It has taken me quite some time, to get to a place where I feel confident enough, to speak on matters of my heart. So many thoughts swirl around in my head at any given moment… And yet, twice as many fears huddle around those same thoughts, as vultures vying for the last bloody bits of a decaying carcass. Sadly, almost two years have passed, since my last post. And, as much as I would like to be upset about that realization, the more humbling it becomes. My last entry, January 2017, saw me at the start of a second year of mental anguish. I was battling a deep depression, triggered by several seemingly innocuous life events, and ashamed to say the words out loud to anyone. I toiled inwardly, day in and day out. Grasping for any hope of escaping my despair.
To add insult to injury, I begin the uncomfortable task of accepting the fact, that I didn’t have any friends. Not REAL friends, anyway. I had a host of “conditionally” invested people, who gave me moments of conversation, when I reached out. However, as the tides of anxiety washed over me like a Gulf Coast hurricane, it quickly became evident that I had to seek shelter elsewhere. As a child, I was taught to be wary of the term “friend”. Maybe a better word choice would be, “associate”. But, somewhere along the way, I let myself be seduced by the idea of having friends. Perhaps I indulged in too much TV in my younger years, as this gave way to fantasies of gathering with the ladies, and chatting over a spot of tea, or exchanging bread recipes over lunch. While I know this CAN be reality, unfortunately, it wasn’t to be mine. I was constantly questioning myself, and wondering why I seem to be unlike everyone else, and pondering just how it can be, that I don’t fit in with the crowd, all the while trying desperately to convince myself that I am enough… I AM likable, lovable even… all of this, as I came to the conclusion, that I was on the cusp of walking away from a life I did not choose, but accepted because I didn’t know how to use my voice. How to speak my truth, without hesitation. How to stand in spaces meant for me, at the risk of relinquishing the illusion of belonging.
All of these disjointed and terribly painful events, lead me to a path of healing. I had no choice but to face the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind, in hopes of repairing my body and soul. It hurt to walk away from so many of the unhealthy relationships I held so tightly to. Mostly because it was the best for me, but even more so, because the comfort of dysfunction was beckoning for me as a needle to a junkie. (When you spend far too much time cultivating chaos in your own life, if you don’t already, maybe then, you will understand my previous statement). I had reached a point in my life, where my only options were to sink or swim. Both terrified me equally. One holds life. Either produces struggle. One MUST be better than the other, right? So, I decided to swim. I had already involuntarily sank as deep as I was willing to go. I dried my tears, took a deep breath, and begin the dissolution of me…
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was gearing up for the fight of my life. There would be more anxiety, more fear, more hurt, more uncomfortability to take hold. Even as I type this, aware of the space I now find myself in, and acknowledging how far I’ve come, I know I still have so far to go. I can now say, that I am unequivocally happier, than most any time in my adult life. I am working toward becoming the healthiest version of me, inside and out. I know now how to love, without consuming the whole of myself, or the recipient. I speak my truth, no holds barred. I love myself, in my entirety. It pains me when I think of how hard that used to be. Afraid to just be me. Unapologetically.
I stopped writing because I lost my spark. I lost the thing that made me appreciate who I was, when I wrote. I let other’s opinions and whisperings get in the way of me treasuring my love of words. When I write, I compose an opus to my own heart. Writing gives me life. Without it, I am decidedly incomplete. My return to writing is an ode to myself, and everyone who will be touched by my words. I share my pains, successes, failures, and triumphs, in hopes of giving you a reason to try again. And IF you should fail, wipe your tears, take a deep breath, and try again.
apeaceofmine 