I am where I am because I was an attention-seeking idiot.

I have my own life. This may or may not be my redeeming quality. A redeeming quality is one that makes up for flaws and faults. Probably a phrase used mostly in terms of describing another person, referring it to myself just reinforces my transparency. Learn from it, take what you can. In terms of my redeeming quality, the fact that I have my own individual goals and successes now makes up for the time I spent living for other people through attention-driven behavior. That's where my new quality picks up where I lacked-- true identity and self-love.

I lived for and through others. Not in the way that I did what others told me to do regardless of my own opinion. I mean, growing up that was the gist of it but moving further towards adulthood requires more subtle attempts at acceptance. You can only follow someone for so long until they notice. You move on to groups or cultural trends. The motivation to be liked, to have attention no matter how negative was strong. Maybe it's still strong but I go about it now through traveling the high road. I can't say, however, that this was the case up until last year. But I'll give you some insight starting early on:

Middle school was the floating era in-between where I was lost. Elementary school was easy to gain respect, just bring cool lunchables and be okay at handball. After that it takes a little more effort and perhaps an early puberty to be cool, both of which I didn't have. During those years I gelled my hair back in a ponytail everyday and wore army green zebra print shirts with track suit pants. I was entirely oblivious to the ins and outs of fashion at the time, but I slowly realized through eighth grade when I found out thong underwear was definitely in and that what you wear can be a good shortcut to becoming popular. I was actually gifted a few pairs from an older member in my girl scout troop. I wore them behind my mother's back since she did all of my laundry and her lack of "cool mom" reputation would have deemed them inappropriate-- especially for a thirteen year old. I hid them from her by washing them by hand and cycling through them during the week so I would never be seen with granny panties again. 

At my school, being pants-ed was a way for girls to look cute with a shocked face at school while really gaining attention from the boys by exciting them with flashes of their butts. I was pants-ed one night while trying to look cool in front of some popular girls and bad-ass boys. I had totally ditched my mom during back-to-school night which I thought gave me cool credits but as I was pants-ed by a fellow frenemy, my granny panties were revealed and I felt the immediate sting of horror. "Ew she's wearing granny panties!," my crush said and that was all it took for me to hoard three pairs of thong underwear in a small box on my desk at home. It paid off, though, when the guy who dumped me in fourth grade, the one who gave me my first kiss through a game of after school truth or dare, noticed the g-string peeking out of my pants in 6th period history class. From then on, I got to be made fun of but in the way that thirteen year old boys flirt and it felt good to garner such "respect."

I spent my high school days wearing outlandish outfits and never situating myself with any one crowd. Being uncategorized helped me feel like I could avoid the comparisons within a group. I could never be the dumbest one in the AP classes crowd, the sinful of the girl-next-door crowd, the uglier in the popular cheerleader crowd or the least athletic in a sports team crowd. I meandered and at first wore slutty clothing, enough to have my parents forbid me from wearing certain skirts and my 9th grade Physics teacher tell my sister about the inappropriate size of my shorts. I moved on to wearing different colored shoes on each foot, bathing suit tops over shirts, multiple tube socks and bright pink dickies. That blew over and I eventually started going to shows, wearing cut-off gloves and hanging out with meth addicts on house arrest despite being "straight edge." Having to hang out at a friend's house and invite people over for entertainment because she was on house arrest is usually a sign that you're hanging out with the wrong people but it took my parents' interference to bring me back to reality-- the only way for me to snap out of my obsession for attention if only for a little.

When crazy rigid haircuts, facial piercings, multi-color dyed hair and shitty tattoos were the qualities of my chosen culture, the most willingness I had to rebel against my parents was a self-done haircut. In attempts to make my hair big and choppy on top, I tied a bandana how I normally would when going out. I grabbed the scissors without any hesitation and I started cutting around my head in front of the bandana. This was the farthest I went because piercing my face, coloring my hair beyond the weave of highlights I was allowed and getting an underage tattoo would only encourage my parents to worry even more than they already did and possibly disown me. So instead of looking like an unruly, rebellious and "scene" hipster daughter, they were forced to live with one who wore shitty layered outfits with atrocious band hoodies and had hair that resembled a 24/7 yamulke.

See here:

This was a joke picture but not really..

