Tag Archives: Love

You Are Vibrantly Pretty!

Recently, my brother and his girlfriend set up an on-line dating profile for me. While I was in the room and fully aware of what they were doing, I did find it amusing and fun to set one up.

Normally, though I’m not very into the whole on-line dating thing. Then again, I’m very bad at regular dating to begin with. Online dating, though, just seems a bit more overwhelming than normal dates. Firstly, I have no clue who the people messaging me are, despite what their profiles might say and what pictures they might have posted.

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I am especially bad at the private messaging aspect of the whole thing. For instance, I am not used to being called “hot” or “cute” or “adorable”. Sure, I hear it from my father all of the time: “You are a beautiful young woman and any guy would be lucky to have you”, but he has to say that, right? He’s my dad, after all. So, when other people tell me that:

“You are really cute.”

“You are beautiful.”

“You are the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

“You are vibrantly pretty”,  and so on, I tend to become very nervous.

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To be honest, I don’t see myself as cute or beautiful or gorgeous or vibrantly pretty. When I look in the mirror or at photos of myself I see a goofy dork who looks averagely average. So, when other people say otherwise I become very bashful.

I think it would be safe to conclude now that on-line dating is not for me and I will continue to struggle on alone through the actual real-life dating world (although it is just as awkward and embarrassing when I hear these things in real life, too).

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Just, Right Now….

Sometimes I get teary when I realize that I’m almost 26 and the longest relationship I have ever had was six months.

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And that I have had a pretty lousy date/relationship record so far, including an obsessive controller, a liar, and a cheater.

Personally, I think it’s rather hard to find someone to actually be in a relationship with. I live in a very rural area so it’s not like there are many guys around to choose from. When I’m in my university classes, my classmates are always much younger than I am (the downfall of being a 25 year old college student).

All I’m asking for is someone who understands (and if they share it, that’s a bonus) my appreciation of art, writing, and history. Who will actually want to sit and watch the same shows and movies as me (yes, I’m the girl who still likes to go to Disney and other animated movies because they’re cute and I adore them and animation is what I want to do for a career, so it’s cool to see animation in action) and who accepts that reading tons of books is a very fun hobby for me. That I like to watch anime and BBC and that I’m a Whovian through and through (PS. My favorite Doctor to date is Matt Smith as Doctor 11)! That I enjoy Sherlock and think Benedict Cumberbatch is fantastic as the consulting detective (Martin Freeman is an excellent addition and they compliment each other very well, talent-wise). That I want to travel and find inspiration in new places for my art and writing (I truly believe an artist cannot survive creatively stuck in one place)! I mean, I don’t think I’m asking too much.

But sometimes…I’m just lonely and I’m getting awfully tired of waiting for Mr. Right.

Sincerely Yours,

Soleil

 

Fun at Home – HGTV

I am an AVID watcher of the television channel HGTV. Growing up in a family where construction was always a constant in my life (my father and his older brother are union electricians and my uncle and Pepere union construction workers), and being an art major, HGTV and all of the aspects of turning one thing into something else in shows like Property Brothers, Love It or List It, and Fixer Upper through not only construction but also through interior design is just SO interesting to me.

I also love to watch House Hunters and especially House Hunters International because of all the cool cultural and architectural features! But, what really makes me laugh with these two shows is when the people looking for a home only look at the negatives of the new houses they’re looking at. One common thing is a lot of people are like “This closet is too small. It won’t even fit all of my bathing suits/shoes/clothes, etc.” A closet can’t fit your bathing suits? You have too many bathing suits, then. I can understand having two or three to switch it up now and then, but how many do you need that they won’t all fit into a closet/take up all of the space in the closet so you don’t have room for your clothes? It’s just silly things like that which I enjoy, haha!

Look for my words again soon!

-Soleil

Update

Just popping in to say hi!

Also, it was raining so I decided to bake some cookies! Please check out my recipe for these delicious Blueberry Nutmeg Cookies on my food blog, found here: Tuck In and Chow Down.

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Thanks!

Look for my words again soon!

