Read Me

I'm amazed as to how long I've been writing.

I was forced to start this for my COM 101 class in 2008.

I think I wrote about food--(smirks, no surprise there).

It--somehow and you know what I'm not sure what made me want to start writing so openly on here--turned into a place where I shared my exploration in recovery. It turned into my best friend. Ya best friend. This simple little blog has always been there for me to pour my heart out to. To help me understand myself. My thoughts so plainly in black and white for me to read. See I like to talk but I don't like to listen--it's interesting when you listen to yourself. What are you really saying?

What I'm getting at is tonight I want to write about my night. I want to write about the fact that I had the guts and confidence to approach my favorite band after seeing them live. That I only had two drinks. That I didn't binge or purge tonight. That I felt like myself with people I used to put a front on for.

But when I write all of this and I start crying and laughing like a psycho at the same time because I don't know what to do with all of this emotion, I realize what I'm really writing is: I feel at home. At home in Vancouver (shudders) yes but mostly I feel at home with myself.

I'm constantly looking for belonging. I'm looking for acceptance. I want love. I want to be wanted. I want to be appreciated. I want to feel like someone. And with a lot of practice, tears, anger, drinking, eating disordering (totally a thing), money, therapy, and years of work I feel at home with myself.

There is no rush, there is no desperate pining for more: more love, more attention, more acceptance, more fucking food. I am. I just fucking am.

Letting go is something I've written about in here hundreds of time, with anger. If I could fucking let go I would. How do you let go? Those words vigorously typed out here while I succumb to tears. But that's exactly what I am finally fucking doing. I am living in the moment, I am changing my perspective, I am just here to enjoy my life.

Depressed me would want to punch me right now.

Easier said than done, but easy never got me anywhere.

I write in here about some very dark things, and some powerful emotions--and happiness, security, authenticity are among those powerful emotions.

The more I work to accept who I am, remove those things that don't align with who I want to be, the easier my life is getting.

I titled this "Read Me" because I will every so often comb my posts, the ones you read the most (that Face of Bulimia one pretty much kills it) and I ache for the girl that poured her heart out to an unknown audience hoping for some kind of acceptance.

And girl, I'm here to tell you, and remind you, that you can give yourself that acceptance.

I Figured Out What's Wrong With Me

Recently, I've been told more often than not by you all how much you appreciate my blog.
It means the world to me that you read and call me things like "brave" and "inspiring." Your comments are what keep me writing. It feels good to know that I'm heard, and perceived in the manner in which I intend: honest, flawed, hopeful, real.

I haven't written in a while because I have not felt I have anything useful to say. There is no epiphany, no morale of the story, no insane amount of feelings that needs to be purged onto the page.
And more often than not, I am having a hard time making sense of my feelings.

It's like when I am asked, "how are you?" I cannot answer. There's a blockage. I think back to therapy, when the tears and words flow so easily. I try to do the same in the comfort of my own room, the privacy of my desk, my car. And I just spin. I cannot connect. I get frustrated.

And I think it's because I do not actually want to feel what I feel. My mind is protecting me from feeling that deep, dark, loneliness that has haunted me since I was 12. I do it subconsciously, I do it routinely, I do it well.

I want everything to work out, I want to know what is going on, I want to have a path to follow. But every time I try to force my life down this path that I THINK I should be on, I get this stuck feeling in my mind. I want to avoid the feelings of anger, of dislike, of hurt because these feelings are telling me that what I'm pursuing isn't right for me. Isn't going to work. And that means I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore. That goal, that life, is not going to work for me and now I'm left with the unknown. And that is scary.

So I push myself down this path, invalidating who I am, ignoring my heart, the universe and it's signs in order to have some sense of safety. Some sense of worth. And yet the more I do these things, the more I feel less secure, and  like shit about myself.

I am reminded of this, "What you want and what you need are two different things." I need to get out of my own way and let it happen.

I have been listening to a lot of motivational speeches throughout the past month and something that stuck out to me was: in order to obtain your goals, you have to focus on the WHY not the WHAT. So why do you want a million dollars? That reason, the why, is what gets you up in the morning, the why has to be greater than all your excuses you have in your head.

And I've been realizing that I don't really have a goal, and I most certainly don't have a why. So I think that's why I'm so stuck. Why I make the same mistakes. Why I care so much about what other people think. Why I feel stuck. Because I have not found anything that drove me to want to do better and be better than my relationship. And now that that's over, I'm just idling. And I am ashamed that I don't have a self-righteous path. I guess it's because I don't see my worth. I can live for others, but I can't yet figure out how to live for myself.

I love the idea of being an independent woman. Of knowing who I am, what I want, being driven, passionate, dedicated, confident etc. but there, for whatever reason, is nothing driving anywhere. Nothing pulling at me. No passion. No goal. I just don't really care right now and I'm not sure how to find what that one thing is.

Thank you again to everyone who tells me they appreciate this. You are the reason I wrote today. And this helped to sort my thoughts, and also gave me a small sense of purpose, which I guess is what I'm looking for.

What It Feels Like

As the anger dissipates the pain takes hold.
The tears swell and my throat tightens. 
I don't want to feel this way anymore. 
I'm sick of feeling this way.
I'm sick of thinking about you.
The only thing that seems to stop the thought of you is you. 
My strength, my determination, my pride flows out of my body with the tears.
I want comfort. I want you.
The thought of laying safe in your arms, overrules all logic. 
I can feel your body next to mine.
I know it. Every curve, muscle and scar.
I was once safe, I was once yours. 
The thought is too much.
My body braces as though ready to run.
I want to run to you.
Release the emotion in movement.
I'm frozen as my heart drops and reality sets in.
I can't.
There is no you anymore.

It's impossible to move forward when you can't stop looking back.