Bedshaped.

It was February 2008. My first Boston winter blanketed the world in harsh steel gray. Clouds hid the sun, and the city was cold. So was I.

While I was in the midst of a sinking depression, my boyfriend could do nothing to help me. Scratch that – he just refused to help me. He was angry with me for the deep and dark thoughts I had. All he seemed to care about was his graduate school and studying law, and not me – the girl who supported his dreams and moved 800 miles from home to be with him. I usually sat in the living room, watching television, or pretending to care about my own studies, when in reality I was just waiting for him. To pay attention to me. To love me. To realize that, yes, I was still there. And that I was, in fact, waiting – putting myself on hold and my own life on the backburner for the sake of us.

Oh, that dreaded word. Us.

Us killed me.

It wasn’t completely his fault. I tend to blame him for much of my suffering, but I wanted us to be my life. I wanted so badly for someone to love me, and this guy seemed to. I traded all of myself for a chance at what I thought would be happiness. In retrospect, I see that I was blind.

On that cold February day, as I waited around for him to notice me, he suggested I go do something. I decided maybe he was right. I bundled up, and grabbed my iPod, and walked down the street towards the Prudential Center – which is filled with people and shops. Lots of things to do, buy, and look at.

With the white earbuds blocking out the street noises, I turned the iPod on and hit “play.” Of all the songs that played that afternoon, I can only remember one: “Bedshaped” by Keane.

As often happens with me, a particular song usually stands for a person, time, or certain event in my life. It’s never intentional, but just happens that way. I’m sure I had heard this song before this moment – but all I can remember is this particular day, this particular time I listened to it.

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I know you think I’m holding you down

And I’ve fallen by the wayside now

And I don’t understand the same things as you

But I do

Don’t laugh at me

Don’t look away

You’ll follow me back

With the sun in your eyes

And on your own

Bedshaped, and legs of stone

You’ll knock on my door

And up we’ll go

In white light

I don’t think so

But what do I know?

What do I know?

I know…

I felt gripped with anguish. This felt all too true for my life. I felt like I had fallen by the wayside of someone that I truly loved. It was painful, in-your-face, and very real. Very visceral.

I asked myself: “What do I know?” And I didn’t know the answer.

The afternoon concluded in gloominess. I don’t recall much else about the day.

—————————————————————————————————-

We broke up about a month later.

I could never listen to this song without being overtaken by sadness. And I really thought it would always be this way.

—————————————————————————————————-

­­­­­­­­

It was July of 2009. My second Boston summer as a single woman was quickly coming to a close. The oppressive humidity of another overcast day turned to afternoon thunderstorms. I walked along Boylston Street, by the Public Garden, and admired the beauty of the city. The buildings stood tall, cutting into the low clouds. The people scurried about, with umbrellas and in good suits, dodging puddles while crossing the streets. In the garden, families sat on benches, and families of ducks cleaned themselves by the water.

I pulled out my white earbuds and my iPhone, scrolled through the playlist, and found it. I smiled. I hit “play.”

It was “Bedshaped.”

However, for some reason, today I wasn’t sad. As dreary as the day was, as stressful as this particular week had been, I was…happy.

Mainly because, for once, listening to this song didn’t make me sad. It made me realize that I am on my own, but by choice. No one is holding me down, and I’m not holding anyone else down. No one is leaving me by the wayside. No one thinks I don’t understand the same things that they do. No one is looking away from me.

This song is no longer true for my life.

Just reminds me that while things seem to always stay the same, little by little they can change, until one day you stop and really look – and you are a totally new person.

So you ask yourself: “What do I know?”

And you respond: “I know!”

Whatevs.

Sometimes…I get in those moods…

…where not only do I feel like I am going to be single forever…

**Wait…before you start commenting like mad, let me finish:**

…but I am okay with being single forever. 

Whatevs. I don’t need a dude. I scroll though pictures of my married friends, and pregnant ones, and I think, ‘Eh. Whatevs.’ I mean, that’s awesome for them – the world needs weddings and babies. And I love both of those things. Just…I dunno, the more I think about it, the more I just don’t see it for me. I just don’t think it’s actually going to happen for me, in my life. Any of it. It’s scary, it’s weird, it seems a little unnatural. But…whatevs. I’m just so…whatevs about it. If that wasn’t apparent already.

