Cheers to Failing

Volume 1 / 09.15.22

Warning — this post has sensitive & explicit content.

Why Succeed When You Can Fail?

I was recently talking to a prominent female businesswoman, who as she puts it is, “52 and still doesn’t know what [she] wants to be when she grows up,” This was on the topic of how we how we don’t talk about our failures enough. We only share, post, & glorify our accomplishments. But the reality is, without the lows, there cannot be any highs.

Her point was is that life is all about the journey, not the destination, and we should really be celebrating our failures because failing at least means you put yourself out there and tried. And that is something worth raising a glass to.

In the spirits of her advice, I am going to share my failures and lowest of lows 100% as openly as I can, in hopes of that all of you will be able see me in a more realistic light. A friend recently brought up to me that my life is “so fabulous”, and all I could think of was that it in my mind my life actually sucked. Then I realized that’s because I only portray a fun loving, hot girl shit, fashionable version of myself online.

So, I hope this honest expression lets you all see that I’m just as flawed and struggling mentally as the next person. Life is just a series of trials and we’re all just trying our best to navigate them. I also hope this can enlighten everyone on sharing their bad just as equally as sharing their good, because at the end of the day we’re only human. No body’s perfect.

09.15.21

Today marks the one year anniversary of the death of my childhood dog Grizzly. He was my rock through adulthood and got me through cancer treatment as a child. Today also marks the one year anniversary of the day I signify in my head as the start of a downward spiral in my life, that moved so quickly and chaotically it was hard for me to feel sane. I’m probably going to overshare a lot of personal details that only a few of my closest friends know, but this already feels incredibly cathartic, so just hang along for the ride.

For context, a few months prior to Grizzly’s sudden passing, I had a dramatic friend breakup and lost one of my longest and best friendships in a way that proved she never really gave two shits about me. She was the friend that I could call at any time day or night and she’d come over so we could vent about all of life’s drama.

It really isn’t talked about enough, but loosing a friend is arguably way worse than loosing a romantic relationship. You bear ALL of your deepest scars to a friend and in the end they betray you, using those same scars against you. We were friends for over 10 years, she should have been there for me.

Grizzly’s death hit me hard. Afterwards I was left feeling so empty and vulnerable, desperate for any sort of attention or comfort — which i ended up seeking in the wrong arms…

Not the Climax I Wanted

I encountered my first non-consensual experience. And after he finished, he told me I was like his perfect sex toy, “made just for his pleasure.” I couldn’t really wrap my head around what happened because he seemed “nice” the entire time, but then again I was asleep. I remember driving back home replaying it all in my head and thinking, “was that right? Is this normal? I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t no? It’s never hurt like that before….” But your body always knows. I bled for an entire month after.

To clarify, I am not blaming myself in these situations, just noting my failure to seek love in the right places. And I must be a masochist because I continued to hook up with him, each time got more and more degrading as the last.

Also interwoven in this timeline was a night that I had gone out where my phone was stolen as I was being sexually harassed at a bar in Vegas. You would be hard pressed to find a woman who doesn’t have a similar story like mine, but most of them are far far worse. And in Las Vegas, sexual harassment is very common, to the point where you can become numb to it. Just another night out on the town. Me and my Vegas girlies have to look out for each other so much more. You learn to navigate it as a local…

It was this series of traumatic sexual experiences that led me to start valuing myself only for my body. Because that’s what men want, right?

I’d already struggled with my self worth growing up due to my illness. In my mind I couldn’t fathom why someone would ever want to be. I saw myself as “broken.” Due to being a childhood survivor, there’s a chance I can’t have children and I have a binder of potential medical issues and diseases that I could likely develop because of the years of high does chemo injected into my body. I grew up always thinking, “who the fuck would choose this?”

It doesn’t help that I had been told my guys when I was younger that “I should hide my scars because they’re unattractive.” And I’ve even had a guy say to me on a first date after the cancer topic came up, “Oh so you’re fucked up then.” Sooooo all of these experiences mixed together just led to more self hatred to the point where I could only see my value through my body and sex. Like I might have all this baggage, but at least I had great tits, an asset of an ass, and was DTF.

After a series of nearly blacked out one night stands and some troubling encounters in Mykonos (Mykonos will need it’s own blog post), I am finally giving myself some more credit and treating my vagina as the temple she is (as they say lol). Not to say I’m suddenly healed and okay, because I will always have these thoughts, but I have to keep reminding myself that cancer doesn’t define me. Also fuck the creeps.

Depression, and Cancer, and Loss, OH MY!

This depressive energy led to my urge to leave Vegas. I needed new scenery and to meet new people, just a fresh start. I applied for a job at a company that I had long admired, and actually got the job! I was ecstatic. Within two weeks, I packed up all my belongings and moved to The Bay Area to start my “dream job.” Come to find out, loved who I worked for, but hated The Bay. OMG I was sooooo much more fucking depressed and lonely than I was before. I had hit such a low after such a high.

