I am not okay.
I have spent most of the last few weeks crying. And I’m not talking little tears because I saw a sad puppy video on facebook. I’m talking gut wrenching, can’t pick myself off the floor, muscles forget what to do type of crying. The type that is usually accompanied by some sort of trauma or loss of family member, but thats not the case here. I am here, in this new life I worked hard to create for myself and theres once recurring thought; I hate it.
Okay, so I don’t hate it. I just wish it were different. It’s kinda funny if you think about it. How I am here with almost everything I want and yet I still feel hollow. I still feel like a shell of the person I was. I still feel insecure, indifferent, and perpetually exhausted. I still have unfinished manuscripts saved to my desktop, constant reminders of what I am not doing. I still feel like I am settling for some smaller version of who I was meant to be simply because I have no clue how to be more than that girl.
I went from living in an apartment with a dog and a boyfriend, to living with my parents to avoid the impending demise of said relationship, to living in another state with a sibling that was once my best friend, to living alone. Talk about a run-on sentence.
This, mind you, has been all within the last 9 months.
Don’t get me wrong, there have been plenty of positives to this seemingly negative time in my life. I got my promotion, I live on my own, I have a loving and adoring boyfriend, but I still find myself crying in my car driving home from work. I still find myself unable to write something worth reading. I still find myself telling my mom every time we talk about how much I want to just give up and come home.
At the end of the day, I think it all barrels down to the fact that I am bad at being alone and I’m tired of pretending.
Honestly, I’m shit at it. And because I am so bad at it, this experience that is supposed to be eye opening and beautiful is just plain horrible. I keep telling myself it will get better, but I am stuck in this in between stage and I apparently I’ve lost the ability to make friends. I just don’t know how to do it at 26. It was simple when I was younger, and I was able to go out with coworkers and meet people through them, or meet people through school. It was all so simple. But now, as a person in a position where I cant be friends with the people I work with, and none of my “almost” peers will hangout with me because I am just not there yet, I am seemingly alone. Most of the people I know are an hour south of me, and they all have their own lives and all their own things and it was easy when I lived five minutes away. But I am up here, in this city with absolutely no idea how to live and flourish.
And honestly, it’s killing me.
It’s hard to get out of bed when you feel like there isn’t anything to look forward to. It’s hard to keep myself from climbing back into bed after work because I am emotionally exhausted from everything life has thrown at me and I just don’t have the energy to go anywhere. It’s hard to look into the bright blue eyes of my monster of a dog and tell him that mommy just isn’t up for a long walk today.
I just feel like I am failing at everything, and I feel like I am falling into the deep vat of depression and I don’t know how to pull myself out.
So I’ve learned to play pretend. I’ve learned to act like everything is okay. I’ve become quiet about the emotions that rage inside of me because I am tired of hearing those who love me say “I just don’t have answers,” or “you need professional help.” I am over here reaching out, trying my hardest to not be that person that internally self destructs until its no longer something that can be hid. I feel like a lot of my life the last few years has been playing pretend.
I pretended to be happy in something that hurt my heart every day. I pretended not to be completely devastated that the creative part of me went silent and I didn’t know how to get it back. I pretended that I was emotionally okay even though I was still roaming through the grief of losing my grandpa. I pretended that I was okay with moving 900 miles away from my growing sisters. I pretended I was okay with taking a pay cut and having a horrid commute. I pretended I was okay with the fact that my brother treated me like a stranger. I pretended I was okay with being broke and not being able to afford proper groceries or gas in my car. I pretended I was okay with not having my dog for months and knowing that I couldn’t have him for a few months longer. I pretended I was okay with living alone, and I pretended I was okay with living two hours from the human I want to spend my life with.
I pretended I was okay.
But I’m not. AND THAT’S OKAY.
It’s okay that I feel discouraged because I had to move 900 miles away for a promotion that I chased after for years in Chicago. It’s okay that I feel like I should be doing more and being more. It’s okay that I’m sad that I’m missing out on the small intricate things that are going on in my sisters lives back in Chicago. It’s okay that this job isn’t everything I hoped for. It’s okay that sometimes more than others I want to pack my bags and go home.
What I feel is okay.
What isn’t okay is pretending I don’t feel it.
What isn’t okay is consistently telling myself that it is what is is, or that I chose this and this is what I deserve.
What isn’t okay is believing the only way I’ll get promoted is by killing myself with work to get there.
What isn’t okay is avoiding whats really going on because I know I’ll eventually get through it.
How is eventually going to come when now isn’t okay?
It will always be eventually.
I want now. I want to feel happiness. I want to feel joy, laughter, accomplishment. I want to feel proud.
I want to feel, but I sure as hell am done feeling like this.