-Soleil

What It Feels Like To Be Me

I have found the past two weeks of my life have been difficult. Why is that? I know why but I hate to admit the reason. Admitting it feels like I’m giving up, like I’m a failure, and that hurts.

When I was in sixth grade, my Memere was diagnosed with Colorectal Cancer. She underwent chemo-therapy and surgery to remove it and then she was fine. But it came back. By the time I was in high school, it had returned at least three times. The summer I finished my Junior year and was waiting to begin my Senior year in the fall, the cancer had been back and had spread to her brain. She had surgery again that August to take out what they could in her brain, but they couldn’t take it all. From that date on, I watched her deteriorate before my eyes.

My mother and I went to my Memere and Pepere’s house every day to help take care of her. These were my mother’s parents and my mom wanted to be there to help not only Memere, but to give Pepere time to himself, too. By the time I started school, she decided to stop with all of her chemo-therapy and radiation treatments. As I watched her get worse, I began to have panic attacks in school. Suddenly, while in classes, I would feel like I couldn’t breathe and I’d ask to go to the nurse’s office, and she would let me call my mom, begging her to come and get me so we couldn’t go and see Memere until she could talk to me enough to calm me down and finish out my school day. By Christmas she was in a wheelchair, weighed as much as I did at that time, and had trouble swallowing her medicine and food. One week later, she couldn’t even get out of bed, then she had trouble understanding, and by the second week of January, she was gone.

I remember so clearly, the Friday before she passed away. My high school was gearing up for our annual Relay for Life event and we had a meeting for the whole school in the auditorium. It was a sort of review meeting, to go over what we had done last year and to see videos, and to explain to the Freshmen and new students of that year what Relay for Life was and why we did it. I stood up when one of the teacher’s giving a speech asked who had family members and friends close to them with cancer and then sat back down and when that same teacher started to talk about her own experience, well, I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I was sitting in the very last row of the auditorium, in the very middle. With friends on either side, I suddenly felt so trapped. I knew I wasn’t going to make it if I tried to squeeze past all of them to get out to the aisle, so I got up on my seat and jumped over it to the floor behind me. I ran out the doors. In the foyer outside, one of the substitute teachers was waiting for the meeting to be over, I guess I must have looked terrible because she asked me what was wrong and the next thing I knew I was sobbing in her arms telling her all of the horrible things I’d been living through for six years and how it’d just gotten so much worse in the past six months and that I didn’t know what to do anymore. How I just wanted to go home and see my Memere. How she was dying and there was nothing I could do about it.

To be honest, I’m not sure where I would have run to if she hadn’t caught me and expressed her concern. I probably would have ended up crying alone in the bathroom, stuck in my own misery until someone found me.

And then, my worst fear came true. I told my substitute teacher on Friday that my Memere was dying and that Sunday she passed away. That was probably the worst day of my life so far. I cried so much. I still do. It’s hard, losing someone you love. I’m not sure that you ever really do get over it. You keep loving them even though their gone, and that is okay. But I felt so lost after that. I became so tired of forcing myself to smile and pretending to be alright. When we went on our Senior Trip to Walt Disney World in Florida five months later, that was the first time I actually smiled and laughed and it wasn’t forced. I meant it.

And life seemed to get better after that. I graduated and was sad about it, but it was okay. I started college and for my second semester I went to work at Walt Disney World in Florida as a part of their Disney College Program. I made a new friend and he became my best friend. But when I came home, I don’t know why, but my panic attacks came back. Slowly at first, so I just thought that the OCD habits I was picking up were normal. But when I went back to do a second DCP the following year and the habits became excessive and the panic attacks became so frequent that I was calling my mother and crying to her every day, begging her to come home even though I had a month of my program left to complete, I knew something was wrong.

But I finished my program and my dad and younger brother picked me up and brought me back home. And I was okay again. The panic attacks subsided and the OCD dwindled to being barely noticeable. And then it was back again, so much worse than before. This time the OCD controlled me. I couldn’t do anything without doing it as a habit of so many counted steps, so many taps of my fingers, so many buttoning of the same button, or zippering of the same zipper, over and over and over again until I felt as though I was insane. And I often did question my sanity during this time. I swore I was going mental, that I’d have to be handled with extreme medical treatment. I was terrified!