It took me a couple years to grow from that trend, slowly evolving into a more normal looking human being but my attitudes towards myself still triggered negative behavior. Guys were always the "wrong" type despite my adherence to them like glue. Even through obvious signs, I always gravitated towards disrespect. As soon as I found Jiu-Jitsu at the age of 20, my identity was again defined. I obsessed over it but this time it was something of my own and it didn't revolve around others' opinions of me. It revolved around a healthy way for me to lose the weight I never realized I needed to lose, an outlet to become competitive in an organized sport, stay active and constantly be working towards goals. I never had goals or wanted to be the best at anything but competition, like I have said many times before, motivated me like no other. By my first year I was beginning to dissolve the self-esteem issues by adding in writing but I still made many mistakes in ruining a reputation I wasn't even concerned about at the time. Writing about Jiu-Jitsu gave me the voice I needed and the focus it took to get me where I am now alongside the mentors I've had in Jiu-Jitsu. Gold medals and well-received articles get me the high I crave instead of one-night stands, name dropping and attention-seeking outfits.

Today I get the attention through living a Jiu-Jitsu-centered life and writing about it. I'm given opportunities to cover events to which I can give insight through my own experiences. Of course I can't and shouldn't always take it personally but generally speaking, people are using me to get to what they want to know. Having the opportunity to go to Abu Dhabi and be the only person with information as to what it's like being there was a dream. Sure there were outlets to give you limited results, a live stream so you can watch one out of the ten active mats and some photographers to show you some of the action. But my efforts went into giving you the experience. I wasn't witnessing the training on the mats in the hotel by watching from a chair with my shoes still on, I wrote this article on a piece of paper while still sitting on the mats after rolling with Luiza Monteiro at the request of Gabi Garcia. Sure, I got my guard passed 7 times during the roll but being a part of it and regardless of competing while there or winning a ticket to get there, made all the difference. Being in the athletes' world instead of in the crowd makes all the difference in my writing. 

I may have rushed into things at the start of my Jiu-Jitsu journey, gotten involved with people in the wrong way, acted out in behaviors that showed self-hatred, but it was the combination of these downfalls and setbacks and overall bad decisions that led me to the opportunities I have today. I'm not kidding. People don't become wise by accepting everything they're told. You don't become revered for having said without doing and you certainly don't become respected for never risking anything. A weathered and worn person can teach you a lot more than an unscathed one.

I understand the importance of reputation and attitude but leading by example, mistakes and all, makes you a far better influence than anyone who pretends they're perfect.

Time-out.

I made a list of pros and cons of living on each coast. I'd probably really worry the people closest to me if they knew I was considering such a trade-off. But then again they probably wouldn't be too surprised.

Last Tuesday I sat in my three hour linguistics class while Gianni found something to do in the library on campus. The library isn't too bad, I mean it was used as part of the set in the most recent Star Trek movie and the school setting for that movie Sky High (which I love). But still, it's three hours I was without him. Our time is always short and I worry that it's never well-spent.

Writing this entry makes me angry. It's not me. I always hated reporting and I hated the fact that every article without personality or emotion that I wrote would be a downgrade on my job as a writer. I have no emotion when I write anymore. I listen to music, I go to certain places, I try to be alone and it doesn't flow out of me like it used to. I simply try to recall non-biased facts but when I'm talking about my life, my job, the people closest to me, the love of my life, it's utter bullshit that I can't say what I feel.

Constant posts where I'm just trying to remember the who, what, where and when have plagued my writing style and I'm craving some sort of work that has meaning. I can do it, nothing is stopping me except for the rush. There's always the rush and the stress to produce and no real time to enjoy what I do.

I want to enjoy Gianni. I can honestly say he's the best person I have ever met.

I am annoyed, I really am. I'm at the mercy of all my authority figures, my friends, my family. Not training is not only costing me horrible performances at big tournaments, it is placing a guilt and stress on me from Cobrinha. I want to be the best, of course I need to train. But I have a job. I have to produce a constant stream of articles, cover these events that take me away from home every weekend and I have to be outgoing at these events and write and write and write and interview. My job is never ever done. It never stops. I have to spend time with my mom. I can't remember the last time we spent our usual time in her room watching a movie. Those times never happen. When I have free time I try to spend it with Gianni. He is the light of my life.

