If You Believe In Something Beautiful, Then Get Up And Be It.

My humor is one of my best qualities. That and my optimism. No matter what shitty situation I'm in, I manage to always find a way to crack and joke and look on the bright side. It could be worse, couldn't it? It could always be worse.

That being said, I have real problems too. Sure, I like to dwell on the ones that are, in the long run, more insignificant: Ah, man, I don't have a boyfriend. Man, I wish I could have a good time without drinking. Dang, I wish I had more time to write what's in my head. Those things don't matter. At the end of the day, yes, I've got no one to kiss, I drink a little more often than I should, and even though I write every day, I still have more ideas in my head than there are hours to get them out.

But there are problems that have more gravity than any of that, problems that don't go away, problems that make "looking on the bright side" nearly impossible.

I don't like to talk about it because, let's face it, it's not a topic most want to hear but I've struggled with eating disorders for more than half my life. There's no one reason for this. I can't blame it on my parents or on ballet class or on being fat because I've always been a twig of a thing. In fact, right now, at 5'6" and 120 pounds, I'm the heaviest I've ever been in my life. For the most part, I'm okay with that but the fact of the matter is that I have very literal skeletons in my closet and they haunt me every time I get dressed, every time I get undressed, every time I look in the mirror.

I started out an anorexic in middle school, skipping lunches and eventually weaning myself off dinner as well, before graduating to bulimia after high school ended. Why? Well, there are two reasons: The first of which is control. It was a very rough time in my life and I was doing every self-destructive thing possibility outside of drug use and promiscuous sex (In fact, I was fairly chaste up until the past few years) and I was already barely eating a stitch, so why not? I remember the first time I purged. I'd eaten spaghetti. And I got in a fight with my mom. Angrily, I locked myself in the bathroom and slid two fingers down the throat. It didn't take much. In fact, I was alarmed at how easy it was.

That started a slippery slope that lead me to, at my worst, weigh just over 80 pounds and not have the energy to get out of bed. At my best, I could function. I could go out with friends, I could muster up energy for late night coffee excursions and I could laugh and I could smile and I could pretend nothing was wrong.

The second reason behind my descent into bulimia was body dysmorphia. Sure, I'm a pretty girl now but if I was in high school and college, I didn't see it. Crippling shyness kept me from associating with people much and the physical Amber that existed in my head was not the physical Amber that existed in tangible reality. Of course, I didn't know that. And no one knew what I thought of myself, what I was doing, so how could any one help?

If you'd have asked me two weeks ago, I would have told you I was recovered but the truth is that I might never recover. Relapse is always inevitable and I always feel split in two - The half of me that doesn't care how much she weighs so long as she's happy, the half that wants to smile and live life with fervor and do all the things that, on a normal day, I do. But the other half is harder. Happiness be damned. She wants to starve.

Reconciling those two halves is harder than one could ever imagine and I hate myself for what I've done, for starting a bratty battle of wills more than ten years ago that has worn the enamel off my teeth, that has thinned my hair, that has irreprably damaged my body so badly that I'll probably never be able to carry a fetus to term. I've done awful things, to others, to myself. I've barraded myself away from everyone I love, I've shut out friends, I've ruined relationships, I've starved myself, I've purged until there was nothing but bile in my body and then I've eaten molded food just to make myself puke more. What I've done has left scars on my knuckles and has given my mouth a bacteria count so high that I have to brush my teeth four to five times days. It's left my self esteem in the proverbial gutter to this day.

I'll never feel as beautiful as I am. I'll never be able to look at a picture of myself and see how gorguous my eyes are, how pretty my smile is, how long my legs are. Instead, I'll only see the fat on my arms, my abhorable thighs, and the gut that in reality is non-existent but in my mind is ever prevelant.

For the longest time, I thought no one could understand. Then, in 2002, Ted Leo and the Pharmacists released Shake the Sheets.

Ted Leo & The Pharmacists - Me & Mia

If I could thank any one person for what they've done for me, it would be Ted Leo. "Me and Mia" might be the one song that has affected my life the most. Each lyric seems tailor fit to my situation - I've done everything Leo describes in the song: "Cigarettes and speed for livin', sleeping pills to feel forgiven."

