Isa, get your shit together and stop being such a cunt all the time."

But I think that would just make things worse. But then again, how the fuck would I know, right? I've never tried it. Maybe it will be relaxing, therapeutic, even. But I'm scared. I'm scared that I'll just be my own worst critic and hate myself even more.

Now, I'm trying to think of the positives. The things that are making me happy right here in this moment. Because I have so much to be happy about.

I'm sitting in my Justin's room with my two best friend while we're all just noodling around on our laptops, only stopping to do something funny or exclaim a witty comment. I'm home from school and although there's a new weight of guilt on my shoulders, the weight that remained from wasting my parents' money on an expensive education that I wasn't taking advantage of.

We spend all of our time together and I couldn't be happier with the company I'm keeping. Here, I don't feel anonymous. I feel like I'm thriving. Like I can do anything so long as I keep up with the pretenses and let these two people who mean the world to me honestly believe that I am worthy of their friendship.

Am I worthy of their friendship? I'm not quite sure. But I'm trying to be.