It's That Time of the Month...

The painters are in. On the rag. A visit from Aunt Flo. Period.

Yup. That is, in fact, what I'm talking about. Now that I've laid it all out there and scared away any guy who gets squeamish at the thought of the word, let me tell you why I'm talking about this.

Periods suck. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar. Some suck less than others, but there is nothing fun about bleeding out of your vagina once a month. Not only that, but factor in the cramps, bloat, body aches, the varying levels of hormonal fluctuation, and, in my case, the effect it has on my bowels, and it's easy to see why no body likes them.

This time around, though, has been a rollercoaster of emotional hell I never knew existed. It wasn't until this evening that I understood exactly what was going on. I chalked it up to stress and too much school work. It wasn't until my friend, Alyssa, pointed out how crazed I was when I snapped at her earlier that it all made sense. Now, I am no stranger to this time of the month. After 10 years of it, you understand it well enough. This time, however, was different.

After the vomit-inducing pain fiasco that was the discovery of my ovarian cysts, a trip to the lady doctor had me put on birth control in order to reduce their size and stop the bi-monthly, post-period writhing and suffering. Let me tell you, birth control is fucking magical. Not only did it shrink those mother fuckers, but it also made my period almost bearable. (My periods had never been too bad in the first place, but, on the pill, there was barely any hint of cramps, my period was so light, only lasted a few days, and I always knew when it was going to start. So fuck those mother fuckers trying to make it difficult to get birth control. Let them have a period every month and then we'll see what they have to say.)

Recently, though, due to timing and refill confusion, I stopped taking it for about two months. Once I finally got everything straightened out, I started taking it again. However, against my better judgement, I didn't feel like waiting until after I had my next period. Bad life decision there. When everything is on track, birth control works like this: Three weeks of hormone pills followed by a week of placebo iron pills, which is when your period is supposed to happen. That is not what is going on right now. Instead, my period is happening right smack dab in the middle of my hormone pills. Now my hormones are all out of whack and I'm acting like Crazypants McBitchface, freaking out over every little thing and snapping at people without even realizing it, something that normally doesn't happen for me. I might be a titch more irritable normally, but nothing like this. Even now, while sitting here, I can just feel how weird my body feels. It's not normal at all.

So, if you run into me in the next couple of days, I'm so sorry for what emotional hot mess comes out of my mouth. I'm not usually like this. Hopefully, my body will straighten itself out next month and everything will be back to normal.

Lost, Not Found

What do you do when everything you know changes without any clue as to when or why? I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under me and I don't know which way is up. Friends I once thought I knew have become hard to recognize, and I don't even think I know who I am anymore. Things that I was sure of have now become unstable and I don't have much else to cling onto. I don't have an anchor, and I fear I will soon be swallowed up without anyone noticing.

I'm Danielle, the girl who forgot how to trust. Danielle, the girl who forgot how to love.

I'm lost, but I don't remember how to be found.

I suck at social situations.

As life continues on, I have become exceedingly more aware of my inability to tell how a person feels about me. While I have friends, some of which whom I truly do believe actually like me and like being around me, I am constantly assuming everyone finds me annoying to be around. What sucks about it, though, is that I can pinpoint exactly why I am this way, and I don't know of any way to fix it because it all happened when I was little and some how left deep emotional scars I'm not even aware of or some psychological bullshit like that. Basically, childhood fucks you over for the rest of your goddamn life.

Anyways, this really all boils down to the fact that I like this guy, and since my entire childhood -- actually pretty much my entire life -- consists of no guy I like ever liking me back, that means he probably doesn't like me. Which I could deal with if I actually knew that for a fact. But I don't. And I know I don't. So, while I will go on assuming this for my entire life, I know somewhere that that bullshit little motherfucker called Hope is busy hoping away that I'm wrong, but there's no way I'll ever know because I'll never ever come out and ask when the possibility of rejection and embarrassment is that high.

To make a long story short, I'm fucked all over the place. This is why I will live alone with dogs for the rest of my days.

Things I do when drunk.

Last night, after a fair amount of drinking at a party and getting a ride home from a friend, I sat at my computer and contemplated a difficult decision. Did I want to walk to Sheetz and get mozzarella sticks and fries? (Sheetz is where all the drunk IUPers go when hungry.) It was as I was about to write a status about said decision that I came up with the most beautiful piece of writing I ever created. Based off of the first sentence of Hamlet's "To be, or not to be" soliloquy, this is said masterpiece:


"To Sheetz, or not to Sheetz, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous drunkness,
Or to take arms against a sea of hunger,
And by opposing end them: to nom, to eat
Some Sheetz; and by a Sheetz, to say we end
The drunk-noms, and the thousand drunken wants
That flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consumption
Devoutly to be wished."



You are welcome.

Crazy, stupid love.

Any time I ever mention wanting love or the fact that I hate that I've yet to find it, I always get the same general response. It's either a "Don't worry you'll find it someday," or it's someone telling me it's not worth the time and that I don't need a man in my life to be complete. Trust me, I know that. Well, I know the second one. I have yet to have any hope of proof of the first. As a 22 year old who's been single all her life and been officially feminist for 3 or 4 years now, I know that I don't need a man to complete me. That's not what I want.