When Leo sings "If you believe in something beautiful, then get up and be it", I want to. I want to fight with all my will against myself and I want to leave behind the crutches I've held on to for so long. I want to be healthy. I want to be happy. And I know that if I relapse again, there's probably no coming back.

Simply put, I don't want to die.

I'm not saying it's hopeless. In fact, I'm full of hope. One day, I'll be healthy. One day, I'll be able to say I'm recovered and mean it. One day, I'll be able to count on one hand how many times I've purged in the past year.

But until then, I am trying. And that's all I can do.

Would You Ever Be My Fucking Boyfriend?

Tonight I saw a boy. Alright, so I see a lot of boys, be they friends, strangers, whatever but tonight, I saw one of the few boys that actually, for some strange reason, has a place in my heart. I didn't love him. I didn't know him well enough to love him. But I think, if things had been different, I could have loved him. It certainly seemed that way, a while back, when things were new and different and filled with an optimistic potential that's been severely lacking in my life in recent months.

Sadly, the boy in question wasn't in my life very long. But letters, mix cds, late night phone conversations, a memorable evening spent on my future roommate's loveseat, and sitting on the back porch smoking cigarettes as the sun rose all saw that the slightly younger, very pretty fella was kept in the back of my mind, even after he stopped talking to me.

It's a sore subject - The whole "he stopped talking to me" thing. I don't think I ever talked about it with anyone, other than a brief overview, taking the high road and saying that the distance was just too much, it wasn't feasible, we'd still be friends, that it just didn’t work out. It’s out of character for me to shy away from a subject, to not put poetic flourishes on the sad truth to try to make everything sound like a beautiful narrative straight form a rough draft of a Salinger novel. The truth of the matter was that it hurt then, when he stopped talking to me, and I'd known for months that I was going to see him tonight. I was dreading it. I was expecting it to be awkward. I was expecting him to ignore me. I was expecting him to treat me as if I wasn't worth his time, as if I wasn't there at all. None of what I expected, however, came to fruition. Instead, his kind words, his tousled hair and half smile coupled with the same demeanor that attracted me to him in the first place, was all still there. It was like nothing had changed. He was sweet. Of course he was. That's why I liked him so much.

It was just like nothing had changed.

Only everything had.

We didn't have time to talk for more than ten minutes, despite being in the same loud, dim room for hours and when I got home, I wrote the following words: "I can’t help but feel like I missed a great opportunity so far as he’s concerned. And there’s really nothing I can do about it other than suck it up and move on." Immediately, however, I realized that I was wrong. I can do something other than "suck it up and move on". You see, I don't at all feel like I'm going out on a limb saying that the fella in question is the last - perhaps only - genuinely sweet, remarkable guy I've had in my life. As any of my roommates or friends will be quick to point out, I have a tendency to go for "douches" with "less than honorable intentions". And you may have noticed from recent blogs that I'm not into that anymore. I want to like someone. And currently, I do.

So taking what I learned from the situation with the boy that I saw tonight and the situation with the boy I like right now, I think I've realized that I need to just be straight up and, when the moment's right, tell a certain fella that I would very much like him to be my boyfriend.


The Bird and The Bee - Fucking Boyfriend


The prospect of this conversation terrifies me more than I can put into words.

And the fact that I should probably be at least mostly sober for this conversation makes a strong wave of unshakable queasiness come over me.

I've never asked anyone to be my boyfriend before. The closest I've ever come is asking someone to make out with me and the repercussions of that were more traumatic for many friendships than I can say. Asking someone to be my boyfriend, even just admitting to them that that's where my intentions lie, is nerve wracking. But I know for a fact that the regret I would feel if I chickened out would be a million times worse than the rejection that would bum me out for a few weeks.

Things with that one boy might not have worked out. But I tried. And I'm going to give this new one my all.

...Even though it might make writing about his band REAL awkward if things don't go my way.

Note To Self: Suck Less.

