I’m still not sure how blogs work. I’m not necessarily sure what to write, how to write, or how often to write. I sometimes fear that my life may not be as interesting as I would hope to write about. I mean, it’s not like all I do is sit around and do nothing and eat away my problems every day. Some days I’ll go out. Take a stroll. Attempt a cartwheel. Those kinds of things. – But I think about it and I’m like… How the fuck am I suppose to write about that?
Something interesting about me that I don’t think a lot of people understand is that I don’t feel like I need to be doing something in order to be happy. I enjoy sitting at home and cutting up magazines, trying to successfully spell the word “restaurant” and blaring music while laying on my bedroom floor and staring up at the ceiling pretending I’m in a Tame Impala music video. I know a lot of people that feel like the only way to feel value in their lives is to always be with their friends and not really realizing the subconscious pressure of the unrealistic expectation that they feel to constantly be having the time of their lives on like… A Tuesday. Like, no Issac, we don’t need to “Hit up In-N-Out” and go off-roading in your Honda Civic for 45 minutes. You’re destroying your car, Issac. This isn’t fun. It’s denial! madness!
But listen… If you just so happen to be like that, hell yeah! I’m not saying I don’t strive to make the best memories while I can, I just don’t go out of my way every day to make sure something super eventful happens. And listen, if you just so happen to be that person, I’m not saying I’m necessarily “Superior” or “Wiser” or “Way more extraordinarily intellectual” or anything like that. I’m just saying that if someone were to say that… I’m not here to argue that and will most likely, absolutely, agree. In the most humble way possible, of course. BUT, I wasn’t always like this. No, sir. Definitely took some of that good-ole-fashioned adolescent trauma. The thing is… Highschool was absolutely ASS.
I spent a fat majority of my higschool experience walking through the halls with headphones in like a total douche bag, playing word games on my phone, and in the library during lunch pretending I was doing something productive when I really just googled random shit every day to make it come off like I wasn’t a complete and total friendless loser pretty much every single day until the end of my junior year when I finally got my car and could drive myself home for lunch and try not to eat a glass and razor blade sandwich every single day until graduation.
Now, I won’t lie… Moving from the place you’ve grown up your whole life right in the crack of the buttcheeks of your ninth summer into your sophomore year of highschool is… Scary. Exciting, sure. But scary. And Ass. Definitely, definitely, ass. I used to be a very sociable person with a lot of friends and a high self esteem back in like, junior high, you know…. The simpler times. Back when choir was a mandatory class and girls waxed their eyebrows to look like thin Nike signs, having side bangs was a LOOK as well as DEEP eyeliner and of course, probably the most iconic fashion statement between 8-12 year olds… The “I love boobies” rubber wristbands. Because, boobies.
In highschool, I developed social anxiety which tripped me out like crazy and really screwed up my self confidence. I kind of lost who I was. Or maybe , was unsure? I couldn’t keep conversation. I would stumble over my words. And it didn’t help that it was highschool, either, because literally every conversation I had was with some shady, head-ass girl trying to talk shit on someone else or some dude tryna waste my time. I’m not sure why I was cursed with this. So, I mostly kept to myself. I didn’t really bother too many people. But still, somehow, some way, my car was keyed four times, my house egged one, and my self-esteem dropped about 50 million times. I was sort of a loser. And when I say sort of, I mean like, really really, kind of a loser. Tragic, I know. It’s okay to cry, really. I didn’t. Not that much. So you can cry for me.
And now, my confidence is pretty high not that I am out of the toxic wasteland that was my highschool. and you know , I’m doin pretty well for myself. I’m still living at home, I have two jobs that only pay minimum wage, a car that guzzles 8 miles per gallon, and a Doterra oil diffuser with no oils to put in it. But like, I’m doing okay guys. I have a gym membership I pay $9 a month for and never use BUT it’s okay !! I keep on my lanyard to make it appear that do workout and take care of myself (Just incase).
Long story short, I had to learn how to be okay by myself. How to find things to do that I enjoy. I got into modeling. I can finally complete the Napoleon Dynamite dance all the way through. I can got to movies and put as much salt on my popcorn as I want. I’ve almost learned how to roller skate backwards and I’ve just recently memorized the first verse of The Real Slim Shady. How am I doing? Great.
In all seriousness though, social anxiety is a real thing and I know what it’s like to feel sort of trapped within yourself. I still do, sometimes. And here’s the thing, so far, I know for a fact, 100% of the people that are reading this blog are one of two things: A. – Someone who follows me on Instagram or B. – Someone that follows my mom on Facebook because she shares these to her profile to show her friends that yes, Karlee, her most unproductive daughter actually does do things sometimes. Even though technically I’m laying in bed in my jammies eating Boom-Chicka-Pop… So maybe it isn’t the exact *Textbook* definition of the word “productive”… MOM I CAN DO STUFF OKAY!!
My point is, is that if you’re reading this, you know me. Somehow. And somehow, I’ve found that people who “know” me, especially through social media, think that I may possibly be like… Cool. Like, a cool, relatable, and possibly sociable person and I just need to let you guys know that is just not true. I just need everyone to know that real quick. I know I sometimes post cool photos, or “relatable” stories, and I have a decent amount of followers but I’ve struggled a lot in becoming who I am today. Which is a bad ass who is almost about roller-skate circles around the haters. Backwards. Almost.
I know a good amount of my followers kinda look up to me and think it’s cool that I model but I just felt like I needed to remind you guys that not everything you see on social media makes up a person. And it’s okay to fit in, and it’s okay to not fit in. It’s okay to go off roading in your Honda Civic and it’s okay to spend the night at home by yourself. I remember thinking it was the end of the world if I didn’t have plans for the night. But life is so much more than stressing about what your next move is. It’s all about just boogie boarding the wave, baby.
KARLEEANA 