And the panic attacks became paralyzing. I couldn’t speak or move or even think when I had one. Just the same flash of fear that I was going to die consumed me until suddenly my mother or brother came to my rescue, pulling me out of my stuck state, forcing me to interact with them, to talk to them, to explain what was wrong and what I was feeling.

By Christmas, after roughly eight months of going through this uncontrollable torture, of jeopardizing my job and school attendance because I couldn’t get out of the house in time because I was doing habits, of not going at all because I was having a breakdown, I told my parents I wanted to see a doctor. I ended up with a psychologist. He met me every week and spoke with me, gave me things to do to try and control my anxiety and OCD. And he recommended medication. But I’m stubborn. Medication was my largest concern of the whole thing. It was my worst nightmare coming true. I needed medical help and that was the last thing I wanted. Because, accepting medication as the answer meant that I wasn’t normal. That I couldn’t cope like every other normal human being could. That I was different and was going to be different for a very long time. In my eyes, it meant defeat, that I had let these anxieties and OCD habits take over my life, and I had lost.

It took a year for my psychologist and parents to convince me to even try taking medication. I was prescribed an SSRI (or a Selective Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitor), which helps to regulate the serotonin levels in your brain. And when I did, I felt sick for weeks. I didn’t go to school and I failed all of my classes from lack of attendance alone. I literally spent days dragging myself out of bed only to curl up in a ball on the couch and watch things to keep me happy and not focused on myself. Mostly, it was the Disney Channel.

And then, suddenly, I began to feel “normal” again. After taking the medicine for an entire year, I actually felt like my old, “normal” self again. Two years after taking it and I felt completely alright and expressed to my doctor that I wanted to ween off of the medication to see how I did without it now that I felt cured. They agreed and the process began. Originally up to 20mg of the SSRI, I dropped to a 10mg for 30 days and then 5mg for the following 30 days.

And now we’re back at present time. Precisely two weeks ago, I stopped taking my SSRI. Since then I have had two panic attacks. Both have been cope-able. The first was more tolerable than the one I had today. And it was today I realized that without the medication, they’re just going to get worse again. I can’t be a normal person without the medication. I can’t feel like a normal person taking the medication.

I feel so defeated.

I see my counselor about all of this tomorrow. I will start taking my SSRI medication again so that I can be myself, but what frustrates me the most is that I wasn’t like this when I was younger. My panic attacks didn’t begin until my Senior year of high school. My OCD didn’t start showing up with the panic attacks until two years after that. So why can’t I just be normal like when I was younger? The answer: I can’t. I will most likely be on this medication for the rest of my life and that’s disappointing. But if that means I can feel like my old self again with the help of the medication, then I have to learn to live with it.

That’s my update. Sorry it’s so long and deep and boring.

Look for my words again soon!

-Soleil

Helping the Homeless Again and a GoFundMe for Me

Good evening one and all!

I have been lectured by both of my (younger) brother’s for giving a homeless 20-year old boy a ride from the Taco Bell to the local diner down the street. I am a girl, I was alone (well, I had the dog with me), and I didn’t know the kid.

First, yes, I am a girl, but that is irrelevant. This kid needed a ride and that’s it. He didn’t look dangerous (and, yes, you can spout all of the “don’t judge a book by it’s cover” stuff, but I just had this vibe that he wasn’t going to be a bad guy, and you know what? He wasn’t). This poor kid is the same age as my youngest brother. Of course I’m going to give him a ride because it was freezing cold the other day thanks to all of the rain we’d been getting, and all he had was a tank-top and torn jeans. He even had the politeness of manners to introduce himself (his name was Ed) and ask if we could put the radio on because he missed listening to music (instead of just changing what I was listening to from my phone, which was movie soundtracks, by the way, haha!). Anyway, it was two miles down the road, and it was a cold and miserable day, so I gave him a ride to his destination and made it home alive.