I am never in the present. Perhaps I was always like this but it really holds true these days. I'm currently using a mental thesaurus and phrase book to write this post. It isn't me. I can never relax. I am always required to be somewhere and I am always always always letting myself down. I have an essay due in a class that I am way way way lost on and it's due April 19th. I haven't brought myself to even look at the prompt because I probably won't even understand it anyway. I should be studying always. I should be getting article ideas always. I should be dieting and working out and training all the time, twice a day. I did that yesterday. I'm trying to do it today. I'm trying to do that but I am neglecting things. I am spread too thin.

I thought so hard about getting to the east coast. I really do love it there. Sitting in my linguistics class last Tuesday I could not bear the thought or the weight or the pain of dropping Gianni off at 4am the following morning. I worked the whole time he was there and when I wasn't working I was at school for two classes on Monday and one on Tuesday. So I chased him. I looked up plane tickets on my phone in class and saw they weren't too bad. When I got my home I told my mom was I was going to New York the next day and that I would be gone until next Tuesday. I thought she'd fight me on it but she not only accepted it, she offered me a ride to the fly-away and said she would leave work early on Tuesday just to make sure she can pick me up from the fly-away, take me to my linguistics class and then pick me up when it ended. I'm a horrible daughter.

You know that movie I Don't Know How She Does It? The one with Sarah Jessica Parker as a busy mom with a full-time job? Oh you don't? I don't blame you. I saw it while on a plane once and related to it. Thank goodness I don't have kids but I still feel similar to her. She thinks about her to-do lists constantly especially at night and that's what I do except I feel like I never get to check everything off. It's always overlapping to the following day, week, forever.

I chose for this. I chose to do these things but I don't want school anymore. I like the idea of school. I like the idea of being in school and constantly progressing and working towards something. I want a degree. Everyone wants a degree, it ain't bad to have. Surely, I want to graduate but not at the cost of my job, my life, my sanity. Maybe I'd be a lot more sane if I didn't have school right now.

I went to the east coast on a whim and it felt good. In my Monday class last week was when I wrote a pros and cons list regarding living here or there and I also wrote an apology letter to Gianni for not being physically, mentally or emotionally available all weekend during his trip. It's always about me and I try to do things for him as much as I can but laying my stresses and bad moods onto him is not okay. It's not.

I want to be all there. I want to separate my life from my job and feel like I'm doing enough again. Enough for my mom, for Gianni, for my boss, my coworkers, my teachers, Cobrinha, my training, my professors, my classes and for myself. But I am in my twenties. This is the time for me to stretch myself thin and find myself and put all of me into my work in every sense of the word "work." Life is work, relationships are work, work is work. If everything was easy I'd be one miserable camper. I need to always be working towards something but I just feel that I am not doing enough anywhere. It is time for some changes.

Gianni, I love you. I've never met someone so forgiving, kind, understanding and easy-going. Not the type of easy-going that you have no preference for anything. Not the understanding where you agree with everything I say. Not the kind type that walks on eggshells to avoid upsetting me. Not so forgiving that you let me treat you like shit. You are the right type of everything, the type of person that makes me feel like I'm not alone in anything. That my anxiety or my issues aren't issues at all. Thanks for being you.

I leave for Abu Dhabi sometime next week. I don't know when exactly because I haven't gotten my tickets yet. I have no idea what to expect. This is simply just another work trip where I won't see Gianni much, I'll be working all day covering events then trying to find time for bathroom breaks and eating and then I'll go back to my hotel room and crank out articles by some sort of mental will before I pass out and do it all over again. I want to ride a fucking camel.

Everyone deserves an apology. I owe an apology to everyone that is expecting anything of me. I hope to make it up to everyone soon. That's how I feel, anyway. Don't tell me I don't otherwise I'll fight you on it and have this mental stress that I don't have time to deal with. Food doesn't make life better like it used to. Watching T.V. instead of working doesn't do it. Sudoku helps a little. Sleeping next to Gianni helps. But waking up to his absence brings me about 10 steps backward on my LIFE gameboard. It will all be better soon. It will all work out. Everything will be fine. Those are my trite sayings that don't ever work. Those are just the phrases in my head that I somehow conjure up to write in my posts to make people happy.

End on a good note they say: I'm going to Abu Dhabi.