~ I am a mess, a wreck. I am a chaotic whirlwind of emotions and thoughts; I am a tornado comprised of feelings. I am torn, full of holes. My edges are frayed. I am unraveling. I can feel the threads pull away as I diminish.
Or maybe I am standing in the eye of the storm, because sometimes I feel empty, as if I am Nothing, and Everything merely orbits around me. ~ (journal entry, circa 2014)
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Once upon a time, I thought I wanted to be hipster. I’ve wanted to be a lot of things in this life of mine. Taller. Thinner. Smarter. Gentler. Quieter. Braver.
But once upon a time, not too very long ago, I thought I wanted to be hipster. I was ready to wear thick, black framed glasses and flannels with knit beanies and leather, or whatever it is they’re saying makes a hipster a hipster now.
I wanted to be boho next. Because my spirit is free, and something about the barefooted, wandering life of a gypsy appeals to my adventuring soul.
Vintage. Victorian. Steampunk. Grunge. Minimalist.
I’ve always been eager to slap a label on myself, though it’s the one thing I’m ever so careful to avoid doing to those around me. Because I understand other people pretty well. I get a fairly accurate feel for motives, for moods, for personalities. For their quirks and habits, the things that make them tick.
I’ve never understood myself.
— — —
I feel as if I am losing the many components that make me who I am – or, was. I have had my nose pressed against the bricks of writer’s block. My fingers tremble too violently to brave the keys of my piano. My mind refuses to focus on printed ink words that used to offer portals to unknown worlds. I have begun smiling with my mouth closed. The words I emit are often not my own. The music in my library is stolen from my friends, and I find myself spouting opinions I don’t even agree with. Most thoughts are prefaced with ‘sorry” because I am so afraid to step on any toes. My laugh has evolved so that it is nearly unrecognizable, at least to myself, and I realize that, just maybe, I have finally lost myself.
— — —
I wrote the words above over a month ago, and I feel as if they still apply.
Some days I feel empowered and bold and strong. Some days I feel as though I could tackle anything.
Other days I feel as if I might break. I feel fragile and weak.
Most days I am somewhere in the middle, and most days I manage to find a place to dance there, in the in-between. Most days I am filled with a gentle pulsating joy that my friends say is infectious, and most days I am confident enough to speak up for myself at work, in class, going through a drive through –
I just told a friend that “I don’t know what to do about anything.”
It’s true. Last semester was hell, and this semester is going better, but not by much. My grades are up. I’m sleeping more. I’m still not eating enough. The anxiety has seemed to subsided. I drink too much coffee. My relationships all seem to be falling apart. I am back to feeling ragged.
I think it’s another weird transition phase, because I’m almost done with my Associates, which means things are going to get shaken up again. Like a snow globe. That’s life: a snow globe, really. Maybe. Or maybe life is too complex to find a metaphor for.
Maybe it’s time to go to bed. Maybe it’s time to open my Bible, for the first time, outside of church, in . . . well, that’s a good question. Was it Thursday, when I read that devotional? Or did I skim through one while waiting on a train last? No, I think it was Friday; I think it was early in the morning, just before I clocked in at work, and I remember – I remember now that I was filled with peace, and it was overwhelming.
I want that. I want that back, that assurance.
I’m craving Jesus again.