Trying to find my “Why”

Edit: So I’m working with a group, that includes a Life Coach, to try to get my life back on track.  Things have been ridiculous and insanely stressful and I’ve let so much of “me” slide.  One of the questions they asked us was, “well, what’s wrong with the way you’re living now?  You’re all still living, aren’t you?”  And, sure, we can all come back and say we are.  So the mission is to find a “why”, a few or a list of reasons why you want to change the path you’re on right now.  I know my path is unhealthy.  I know my path is self-destructive.  But despite being given tools to change things – I cannot change my path if I’m not willing.  This is what came out when I was asked about my “why”.

I’m trying to find a way to be accountable for my actions.  I want to break the cycles.  I’m trying to find a way to becoming a healthier me.  It hasn’t been easy.  But I didn’t expect it to be.  There’s been a lot of years of damage, so it’s not going to go away overnight.

This time I feel like I might be ready.

Because I’ve seen, and continue to see, loved ones going through so much suffering.  I’ve seen suffering to extreme levels with all kinds of issues, from skin to joints to organs.  I’ve seen suffering that can be traced back to issues with weight, coupled with chronic illnesses.  I’ve seen their pain – I’ve cried with them, and for them.  I’m still doing so.  I’ve seen the extreme limitations on living lives.  The opportunities lost or missed.

Because I’ve felt it myself, too.  I’ve felt the pain of weakness, extra body weight, exhaustion.  I’ve felt humiliation on so many levels… While my skinny friend got stuck going between the seats in the minivan in Roatan as well, I was the one they laughed at.  I don’t take seats on the subway even when I’m exhausted because of the looks.  I’m always seen as in the way, and that it’s okay to jab, poke, and push me out of the way.

My self-esteem is low.  My self-confidence is as well.  I’ve let so many opportunities pass me by, and I keep doing so.  Jobs, hobbies, friendships, travel, relationships…  Because I don’t know how someone could love me when I look in the mirror and cannot love myself.  Don’t get me wrong – I don’t hate myself.  But I don’t love myself either.   Some days I can see past this out-of-shape, obese body to the kind, funny, sweet person that people say I am.  But frequently I can’t.

This isn’t what I intended to write when I sat down to do so tonight.  But it’s what came out, so I guess it needed to be said.  So I’m going to continue to push through.  Work on tackling some of my demons.  Actually planning things for my future – since I’ve decided I’m actually going to have one.

Gonna work on making it be a good one.

Compassion

Compassion by Miller Williams

Have compassion for everyone you meet,
even if they don’t want it. What seems conceit,
bad manners, or cynicism is always a sign
of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen.
You do not know what wars are going on
down there where the spirit meets the bone.

From The Ways We Touch: Poems. Copyright 1997 by Miller Williams.

I came across this poem a couple of months back when dealing with some people in the office who were particularly abrasive towards me.  Mostly in the sense of “I’m hurting a lot here about things not related to what I’m taking it out on you, but you’re here at the moment so you get all my angry shit.”

I know I shouldn’t have to put up with bullshit.  But I also understand that there are some times when you just have to shut your mouth and take it, and take it gracefully.  Never mind that you’re in a similar scary place.  Complain to a trusted friend about how much it sucks, but smile and show the person love and respect next time you see them.  Despite the fact that it really fucking hurts at the moment.

Because the stuff that they’re saying to you is stuff that you don’t take personally.  It’s not you.  It’s not even them.  It’s a reaction to the pain they’re feeling on such a deep level that they don’t know realize that what they’re saying sucks.

There will be remorse expressed later, and apologies.  But there’s trust as well, and years of friendship.  And a return of compassion when I’m in such a place as well.  And I would rather they say these things to me than to their superiors and end up fired.

Is this thing on?

Or, as alternatively titled: On coming to terms with the fact that I’m technically a “retired” blogger.

I used to be a writer.

Or, well perhaps more appropriately, I used to feel like I was a writer.  I would write such a wide variety of things – stupid, funny, stupidly funny, cutesy romantic, achingly raw and honest… and I would put them on display for other people to read.  Mostly in the time of LiveJournal and early blogging.  I found an audience, mostly in the form of a game, and I was inspired, happy and creative.  I wrote for the audience, and the feedback was fairly instantaneous and I loved every second of it.

Then something happened that devastated that world for me – my journal ended up suspended. While I was able to get most of my writings back… I lost the interactions that I cherished, and most of the community. While it wasn’t my fault it felt like it was for the longest of times.  And I had a really hard time with it.  It took a long time to lose the last piece of the community, and it was just as raw and devastating as the first time it happened.  A piece of me perished with it.

I’ve still tried to work on writing.  I’ve done some NaNoWriMo’s – some more successful than others.  I’ve elaborated on the complicated and extremely detailed dreams that I have. I’ve even taken an Expressive Writing class that I aced.  I was seriously proud of that – it’s not often that I’ll see a 100 on anything class/learning related.

I have had a great amount of events in my life to write about, both positive and negative, big and small.

I had a great experience in January in Dallas, with meeting Marianas Trench twice (three times? Technically….) in one day.  I did a weekendish of 3 more Marianas Trench trips around home.  I’ve had disasters at work that it’s likely best I didn’t talk about anyway.  What about my trips to Cuba with people I’d never met.  Or attending a wedding in Honduras?  Or I’ve got one of those bucket-list trips – an Alaskan Cruise – coming up shortly*.  I’ve got a list of 101 things in 1001 days I’m working on.  Or my apartment where I’ve been making great strides at tackling my hording or not.  Or my parents.  Or the fact that I now regularly attend yoga with a great group of girls.  With dating attempts with this one guy who thought he’d be brutally honest and say that the reason I don’t date much/get asked out a lot is because I’m ugly but that doesn’t bother him, who went full on obsessed I’m-going-to-marry-you never mind that we hadn’t met… Now there’s a story and a half on its own.

And I haven’t written them.

Mind you.  Now I have a list of topics to write about?

Part of it, admittedly, is laziness.  I don’t find the time to do it even though the time is still there.  I find other useless things to do. Like browse Buzzfeed for 2 hours.  Or watch a movie I’ve seen likely 6 times.  find twitter helpful – the 150 characters aren’t a lot but it’s a fun challenge to be creative within them.  And at least I document things that way.

I’d be lying, though, if I said I didn’t miss it.  I do.  I miss spilling my thoughts and feelings onto this virtual paper.

A musician on twitter (who I’d like to be friends with – he’s just a sweet guy who gives me random bits of attention) recently finished a tour where he did a vlog.  He posted a question to his followers that asked if he should continue vlogging.  My response was simple, but it triggered this, so I guess it wasn’t really.

Maybe I haven’t really retired.  Maybe I’ve just been in a period of silence.

I guess we’ll find out.

*note.  By time I get off my ass and actually post this the cruise’ll likely be over.  But hey, what else is new?