It seems like there's one constant in my life. Drinking? Scamping? Flightiness? Well, yes... But also mainly no. I was referring to "Fucking up". Yep, it's gonna be one of those blogs so the best thing you could probably do at the moment is exit out of this blog. Hit the back button. Scroll down. Close the tab, for the love of god. I know that I should just hush but let's face it - It's late and no one other than the internet is around to hear me bitch so I might as well get it off my chest.

You see, the fact of the matter is that I genuinely want to be less of a fuck up. I just don't know how. This summer alone, I've endangered friendships, I've endangered careers, and now I'm looking back over my decisions in recent days thinking "Oh fuck, what if I ruin that friendship too? Or THAT one? What have I done?!"

I wish I could say shit to some boys and get things off my chest but I can't, either because I'm too chicken or... Well, mainly that. For instance, boy #1 ought to know that by cutting off all contact with me, he bummed me out enough, not because I wanted to date him but rather because I wanted to be friends with him and there's nothing I hate more than losing friends. So he already traumatized me, right? So he doesn't have to ruin our mutual friendships too. Bachelor #2 would get a huge appology because I never thought the reprecussions through of asking him to make out. If I could alter it, I would, but I can't and I just hope he doesn't dislike me, even though he probably should. The third of these fellas wouldn't get an apology or a barbed comment. Instead, I'd just give him the heads up that if I fucked things up on that front by being a drunk mess in recent weekends, I'll do anything to undo it. I'd also let him know that out of all the guys I made out with this summer, he was top notch. But I don't think I can say that without sounding slutty...

In reality, I'm just coming out a three day bender and it'll clear up in no time and my spirits will return to form. I know this. What I also know, however, is that I don't want to be 30 and still getting sloppy wasted every weekend, matching people who have a much higher tolerance than me drink-for-drink in addition to still being able to say "I've never had a serious boyfriend and I'm emotionally unavailable! I'm a winner!"

So here. I'm making a concerted effort from this point forward to do the following things:

1. Scamp less. Why don't I have a boyfriend? Probably because I don't know how to say the words "I like you" so I just make out instead. Not the most ace first impression, right?

2. Throw caution to the wind and be brave. C'mon, Valentine. You are a spunky, tenacious, and vibrant girl. But none of that counts for shit if you can't straight up tell a boy that you like him. You're not 12 - Putting the Bird and the Bee's "Fucking Boyfriend" on a mix cd isn't gonna cut it this time. Man up and say "I swear I'm not such a drunk mess usually, I'm sorry I passed out in your bed and don't remember if we made out or not, and I think we should date." DO GOOD.

3. Take the "un" out of "emotionally unavailable! Also known as "Operation be less like Kim Pine and even more like Ramona Flowers".

4. Please start remembering more of your evening and don't puke so much. It's unbecoming.

C'mon champ. Stop relating to EVERY Lightning Love song so much and listen to slightly less National. YOU CAN DO IT!

Lightning Love - Wait, Wait

It Seems So Strange That There'd Be A Drum Inside My Chest.

I think, when I look back at this point in my life, I'm going to be able to do two things. First off, I'm going to be able to say "Goddamn, I am SO GLAD I got over that one guy. Because he was a douche to me." And secondly (and more importantly), I'm going to be able to pinpoint the exact moment everything changed.

The thing is that they're changing already but I'm not counting this whole shift as a win just yet because, as someone very wise once said, "Change is hard". Wait, that's a She and Him song and I'm not quite sure if Zooey "I'm Quirky and Indie!" Deschanel is wise. But whatever, you get the point. Change is hard. Change is scary. I could very easily get half way into "changing" and decide "Fuck this shit, I'm going to get drunk and do something very stupid, like I usually do!" Because stupidity, for me, has a comfortable familiarity. To quote Lightning Love, I can't help having a good time. And for me, a good time usually requires more beer than I should drink and the occasional (or not so occasional) drunken make out sesh with a stranger or two... Or three. Or four. Listen, I'm not proud of my past. But I did have fun. And I didn't contract a single bout of mouth herpes yet!

But something's been looming over me for the better part of 2010 and that something has been the nerve wracking idea of settling down.

