The summer after I graduated from high school in Costa Rica, I intentionally stopped trimming my pubic hair. Although my boyfriend had broken up with me multiple times months before, we kept magnetically reconnecting throughout my last semester of school. And it was pretty much impossible for us to avoid each other in a school of 150 kids who lived on-campus together. Once we graduated, and I came back to the U.S. without any idea of how I was going to go to college, I wanted to protect myself from a lot of things. Mostly failure and making myself vulnerable to another guy any time soon. Because although it was this intense, emotional connection like I’ve never had before, I was super embarrassed once I allowed myself to stop fucking crying and see that it wasn’t meant to be. So, my protection from doing that again was to not trim my pubes. Unkempt pubes were my security blanket and chastity belt at the same time. No one could get to me through them. And I wouldn’t feel bare without them. I was like Samson from the Bible.
I haven’t written on here in ALMOST TWO YEARS. Sure, I was in grad school and busy with assignments or stressed out about where/if I was going anywhere in life. But, no matter how many times I put this at the top of my to-do list, I could never bring myself to post. I think, like my pube story, it was also to protect myself. No one could criticize my writing if I didn’t write.
But why am I so self conscious of my writing if I just finished a program in journalism?!
I don’t know, man. The past almost two years have brought so much change to my life.
I moved to Chicago, home of Oprah and improv. I started a master’s program at a (supposedly) really good school, and I was actually excited by what I was doing in class. I started dating a really nice guy who didn’t ghost me or give me a letter grade while I was in bed with him. I was excited about the future!
My grad school program pissed me off a lot of the time. Most of the teachers didn’t teach. They had their favorites (I was never one of them). And I wanted someone to have confidence in me and give me the attention I deserved and took out a bunch of loans for. On top of that, I realized my anxiety had become more depression-like.
I made a decision to go to San Francisco for a quarter, uprooting everything I had in Chicago. (Looking back, I think this was the wrong decision). Once I finished all my classes, I moved back to Chicago and everything’s been a bit messy since then.
I work at a production company on a TV show. Like, my name will be in the end credits, and I can get an IMDb page. Awesome! The downside: I get paid a daily rate, which is modest to say the least. I have no benefits, and people prefer to send an email or call ON THE PHONE than walk over to my cubicle and talk to me.
My boyfriend and I broke up at the beginning of the year (new year, new you). His perfectly valid reasons were that my sex drive is basically non-existent (thanks, depression!) and I had become an easily irritable blob who just wanted to lay around all day and vent about how lost I felt in life.
So, I feel vulnerable to say the least. I would love to write as a freelancer on the side. In school, I got so excited to find and develop stories ideas. I have all these ideas simmering around my head and in spreadsheets and post-it notes. But, I can’t bring myself to commit and pursue the damn things. I’m tired all the time. I psyche myself out that no one’s going to want to publish the stories I write before I even begin. And, so I’m (metaphorically) growing my pubes out once again to avoid letting myself and the work I produce be vulnerable.
But, this is a step in the right direction! If anyone reads blogs anymore or has an interest in my weird life, I’m back, betches! More to come.