“There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.” -Anais Nin
So this is the post where I get serious. This is the post where I recognize that this is, in fact, my breaking point. This is the post where I I admit this is one of the worst feelings ever. It's the middle of the night in the new chill of early October, and I feel as though I am losing my mind. I don't know if I'm resisting sleep or if it's my body, but I am split in this ever-raging battle against restlessness.
I tried to get out a good cry, that usually does the trick, but it would not come to me. The tears lingered on the cusps of my already puffy lids, but they refused to flow. Something in me told me to write. Simply write with every bit of honesty in my being.
Tonight I heard the question "What motivates you more: fear or love?", and tonight, I mentally shut down.
As I face myself against the truth of my current reality, I have to acknowledge that I am living out of fear. Fear of disappointing, others and myself. Fear of uncertainty and instability, all accompanied by an overwhelming load of self-doubt. Fear of failure, in all sense of the word. Just fear.
That is not to say I do not love. Oh, I have much love. I love all my friends. I love little moments of inspiration. As much as I complain about it, I do love school. I love my incredible family. And though I have never known the love of a significant other, I'm okay with that because I know that love can exist...maybe. I have a love for loving others, but somewhere in the midst of it all I seem to have forgotten the time to love myself.
I've forgotten what it was like to be myself. I do not say this to say I walk around concealed all day, forcing myself to be someone I'm not. No, that's not it at all. I've just forgotten to love the things in life that make me whole. I've made EVERYTHING an obligation, and in that I've lost all passion. A passionless pit is what my innards have become, and because of that, I worry. I do not want to become mundane. I just want to rediscover myself.
I must figure out how. I'm sure prioritizing plays a part in that, but for some reason I've forgotten how to do that as well. I feel like Esther Greenwood in The Bell Jar. I feel like Angela Chase from "My So-Called Life." I feel like the song "First Breath After Coma" by Explosions in the Sky. The term overwhelmed is one I frequently overuse, but it's the only thing coming to mind. The mind that aches so terribly right now, the same mind that belongs to the young girl who wishes she could be writing her lit paper that's due tomorrow instead of doing this. But this, this is necessary. I've said it before and I'll say it again- catharsis is a beautiful thing. I had a communications professor refer to it as "bitching", but I'd like to see it as a refined "bitching" because...
Purging my soul, asking these questions, contemplating my current state, it's necessary.
I've reached my breaking point, now it's time to rebuild.
[Note: I'll be back to normal, lifestyle blogging soon. I just needed to do this..for myself. And even though this was more for personal use, thanks for reading this post if you did. Maybe you got something out of it? Who knows, but thank you for reading.]