I'm not saying I want to get married and start a family. I'm the very definition of commitment-phobic, going so far in the past to cancel dates last minute out of fear they'd go good and I'd be "stuck" with someone that would impede me in the long run. Plus, I don't like babies and the thought of weddings make me so queasy that I can taste bile in the back of my throat. Basically, what I'm saying is that I'm 26 years old and I've never had a serious boyfriend. I've never been in love. I thought I was in love once, years back, and I've been with people who I've thought had potential to make me fall in love with them but nothing's ever come to fruition. I've never been in love.

So what am I going to do with myself? Keep scamping around until I'm 36, single, and having flings with band dudes? Or am I going to... Try?

I've made the conscious decision to try my hand at that "trying" thing. I'm trying - And successfully, thus far! - at doing my best to bury the girl who's life motto was "Who needs love when there's Southern Comfort?" and expose the kinder, gentler Amber that lies beneath. Because she is in me, I swear. Buried under a two-year-long hangover, granted, but she's there nonetheless.

You see, after a few bouts of heartache, I decided it'd be in my best interest to grow a tough skin and become the type of girl who only casually dated, souring relationships by being ruthlessly ambivalent and sarcastically mean before she could get hurt. I've had a lot of "3 weeks or shorter" boyfriends in the past couple years. I've also purposely gotten involved in a lot of long distance relationships with traveling musicians because I knew it was doomed. Living on one of those coasts? And hitting the road constantly? Well, that would never go anywhere. So naturally, it was right up my alley. Some nice company every few months, no strings attached, nobody moves and nobody gets hurt. When was the last time I emotionally invested myself in a boy? My first boyfriend. He cheated on me with a 16 year old. We were both 23 at the time. (I was a late bloomer, okay?!) Sure, it was only 3 years ago but to quote that banged-philosopher Deschanel once more, I guess I'm young but I feel so weary.

(Side note: I put a lot of stock into another boy earlier this year but that was nipped in the proverbial bud by him putting me in the dreaded "friend zone" very promptly into our affair. The funny thing is that I feel completely and utterly platonic with him now and it's almost absurd to me how much I dug him.)

These days, I'm trying something new. I'm trying to be open to possibility. I'm trying to get to know people.

I'm not going to lie, I'm only a few days into this experiment of building a better Amber and this "wearing my heart on my sleeve" thing makes me feel so venerable that I want to punch myself in the face. I can't help but feel that I'm setting myself up for great failure here - Like, life altering failure. If only you knew! If only! - but it seems that I'm finally learning the lesson everyone else my age learned when they were still in college: Whatever happens, it's probably worth the risk.

Agent Ribbons - The Boy With The Wooden Lips


Sidenote: Anyone who knows me knows my weakness for songs that take fairy tales and turn them on their head. If it weren't for that predilection, I probably wouldn't be nearly as fond of Cursive as I am today. The above song made me fall in love with the highly under-appreciated ladies in Agent Ribbons. Well, that and the fact that lead Ribbon Natalie has amazing, perfectly coiffed, never faded hair.

Beautiful, Scenic Detroit.

What is it about this city that is so ingrained in me?

It doesn't matter how far I go, how long I'm away, there's no city that I fit in with more than Detroit. I've gone everywhere in the Midwest and every place I call home however briefly loses it's luster within weeks. Detroit, however... Well, maybe it's the fact that Detroit doesn't have much of a luster to loose. But to me, this city is beautiful.

I'm getting ready to leave again. I want to leave. I'm prepared this time - Not in the sense of "having money" by any means but rather in the emotional sense. I don't feel like I'm leaving things behind this time (although I'm leaving behind more, in a way, then I was before) but I more feel like I'm going towards better things this time.

Here's a confession for you, readers: I've never been more certain about anything in my life than moving back to Illinois.

There's a million reasons but the point isn't where I'm going; the point is where I'm at. It's strange, being completely content in a certain place and being perfectly happy with the idea of leaving it behind.

It all makes me oddly nostalgic.

Dawes - Take Me Out Of The City