But not only does the world need weddings and babies, the world needs crazy cat ladies. Think about it: if the world were completely populated with happy couples and nuclear families…where’s the drama? Where’s the made-for-TV-Lifetime movie specials about fucked up single, crazy women? The 20/20 exposes about dead old ladies whose cats ate their faces after their owners died weeks before? They wouldn’t exist. In a happy-go-lucky world of love and marriage, there isn’t room for single, old cat ladies. And I, for one, am glad the world isn’t a utopia like that. Because, it seems, I am about two cats shy of being a mid-twenties crazy cat lady. 

And I may have to just learn to accept this, with open fucking arms.

Sigh. Whatevs.

Ungrown Up

Other people must have problems, too.

I mean, no one is perfect.

But here I am, sitting in the car rental building at Regional Southwest Airport in Fort Meyer’s, Florida, and I can’t rent a car. Apparently, I must have missed this part in the fine print. They don’t let you rent cars with just a debit card and bad credit.

So here I wait, for my mom to come save me. Coincidence that she’s in town, and only about 10 miles away. She’s going to come and rent the car for me, so I can pretend to be a grown up and go from my hotel and to my conference for the next four days. I feel like a loser. And I feel the most ungrown up I ever have.

I even sat cross-legged and ate peanut butter crackers I brought with me. I left my Disney Princess thermos and my slap bracelets at home, though.

People do rely on their parents past my age. My uncle does. He still lives with my grandma. My grandpa helped out mom and me when I was growing up – but she was a single mom, and I was a handful. And now, here I am, 26-years old, waiting to be saved again.

I hope she’s not too mad. But I just wonder what is going through her head. “My daughter is a fucking idiot,” maybe. Or “Oh no, I have to save my baby girl.” But probably, she just sighed and thought, “I can’t wait until she is really grown up. I’m getting sick of this.” But it wasn’t always this way.

When I was 19, I was became a college drop-out. I worked at Ben & Jerry’s, among other various short-term, random jobs. I made minimum wage and scraped by.

When I was 21, things improved. I worked a part-time job on top of a full-time job, and pulled in at least $500 per week. This was more than enough to cover my rent – utilities were included. I didn’t have a car or any other real expenses, so this left with me over a grand per month to do with what I desired. I bought a lot of gifts, especially for mom. One Christmas, I spent over $300 just on her, and showered her with presents – the best one was a beautiful fresh-water pearl necklace. She was shocked, I think, and a little overwhelmed. But I had the money, and wanted to show her how much she meant to me, and buy her something – a pearl necklace – that she never had and always wanted. She always provided for me my entire life, and I finally had the chance to start repaying her.

When I was 23, I decided to go back to college full-time. I still worked a lot, but needed some help with rent. That was still less than $500 per month, so it was manageable. I still pulled a lot of the weight when it came to finances. And I think I was smarter about them then, too.

When I was 24, I followed my heart to Boston and my expenses doubled, and I had a big tuition bill to deal with, too. I also decided to work less. I wanted to be a serious student, and focus on school. I did unspectacular, though. Looking back, I definitely didn’t deserve to have my expenses paid for me. I should have earned them by making all A’s.

When I was 25, my life changed and so did my priorities. The relationship I changed my life for ended, and I had to move and start over…again. Fortunately, the move was only a quarter of a mile down the street and not over 800. I became more financially irresponsible, and traded paying my phone bill for a bar tab. Mom saved me a couple times again.

When I was 26, I sat in an airport car rental building, waiting for my mother to come pay for me – bail me out again. I had about $45 in one checking account, a negative balance in the other, and a very belated $500 check from work waiting to be inserted into an ATM.

It seems like I am constantly declining into a more financially dependent state the older I get. It’s backwards.

Then I look at the trajectory where my life is headed. And I have to do something to fix it. Maybe graduate school can wait. I’ll finish my bachelor’s next year, then find a job. Or two. Or more. Maybe money isn’t so unimportant. Maybe I have undervalued it because I’ve been spoiled. And I hate this feeling, of not being able to do for myself. I am lucky I have my mother – but is she lucky to have me? At this point, I’m more of a liability than an asset. And at 26-years old, that’s a terrible feeling.

Maybe if I do something different, I won’t feel so ungrown up.

And I think, finally, I’m ready to change this.