You Can Have My Laptop But You Can't Take My Crop Tops! How I Was Burglarized

It's a sucky feeling when you have things stolen from you. Sometimes these can be retrieved but most of the time you'll never get these things back. Virginity included. Poof. Gone. Forever. And you never really think about it until it actually happens. I don't think I, or anyone else for that matter, wake up and think "Hmm, I think I'm going to get robbed today!" The constant routine one has prevents the idea of such a terrible thing happening. But it happens more often than you would think. And it happened to me...yesterday. (And no, I’m not talking about my virginity…that treasure chest was smuggled by an evil mermaid a long time ago. Ahoy, mates!)
 

I started my week off on a decent note. I turned my work computer on to see an e-mail from Thought Catalog about my submission being posted onto the site. My first ever. I wasn't expecting it. The praise from my friends was really appreciative and despite the depressing nature of the post, I was happy to know my support system enjoyed my writing. I worked my typical 9-5 job, went to the gym, and walked home like I always do. Until I noticed one of the locks on my door was unlocked. I ALWAYS lock my deadbolt. Always. So I figured when I push the door open, the deadbolt would stop it from opening all the way. Nope. Deadbolt was unlocked too.

There, on my couch laid the remnants of a backpack he/she/they took along with my laptop (5k+ music files), iPod (same said music files), watch (Marc Jacobs), my mother's engagement ring (crying), my grandmother's gold pinky ring (CRYING), and some earrings (whatever, Forever 21) I had in a small wooden box on top of my dresser. All of the old student IDs, gift cards, and expired insurance cards I kept in an old wallet inside my dresser drawer were spread across my bed. They even took the liberty of taking all the coins out of the same wallet. Down to the last coin those fuckers went.

I noticed my back window, which I would keep ajar to let air circulate through, had gross hand prints all over that wall. So I assume it was team job since the window had to have been more than 6 feet above the ground outside. Someone must've been hoisted up inside, moved the window screen and then buzzed an accomplice in through my front door, hence it being unlocked when I came home. The initial feeling was complete confusion and shock. I had no idea where to even begin, but I took a quick scan of where they searched and quickly realized they took the things of most value.

 

Phew! My crop tops are still here. That's good. Oh, and that sundress from Australia. Awesome, still here, I thought. But my family heirlooms and my beloved, extensive music library that I treated like my child were taken. Realizing this, I paced the room, and I started slightly hyperventilating as I dialed my mom’s number. My voice was shaking, hell, my whole body kind of shook just from seeing all of my shit all over the place. Even I don’t make that much of a mess when I come home wasted after I night out.

The culprit(s) went all out, going through my personal things, being in an apartment that is MY intimate space, and taking what they could while I was gone. It's almost scary knowing that. Actually, it's fucking terrifying. I did all of the necessary steps: called the police, called my landlord, called my mom, called my best friend who lived nearby, ran a police report, had detectives come over to dust for prints, and scheduled things for my landlord to fix, and drank three glasses of red wine. I slept at my best friend's place that night. Just knowing I would be sleeping in the middle of crime scene alone sounded a little creepy. Feeling as if I couldn't bring people over after having something happening like this made me feel anxious. How would anyone feel safe here after knowing something like this? I thought. Wondering if it would happen again gave me nightmares.

I spent the rest of the evening accepting the fact that those material things and I had to part ways. It was unfortunate obviously but the most important thing about all of this was that I wasn't there while it was happening. Whether it was a group of kids with nothing better to do or just a bunch of lousy drug-hyped creeps finding things to pawn off for their next fix, who knew what they could've or would've done if I was there in my bra and underwear frying eggs on my stove top and playing techno music on blast.

The reality of the situation is that these things happen everywhere. I wasn't even the first person in my building that it happened to - the police officer who came over told me about the same thing happening upstairs a few weeks ago. I thank God that I didn't get hurt. My family and friends who found out and called/texted to see if I was okay reminded me of how sacred life really is. Knowing that you're cared about like that is a good feeling, and that's something even the grimiest of smugglers can't steal.

On a lighter note, I was texting my friend while the detective was dusting for fingerprints and I had a laundry rack with some bras and other delicate garments that were hanging there drying and this was the exchange:

Me: My laundry is hanging in the kitchen. Great they know what kind of bras I wear.

Her: Hahaha I'm sure they've seen worse

Me: Well my old vibrator was sprawled out on my couch when they searched thru my backpack so the robber knows I'm into that shit

Her: Hahahahaha

As the great Vince Vaughn said in Wedding Crashers: "LOCK IT UP!"

 

We Will Never Stop Learning

This is the first time I've written in about eight months. I heard somewhere that writing when you're sad is actually therapeutic but that could be a topic for debate. Everyone has their own way of coping. Mine so happens to be writing. Or at least I thought it was. My last post was from last December and I'm not too sure what I'd written (because I'm too embarrassed to look at it now) but I still have an idea of how I felt and it wasn't great. It's as if I have glimpses of what happened still playing in my head but the record is kind of scratchy. Overall, the feeling I felt back then is still remembered. And I think overtime, I learned how to cope without writing about whatever was bothering me. Or maybe I was just too sad to write. It doesn't really matter what happened in the past because I'm writing now and I'm talking to absolutely no one and I'm writing furiously for absolutely no fucking reason about writing when you're sad.

So back to what I was talking about...

