For the past few months I’ve been white knuckling this idea that everything was okay and so I’ve held off from writing about it until I felt like I could loosen my grip and relax enough to talk openly about what it’s felt like to make so many changes. I’ve always thought it best not to purge in the eye of an emotional storm and I really value being someone others can look to for strength and encouragement, bringing solutions and not woes to the party. But I haven’t written to you since September for that reason and I am not any closer to feeling okay. In fact trying to convince myself I am, under the guise of optimism has just about driven me mad and worn my spirit to the bone. My usual process for remaining positive just isn’t working any more and I can feel my eyes glaze over a little more every time I regurgitate my spiel about being grateful for challenges and feeling sure that something great is just around the corner. If I’ve told you this, don’t feel too bad, I believed it too. I really thought that if I said it enough it eventually had to happen, right? Nope, not right and now I’m just tired and discouraged. My fiery love affair with the gritty parts of this human experience just feels sordid now and I’m coming undone a little more everyday. Detached, like I bailed out on myself.
So lucky girl am I to have good love from good people and have been given some fuel to try the fuck again.
I am also reassessing my approach, because without action an ‘optimistic attitude’ is just an illusion that when left untended can easily become delusion. Saying you are alright and that things are fine when they are not is not heroic and helps no one. Putting on that you’ve got things under control, when what you’re really doing is spiraling out of it is just bullshit and a lie. And once you start believing your own lie…..you’re fucked.
(original artwork from NATTSKIFTET)