A few days ago I was trying to figure out why I haven’t been writing anymore. Not just on here; obviously I haven’t been writing on this blog much at all since leaving China. But I’m talking at all, period. Since I was about 13 writing has been a major cathartic exercise for me, and I used to do it almost daily. That would ebb and flow depending on how sad I was at any given time in my life, granted, but I used to love the process of putting words onto paper. I mean, I still do, but I used to consider it a big part of my life process, and that’s suddenly stopped.
Since moving to the apartment, I’ve been combing through lots of the stuff that was stored in my parents house. I have journals upon journals of my words, and I read through most of them before throwing them away. It was with the last one that I realized why, even when I sit down to write purposefully in my journal, nothing seems to come out of me anymore.
It’s because, for the first time in what feels like my whole life. I’m okay. This summer was weird and full of false positives; I kept thinking I had broken out of the depression that came with going to China then leaving early and then breaking up with Tyler. I would bust out for a while, then fall back into it. Maybe it was August, when absolutely nothing triggered some kind of major breakdown in me. I took a week and completely rebooted myself, and since then, the change I’ve felt in myself has been major and profound.
I’ve spent the majority of my life hating myself in one way or another. I hated the way I looked, I hated the way I tended to interact with other people, and most of all, I hated how little control I felt I had over my feelings. My brain works in strange ways; I’m intense, as many people know, and my thoughts and feelings tend to tornado around inside my brain for days on end. But this last month and a half has been different. There is a remarkable lightness that has taken over my whole life.
There’s something peaceful and beautiful about the way I finally understand myself. My feelings are okay, even if they’re irrational at times. But I can finally step back from myself and see that I’m being irrational, and I finally have the skills to feel my feelings for a moment or two, let them pass, and then keep living my life.
People at work have been commenting on how I look different lately. That’s what it is. I’m light. I finally feel free, for the first time, from the shackles I put on myself for such a long time. It’s been an adjustment, there’s no doubt. There’s a noticeable void in my thoughts where that negativity used to be. I’ve been “getting better” for a long, long time, but this is the first time when I feel like it’s actually happening.
I’m happy right now. So remarkably, unshakably happy. Part of it, I’m sure, is that I finally feel like my life is going somewhere, what with all of my teaching stuff FINALLY coming together. But more than that, I’ve accepted who I am, have accepted my limits, and I feel like I’m actually living in the present. I’m not constantly worrying or stressing.
It’s hard to explain to people that haven’t been in the place that I’ve been in. It’s hard to explain the way I’ve been my whole life, honestly. I can’t explain why that darkness has always been hiding in my chest. It came out of nowhere when I was in middle school and I started to think that it was something I’d always have to deal with.
But I don’t and I’m not. And I have this happiness busting out of my brain one hundred percent of every day, and I want to share it with everyone. I don’t want to be around people who don’t want to be happy. I’m no longer accepting the people that I invested time and care in that treated me like I was different or unworthy. This is my life now. Hey, everyone. I’m finally there.