I recently read a Thought Catalog article called There is Beauty In Learning by Monica Stout. To sum up the post (and to force you to take time out of your busy schedule to actually read the damn thing), it basically captured the God-awful truth to a lot of things we hold so close to our hearts...yeah, I'm talking about that thing called l-o-v-e. Gross. Just kidding. But it really said in an honest, sincere way that sometimes love is heartbreaking and all that bullshit about wanting things we can't have is actually quite true. And it's something we learn from no matter how good or bad the situation was.

As much as we want to constantly be hopeful for positive things in our future, sometimes we still hold onto the past because we cherished those times so much. At least the good parts that is. We're so blinded by all of the amazing things that happened that we fail to see the things that went wrong. We think we can't get it ever again or that no one loves us or will love us. And that what happened is a set in stone kind of thing (when sometimes it always isn't). I honestly think (and when I say "honestly" it's because I'm not feeling like shit at the moment) these moments of sadness or hopelessness stem from the fear of starting over. Back to the drawing board. Not knowing what the fuck to do, where to start, how to cope, or to even get out of bed. I feel like an asshole because there are so many other people in the world that have a reason to not get out of bed: a loved one dying, having an unwanted miscarriage, or just having a legit case of depression. And here I am, feeling like an infant not knowing how to even function because I'm so sad.

As much as I hear it from my friends, this kinda stuff takes time. It's an epic hangover of feeling like your heart just got ran over and now it's in the street and you can't really scrape it off the pavement because there's too much traffic. Sorry for the gruesome imagery but you get the idea.

And yeah, maybe I'm one of those types of people that just feel "way too much" over the littlest things and I'm certainly not one to get over things quickly or take bad news lightly when first told. But I don't think that's a bad thing. I could easily have other worse qualities like not having any feelings at all over someone I've hurt, or doing things out of spite or to seek revenge; all things that would seem normal or a way of coping with pain, but I know in my heart is so wrong to do so I don't.

I've learned after heartbreaking instances that in order to actually get over something that hurts so much, is to almost face it like a fear. I've let myself sit in my own pain for periods of time when I didn't know how to handle it. It's like watching a scary movie to get over the fact that the Boogie Man doesn't actually exist under your bed or if you chant "Bloody Mary" three times, she won't appear out of thin air and eat you. It's almost like allowing yourself to feel like shit and realizing that shitty feeling is real and it won't go away until you've accepted it. And there are so many things that happened in my life that unfortunately I had to accept, no matter how many times I've been told differently (this is where you should probably read the link above). And this is a process that I'm going through now. It's like I'm facing demons of reality that are so hard to accept but it's almost like I have to in order to move on, or to at least get out of bed in the morning at a more decent time without thinking to myself "here's to another day of feeling shit so just try to survive it."

Sometimes the answers to our simple questions will never be known. People can easily walk away and wash their hands clean of a situation without ever dealing with it, only leaving the other parties involved with the mess to clean up. Sometimes love will last and other times it was only experienced for a fleeting moment, a moment which a lot of us wished would have lasted forever. Closure is something only hoped for but never always guaranteed. Sitting down and talking about feelings is something people just don't have time to do anymore and that isn't anyone's fault.

There are so many things I wish to know but I'll never get the answers to. I've learned to accept that. Or at least I'm TRYING to accept it. I'll still go through up and downs and twists and turns and never know the reason as to what it is all happening. And I'll never know why things happen the way they do - that's just life. That's the hardest thing about life.

One thing one of my best friends Tori told me a few weeks ago is "there's no reason for you to go through it alone." And she was absolutely right. So although I'm the one who's dealing with whatever is making me feel sad, I'm surrounding myself with probably the best people in my life who I never needed this badly before. At the same time, these amazing people that I rely on so much will not always be available when I'm going through a tough time because they have lives too and other loved ones to take care of.

This is the part where facing monsters called "fear," "anxiety," "uncertainty," and "sadness" have to be fought all on one's own. And it's monsters like these that you'll have to fight either one by one (think of it like different levels of your favorite video game...that's the nerd in me) or all at the same time. In the past, I'd use to suppress these feelings with distraction - alcohol, going out, seeking attention from people I didn't really want attention from but knew I could get it, and literally any other way that would erase any thought of whatever it was that was bothering me. But these were just temporary fixes. Because sooner or later, I'd find myself all alone and not knowing what to do. And that's where I really would panic. Because the last thing you want to do is deal with something you didn't wanna deal with. We were taught "the easy way out" in most situations. But as I've grown up and gone through heartbreak after heartbreak, I've realized that running away from a painful experience and not accepting it and letting yourself heal from it will only bring you back to the situation from where you started. It's like running laps and not knowing when is the race is actually over.

I still forget to breathe somedays and other times I'll get bursts of energy and motivation to feel absolutely optimistic only to be followed by a few seconds of worry and doubt of what's to happen in the future. But this is all part of the process; all part of MY process.

So I'm still learning to relax and let go. I'm still learning to accept things out of my control. I'm still learning to love people despite what they've done to me or to my self-worth. I'm still learning to be confident and to be able to stand alone when I have nowhere else to go. I'm still learning to be completely alone sometimes especially when it's scary. I'm still learning to hope again that one day everything I've ever wanted for myself will fall into place at the right time and in the right moment. Learning to accept that I will not know when that time is, is probably the most important thing to learn from all of this.