How many times can you say "this is okay" before you accept that it really, in fact, is not okay?
This was the question I had to ask myself about a certain career move I've decided to make recently. This is literally as specific as I'm going to get into the actual Thing That Happened. You're going to think this funny considering the amount of oversharing that I usually do but I really do not want to discuss my work. It's quite frankly, no one's fucking business. Just kidding, I'll get fired if I'm more specific. I'm joking. Or am I?
I have spent the past year repeatedly lying to myself. Which, given the series of blog posts I've been writing recently, IS PRETTY FUCKING HILARIOUS if i don't say so myself. I was getting ready to blow my fucking brains out into a hotel bathtub with a note on the door that says, "Send two so they don't suspect foul play". Going with the general thought process of You Never Know, please see my funeral playlist here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9agRuDo1jx-8Bssc0jOkHd6Zfg5QdtzQ
That lead down a really dark thought process, sidenote. Let the record show that I'm designating Caitlyn and Cassandra Sherlock as my Official Funeral Helpers should I precede them in death. Sometimes I want to drown them but they are my sisters and Nicholas, Phyllis and Tyler are really going to need a hand. Plus they know me better than most humans. Please take care of my mom.
I have never felt more Myself than I do right now. I'm a fucking spaceball, okay? My attention span bounces from one thing to the other and I don't want to medicate that out of myself. I'm anxious, I'm depressed, but if I remove major stress from my life (see: I made a career change), and keep taking my medicine, keep trying to be active and eat better, I'll be okay. I don't like telling other people how to live their lives and I especially don't like people telling me how to live mine. Fuck your box. And fuck never being good enough. I Am Enough.
Now, I want to reassure those that love me that eveything is okay. Major life changes, talking like this, mentioning death is pretty Concerning Stuff 101. I know what manic people sound like, I live with a schizophrenic. But for the first time in a really long time, I'm not trying to pretend that I don't hate wearing shoes, that I give a shit what people think about me, that I have the ability or answers to solve every single problem a person hands to me. I don't care! I really don't. This is just one chapter of my life. I can't spend what precious time I have on constantly worrying about other people. Especially not when I have so many beautiful people already in my life that I would much rather care for and support.
It's like I can breathe again. Almost. I need to get my own shit back together, calmly and neatly wrapped. I'm not perfect. But I Am Enough. And it's time I fill my own cup, actually truly and really, not white gritting my teeth and choking my true feelings in my throat every single day. Thank you so much for reading. I can't wait to finally get back to myself.
First step? Coffee.