Amanda Morones

My name is Amanda Nicole Morones, and just to get it out of the way please don’t ever call me ‘Mandy’ I really fucking hate it. Unless you’re my 74-year-old Big Momma back in Texas and then I guess you can, but I still kinda hate it to be honest.

In November 2018 I endured utter heartbreak. The kind where you sit crying, disgustingly wiping the snot that is pouring out of you onto the upholstery of your Jeep while blasting the soundtrack to ‘A Star is Born’  on repeat as the Priuses--yes multiple because they’re like cockroaches in LA-- slip past you while you try to figure out why you ever decided to open up your heart to another human being in the first place. And, I’ll be honest, in retrospect I don’t know if it was the breakup-that-wasn’t-a-breakup because even after 18 months, two family weddings, meeting his grandparents, and countless mini golf dates, we were never actually able to commit to anything real. Hello, current fucked up dating norms, thanks for that wake up call! Or maybe it was the existential dread of turning 28, when growing up I couldn’t, for some morbid reason, even fathom living past my teens but I was (and still am, as I’m writing this) depressed, anxious, overworked, under-stimulated, exhausted, lost, and on top of a million and one other things… lonely.

I am never truly alone. Honestly, I don’t think I have ever really let myself be alone, and that was entirely on purpose. But I am lonely. The kind of loneliness you don’t ever hear about, because of people like me. People who put on the brave face, smile through it, and are so good at deceiving anyone and everyone around them that they are perfectly okay, that they truly, fully convince themselves into believing it as well. The devastating truth is that this isn’t applicable to the age old concept of "fake it until you make it”. This is a form of deception that is hollow, void of any feasible realness, and ultimately of any notable escape. It’s as if my brain is constantly in a state of Stockholm Syndrome, except my abuser was, and is myself. That’s the fucked up part. I know it’s happening. Deep down, I know it and I have continued to do it-- to perpetuate the lie that I’m not a crumbling mess on the inside. Why? Because as hard as it is to “keep it together”, it is easier, even as I cry over my keyboard writing this, than admitting that there is a fucking monumental amount of shit that needs to change in my life.

I have spent the past few months taking a good hard look both at what has gone terribly wrong and undoubtedly right in this wildly exhausting and unpredictable life of mine. And in that introspective evaluation I found many faults that I was allowing my brain, and my environment, to perpetuate. Let’s start with the fact that I’m battling with the difficult concept that not everyone is always going to like me, and that is entirely not my fault. Let me say this for myself, and anyone reading:You can’t make someone like you, much less love you, and that’s okay. You should never have to, and feeling the need to is something that many people deal with. Now here’s the part where I repeat that fact a few times everyday until I actually believe it. I’ve also been working on the everyday reality that I subconsciously avoid mirrors so I don’t have to see my own reflection because, despite losing over 100lbs, I still disgust myself. I’m learning to accept the love, both platonic and romantic, that I deserve. I’m coming to terms with the fact that for so many years, since I can really remember I’ve always worked towards being who, and what I thought I should be, instead of realizing who and what I actually want to be and in the end… undeniably, am.

All that brings me-- and you-- to this. After I lost my voice belting “Always Remember Us This Way” and sobbing until I literally rubbed my contacts out of my eyes, I decided to make a list. A list, specifically, comprised of all the things and experiences and places that I’ve always wanted to do and visit and see-- starting in Los Angeles. These are adventures and interests that I never pursued or prioritized because I was so busy trying to survive for so long that I forgot what thriving actually was. So what is this website? This is me… trying to learn to live in truth again. This is me picking myself back up, and instead of plastering on a fake smile and charging forward as if I’m not a discombobulated emotional and physical wreck, I’m letting my mask slip and testing out who I could be for once. I’m searching for a time that I was honest with myself and everyone else around me, and I’m asking you to join me on this journey. Maybe, just maybe, I can help someone who feels lost like me see that they aren’t alone. If I can do that, all of this heartbreak just might be worth something in the end.

I know it all might seem a little a cliché. Believe me when I say that critique isn’t lost on me. But at the end of the day, why not dust off that camera I’ve been too scared to pick up for so long and go on some kind of adventure? I asked myself that a lot over the course of the past few months and I couldn’t come up with a good excuse not to try. despite my world renowned stubbornness, you may be shocked to find that making a decision doesn’t always come so natural to me. But I decided that 2019 will be the year that I finally come up hungry for air. I have been holding myself underwater, under depression blankets, under self deprecation, deflection, anger, my all consuming career, and men who take all of their insecurities out on me because I let them. And upon reflecting on all of that I finally just said, screw this. In the end, I choose… me.  Now let’s go meet her, shall we?

***UPDATE: 2020 happened and the previously mentioned adventure turned into more of a staycation filled with binge watching and ending with new obsessive love with pottery and acrylic pour painting. Stay tuned…