I think it’s really sad that because of a lot of bad things that go on in the world, when people are confronted with something like this in their daily lives, they’d rather look the other way and pretend they don’t see these homeless people. That we make excuses that a majority of homeless people aren’t really homeless, but pretending. But what if that ONE kid or person that you turn away really IS HOMELESS? How would you feel then, if you really knew that and that when they asked for your help, you turned them away?

All I know is that if I was homeless, or if that kid had been my youngest brother, I would want help. If it was cold and all I wanted was a ride to somewhere I could go inside and sit to warm up for a bit, that’s all I’d like.

So, I helped the kid. I wasn’t murdered. I didn’t die. I dropped him off and gave him $3 so he could get a coffee or a soup from inside, and then I went on with the rest of my day. Heck, I even checked in the back of my car to see if I had a sweater I could give him! I didn’t and I wish I had. I went to the local Goodwill this week and bought two sweaters. If I see Ed again, I’m going to give them to him so he has something as the weather is getting colder, especially at night.

I have a feeling I’ll see him around town again. He’s the same person I gave those waters and granola bars to back in the summer. He was wearing the same clothes then as he was last week. I doubt he’s pretending. Even if he is, and you can call me gullible, at least my conscious feels satisfied that I helped another human being who asked for a favor and needed the assistance. I feel good about what I did and that is all I care about.

That is all…on that topic, anyway.

On to my second topic of the night!

As an art major, I find myself worrying more and more, as graduation from my university looms ever closer, that I will have great difficulty in finding work in my field of study. Despite this, I have no regret for choosing art, because it is what I love and I know that in time, I will get a job in this field, doing what I want to do.

However, after much discussion with my parents, I have decided that perhaps a “fall-back plan” would be essential, so that if I cannot find work immediately in my field, I can have something to do so I can pay back my college loans until I can get an art job. Because, let’s face it, I can’t keep doing odd-jobs for the rest of my life, and I certainly won’t be able to make enough money to pay off my college loans by doing said odd-jobs.

That being said, I have decided to become a Certified Massage Therapist because I have always been interested in natural medicine and remedies and I can help people with relieving their stress and sports/related injuries at the same time. The only problem is that the program to become certified is expensive. $5,500 expensive! So, I have set up a GoFundMe account. I’m not here to beg for you to give me money. All I want to say is that if you have a penny to spare, could you spare it to me? Benjamin Franklin said: “A penny saved is a penny earned” and I’d like to earn the use of this penny to stabilize myself after school.

I have a link below that will take you to my GoFundMe account page if you want to help:

http://www.gofundme.com/MassageTherapyFund

Thanks so much everyone!

Look for my words again soon!

-Soleil/Tara

(Because P.S.: At this point, you should know that my real name is Tara, because that’s the name I have on my GoFundMe. I chose to use the name Soleil for my blogging life because it’s the name my parents almost gave me and I think it’s adorable.)

Cheers!

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Hello. I’m the Doctor.

Hello one and all! I hope that you have been doing well! It’s been awhile since I’ve posted, but I’ve been up to some fun stuff!

Two weeks ago, I spent the weekend at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. The theme for that weekend was “Time Traveler Weekend”. So, of course I went and cosplayed as (my personal favorite) the 11th Doctor! Ta-da!:

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They even had the TARDIS at the Faire! I was so happy to find it and take photos with it! Then, there were so many other Whovians there, too! I wasn’t the only one, but then I didn’t think I would be with a themed weekend like “Time Travelers”. There were Weeping Angels, Daleks, even Van Gogh! Oh, and quite a few of the Doctor’s regenerations! I seriously had a blast and can’t wait to go and cosplay as the 11th Doctor again! It was so much fun! =D

Then there was my favorite part of the day: I made a 12 year old girl swoon. She was so excited to see me as the 11th Doctor that she said she could now die happy and started freaking out with her friend. It was so adorable! =P

Look for my words again soon!

tumblr_mlb666Ivyz1snil4go7_250Cheers!

-Soleil