I'm gonna get real for a second, Blogland, because while this blog may be filled with pretty pictures and the occasional musing, it's also my place to think. And write. And eventually communicate and share with all of you.
I need to learn how to not be ashamed of my vulnerability. Life sucks right now because instead of doing the healthy thing and writing down how I feel (or talking about it like a normal freaking person), I've been keeping everything bottled up. Life just feels like a series of bad things happening one right after another right now, and I'm struggling with both processing what has already happened and expressing myself to the people who need me to be there for them right now.
I'm staying in my head so much lately. My anxiety is the bully on the playground that won't stop spinning the merry-go-round and my depression is on the sidelines egging him on.
I'm struggling to come to terms with the question "Am I the toxic person nobody wants to be around or am I surrounded by toxic people who make me feel this way?"
Lately I am flooded with memories from my childhood and I am left to wonder: How much of my behavior now was learned? How do you unlearn patterns you've been repeating all your life? How do you let go of the bad parts of yourself without sacrificing the good ones? How do you separate yourself—your true self—from the toxic people you let into your life by choice? How do you unlearn the behaviors of a past lover, or the toxic words of an old friend? How do you let go of all the shame and the guilt and the grief you've held onto for the last 12 years of your life?
The short answer: I've heard therapy does wonders, but I'm not financially able to have that as a viable option right now.
The long answer is one that I hope to continue discovering. It's peeling back the layers and getting to know my past selves from the context of my current self. It's painful and complicated and messy. It's getting to know my guilt and shame and grief and sadness and anger up close and personal, examining each one and assigning it a purpose so it no longer floats endlessly within me. And by doing so, I learn how to be vulnerable again.
Baby steps are still progress.