Unless you've been in my position, I don't think you'd understand. All I want is to know love. I want to feel love. I want to see love. I want to be love and be in love. I want to be able to go to bed each night and know that somewhere in the world there is someone who I mean more to than anything else, whether he's sleeping beside me or half way across the world on some trip. I want someone who can make me feel more beautiful than I could ever see myself, even when I am lying in bed sick, wearing sweatpants, and my face splotchy and red from bawling my eyes out to P. S. I Love You. I want someone who will have my back when it feel like the rest of the world has turned on me and I can't hold myself together on my own. I want someone to be with, to depend on, and who can depend on me to be all that I want of him when he needs me.

I've never had that love. I've never even had that silly, really, really like with anyone. I've felt that way before, but no one has ever felt that way about me. Ever. I'm the girl who never had a date to the school dances. I'm that girl that always got looked over for someone else. When that has been your entire life, it's hard to ever believe that you'll ever find anyone who feels that way about you. It's hard to believe that anyone will find you cute or pretty or attractive or beautiful because, if no one's ever thought that in 22 years, how could it even be true?

All I want is for someone to prove me wrong. All I want is for someone to see in me something that I'm fast beginning to believe doesn't exist. I saw I don't believe in love anymore, or that I don't care, or that it doesn't matter, but it's all a lie. I do believe in love, but soon I'm going to run out of hope for myself. I can only care for so long before it hurts too much, and I don't know how much time I have left. I don't want to be a cold, bitter bitch for the rest of my life. So, Santa, all I ask for this year is love. All I've ever wanted is love. Have I been good enough this year?

Why I love Coach Beiste:

While I have been Glee pretty much religiously since it's preview of the first episode back in May 2009, I will be the first to admit that, lately, there have been several times I have been disappointed in it. Even some of my favorite characters can disappoint me. Even so, I can't help but watch every week because, when it's good, it's really good. When it's good, it relates such an amazing powerful message to the viewers out there who could be going though the very same things in their lives. I am one of those people.

From the beginning, I had always loved Kurt, and when they introduced Mike O'Malley as his father, I was beyond ecstatic, but it wasn't until season two that they brought on a character that really meant something to me. The day I first saw the episode "Never Been Kissed", I bawled like a baby and fell in love with the character of Coach Beiste. I fell in love because, finally, there was a character that really spoke to me. Finally, there was someone who's troubles were just like mine. Finally, there was someone I could point to and say "That's exactly what I've been through. That's me." I am Coach Beiste.

I'm not even generalizing here. Besides the fact that Dot Marie-Jones's character is older than me and is a huge fan of sports and weightlifting, we are pretty much the same person. When she confessed to Will in that episode that she had never had a boyfriend, nor been in love, and had never been kissed, I bawled because I knew that feeling. To this day, I have never had a boyfriend, nor been in love, and at 22 and a half years old, I have never been kissed. Honestly, it makes you feel like shit. It makes you feel ugly and worthless because in all your life, no one has ever liked you enough to want to date you or even kiss you. It makes you feel like you're not good enough. Now, here was this amazing, strong woman who was experiencing the same problems I was. I wasn't alone.

Then, there is the more recent episode "The First Time". Once again, Coach Beiste and I are eerily similar. When that guy kept trying to subtly ask her out, she remained completely oblivious to the point where, in the next episode, it may have cost her the guy she loved. When it comes to guys, I am completely oblivious. I couldn't tell if a guy was hitting on me to save my life. Unless he comes out and says "I like you, date me." I really don't think I'd have a clue. It's pretty ridiculous. I think I know why Coach Beiste and I are like this, though. When you've lived as long as we have without a single guy saying they like you or they think you're attractive or anything, you don't expect it from anyone, so, when someone tries to hint at it, you don't even notice it or just think it's a joke. Why would someone like you this time? And you're not about to put yourself out there and say you like a guy, because they've never liked you before and this guy probably won't be any different and you don't want to look stupid or get your heart broken. So you don't and miss all the signs.

So, Glee, please, please, please, let Coach Beiste get her man. Give girls like me some hope. And boys out there, please don't be vague. Some of us won't get that you mean it.

Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.

While sometimes I may wonder if, in fact, I am insane, I don't think this is the answer. So why, then, do I continue to do the same damn thing, hoping that things might be different? I know how it ends every single time, yet my heart refuses to listen to reason.

Thus, I have come to the only conclusion that can possibly make sense: My heart is a masochist.

Why else would it continue to fall for guy after guy when I know how it will always end? It doesn't matter how many times my mind tries to be rational, my heart refuses to listen. "He doesn't like you that way. Guys like that don't like girls who look like you. It's not worth your time - you know how it always ends." Instead, my heart listens to hopes and dreams and wishes as if they were truth instead of make believe and lies. Like a goddamn enabler they say, "But he's such a nice guy! Maybe he won't care what you look like. Maybe he'll think you're pretty. Maybe this time he'll like you, too." And like the fucking dumbass it is, my heart goes along with it.

"I don't want to see you get your heart broken," my friend says. My heart doesn't seem to agree. "Let's get broken!" my heart says. My heart is not my friend. But, try as I may, I can't get the damn thing to go away. I can't get it to listen to reason. Instead, it follows hopes and dreams around like a gullible child in awe. If only my hopes and dreams would go jump off a cliff so my heart could follow suit and leave me be with my rational thoughts. Then I won't have to worry about getting hurt anymore. Then I won't have to live with the pain of knowing I will never be loved by anyone because love won't matter anymore.