In this time, I had turned to drinking more and *light* drug usage to cope. There were some nights that I was so down I was okay with the idea of never waking up. This lead to my parents flying me home almost every other weekend (thank god). Before each flight home I remember I’d drink a whole bottle of wine and do a line, just to feel something (and a little for the plot). During my 6 months in The Bay, if I wasn’t at work or working, I was not sober.

Flash forward a few months… back to back I had a cervical cancer scare (which after a month of stressing, a biopsy confirmed I didn’t currently have cancer, but precancerous cells and I will have to closely monitored the rest of my life), and my baby bunny Aubrey passed very unexpectedly. For comedic relief, I’d like to point out the irony in that I was still only valuing myself through sex and I potentially had coochie cancer, WTF! Jokes aside, I stayed cooped up and lost a lot of sleep over this. Getting a secondary cancer or relapsing is a survivor’s worst nightmare.

Aubrey’s passing felt like like someone stabbed me in the chest with a knife then turned it, like I was being kicked while i was already down, like the man upstairs was just reveling in my misfortune. I personally believe that he died of loneliness, though we have no idea what actually happened. In the end, he died completely alone because he was still back home in Vegas and I was in Oakland. I still carry a lot of guilt around over this. I was his mom. It was my job to protect him, and I failed to do that one, simple thing. He was just an innocent little bunny… and I let him down.

Aubrey was technically my emotional support animal. Because I was struggling so much after moving, I was actually going to bring him up to Oakland the week following his death. Another piece of irony.

After the news, I immediately ran to Sally’s Beauty and picked up a box of black hair dye to color my hair the way I felt on the inside. It was at that point I didn’t recognize who I was when I looked in the mirror anymore. I would’ve done anything to feel like my old self again, anything to feel happy and fun again, but unfortunately life kept on doing what it does best…

Too Much Si Vive Una Sola-ing

Obviously as you can see on my social media, I am now back home living in Vegas and am unemployed. IYKYK the tea. Loosing that job was something I viewed as a failure up until this moment that I’m writing this now. I know that it was one of what will be many setbacks in my career, and has only opened up a wide door of possibilities for a much greater future.

I can’t really say more on that subject, so back to the lows because it still hasn’t hit rock bottom yet. After this abrupt circumstance, I decided to take a month long trip to Italy, Egypt, and Greece, because fuck it. Si vive una volta sola! Turns out you can’t run away from your demons, no matter how far you go. I cried every night abroad… I felt so lost and confused. No matter how many beautiful things I saw and once in a lifetime experiences I had, I couldn’t get out of my own head.

It wasn’t until my girls trip from hell in Mykonos that I had an extreme reality check. I needed to make some changes. I was sexually assaulted, broke because I now had no income, alone/abandoned because everyone on the trip had their own agendas, and did you see my ass?!? I was just popping random pills, doing lines, taking tequila shot after tequila shot, and hooking guys whose names I didn’t even know left and right, all just to feel anything but my reality. I felt so numb.

I have this one memory, or should i say non-memory, where I recall being in a club and fully clothed. I guess I blacked out, and then came to in another club just wearing a bikini and cowboy boots. Not haha funny, but concerning funny. The comedown was so bad I was uncontrollably shaking the entire 11hr flight home, I looked like I’d been through it for sure. But after a monthlong of sucking dick and doing drugs through Europe (I wish I was exaggerating), I was so grateful to be home. Summer was my rock bottom of depression. (And a BIG fail.)

Her Homecoming Album

Since moving home I have been embracing the unemployed, stay at home daughter lifestyle. I’ve been laying low, focusing on my future, and spending as much time as possible with my family and puppies.

I’m trying to treat my mind, body, and soul how I deserve to be treated because it all starts there. I’ve been more selective with who I give my time and energy to. I haven’t partied like Mykonos (my liver thanks me). I’m regaining my sexuality through an extremely healthy amount of masturbation. I’m being more guarded with my heart, to see through all the love bombing at those who truly value me (you gotta want to hang out with me in the daylight to see me in the midnights).

And finally I’m learning. Constantly learning and evolving, so each day I can be a better version of myself than the last. I truly believe embracing all the flaws, failures, and lows in my past is part of that process of healing and growing. If you’ve made it this far to the end of my first Just Claire Thingz blog post, thank you for giving me a space to process my emotions.

Here’s to failing. Though I hope we all experience more accomplishments than failures, that’s not reality. Let’s all revel in our failures together, so we can learn from them, and grow into the people who are ready to accept all the good things life has to offer.

If you’ve been through similar things then I have, or are going through them right now, my DMs are always open. I am here if you need a listening ear or (probably will be misguided lol) advice. I don’t have it figured out, and I never will — that’s the point of life. I welcome you to come on this journey with me and let’s hope we never make it to our destinations.

Isn’t failing the best?

Live Laugh Love Forever, Claire

(P.S. — Grizzly I miss you always and I’ll continue to love you forever.)