I got myself a blog, just like all of the other creative Generation Myspace kids out there in the intarwebz.
Well, I guess we should start with an introduction. I’m Caitlin.
I was born and raised in Southern California, in Orange County mainly. I grew up basically in Disneyland, or pretty damned close to it–I spent most of my weekends as a kid inside the gates, and when I wasn’t there, I lived close enough so I could hear the fireworks every night.
I was sort of a troubled kid in terms of emotional issues, but I hear that’s common in kids who dealt with multiple homes and multiple families–as in, my parents were divorced. For the first seven years of my life, my mom and I lived with my grandparents, and I would visit my father every weekend. My mom got married when I was seven, and then she and I and my new stepdad moved to another part of the city I had grown up in. I then was spending time at my house during the week, and every other weekend was with my father then my grandparents, respectively. I was treated differently by each parental figure, so I didn’t really have stability in terms of discipline, nor was I around long enough in each place to really adjust to that treatment. In spite of that, I credit my grandparents with raising me and planting the seeds of who I would become later in life.
Within a year or so, the trips to my father’s became more infrequent, and finally I stopped seeing him altogether. My last memory of him is hanging out with him in my grandparents’ house after he had taken me to 7-11 for snacks and the junk food I associated with his house. He had gotten me trail mix, the kind with not only nuts and rasins but M&M’s in there also. I mentioned that I liked the M&M’s the best, and I was eating those the most…and he told me that if I ate too many, I would get fat. Just like that, I had an image problem. I was eight.
A few years later, my mom and her second husband filed for divorce. I was told that they just wanted to be friends, that they were better off that way, that my stepdad was going to stay in my life. The last time I saw him was my eleventh birthday when he took me to Knott’s Berry Farm on a rainy day and we rode Ghost Rider five or six times. I recall him dropping me off at my mom’s place and then him meeting my mom’s boyfriend, who was coming over more and more frequently. Even at the oblivious age of 11, I thought it was an awkward meeting. A few months later–when I wasn’t there, I suppose, since I didn’t remember it at all–he moved in. My mom was pregnant. In February of 2002, my sister was born. My mom and her third husband were married the month before in a courthouse ceremony that I didn’t attend.
I started middle school just like every other girl, full of self loathing. I was lucky enough to keep most of the friends I had in elementary school, and I made a good amount of new friends. Seventh grade was the year I met who was to become my best friend, Adri, along with a solid group of people I had only minor dramas with. This was also the year I had my first boyfriend, the first in a long line of relationships that would last between a day and three months. This one lasted a month, and he mooned over me for another three. I had moved on to moon over someone else.
The following year was just as good, with my same and expanding group of friends in all of my classes. We had suddenly gotten a group of guys attatched to the group–rather welcome, considering that our group was populated mostly by guys. Here then was my first truly serious crush, something that never happened between me and this boy. I instead ended up dating his friend, who was my first long[ish]-term boyfriend. We started high school together, but it didn’t last, and he ended up dating a friend of mine–no longer a friend after they got together as I wasn’t quite over him yet–for the entirity of high school. I, instead, dated numerous and various people over the same period of time.
When I was 16, I found out that my father had passed, and we moved to the house that was now mine. I had to change high schools right after my junior year started, and I had a hard time making friends until the almost end of the school year. I had already been dealing with emotional issues since I was 13, but my 16th and 17th years were by far my most difficult. I gave up on school, forgoing my AP and honors classes because I was lazy and didn’t care about anything anymore. I was very focused on image that year, and I was not only dieting but dressing like a whore. I know that now, but at the time I thought I was just taking advantage of what I had–even at the time, I didn’t think it was very good, but I was working with it. My skin was really bad, my fashion sense even worse, and worst of all, I didn’t have a clue about it.
The summer between my junior and senior year was promising in many ways. I became very close with a slightly older guy, James, who I had strong feelings for, but ultimately we remained just friends. Later, I rekindled a romance with an old boyfriend, and I spent a lot of time with Adri and my best friend from my new school, Ali.
I went to my first jazz festival that summer and saw a musician–a young guy–who I was attracted to. After ending it with the old flame months later, the musician somehow found me online–we met at a San Diego jazz fest and I fell for him hard. He was kind and handsome, and I throught there was a future, in spite of it being a severely long distance relationship. He would express doubts in his feelings for me about once a month, and I repeatedly told him that until we saw each other again, we should just hold on as a little bit closer as friends. He broke up with me in March of my senior year, 2008. At first I was desperate to win him back–going so far as to cave and get a Facebook page to remain close with him– but I finally gave up and gave in to my anger.
I thought I was happy during the time that we were together, but in retrospect, I know that I was really unhappy. He was quick to anger, extremely jealous, and would often be excessively defensive if I brought up the more than friendly comments that would appear on his Myspace from other girls around the country. If it weren’t for James talking me through my misery every night, and for everyone else who was supportive in saying that I was better off without this Benny Goodman wannabe, I don’t know where I would have been emotionally at the end of my senior year.
In late April of 2008, while on a Facebook app known as Social Me, I met a guy who lived rather locally to me and only a couple of years older. We started talking, more and more, until we finally decided that we were a couple and that we were in love. Meeting him (Michael, my Michael) confirmed this, and I knew it was love–real, true, deep, undeniable love–when we first kissed. My parents found out I met him in person a week and a half before I was to graduate, and they were furious. It was understandable, I had decided to meet a stranger I had only know from the internet (and the phone, haha) which could potentially be unsafe. However, this guy was who he said he was, and my family finally gave in to that fact and allowed me to date him.
Bewteen graduation and the present, nothing has really changed. I started college a semester late as an art student, and I’ve developed a lot of hobbies that killed time when I wasn’t at school, my Michael’s house (and right now, we’ve been together almost 14 months), or hanging out with friends. Those hobbies include cooking–baking mostly, cupcakes are my favorite–jewelry making, and sewing. I no longer look at things in stores and think “Wow, I want to buy that!” but instead think “Hey, I bet I could make that myself!”
This was a lot longer than I anticipated. If you’ve read through all of this, I commend you. I don’t forsee any of the rest of these posts being as long as this one, thankfully, and they should be about things that aren’t quite as personal and…long. No, not this long. This is longer than the longest essay that I’ve ever written, haha.