what?

Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to another episode of the exciting rollercoaster you’ve all been waiting for: Word-Vomit has returned!

*cue applause track*

But on a serious note, my head is a little bit all over the place which means that there is not going to be any sort of structure or sense in the following passages. It also means it’s likely to be very short, so let’s get started.

Firstly, I am officially twenty years old, I know: I’m an old woman. So, this meant several things. To begin – I had a birthday. I’m not fond of birthdays, they feel awkward and there are far too many hugs in a day. But also, all through my life, something goes wrong on my birthday to completely ruin the day and this year was no different. It wasn’t terrible enough to really mention if I’m honest.

This led, however, back to that feeling of stagnancy. I sat at my desk for about twenty minutes freaking out yesterday because I worked in a place that, though I didn’t dread going to every day, I feared implicitly. I work with several people who started working at the hotel as trainees or for their practical…and then never left. I worry that I will soon join them and find myself never leaving either. I lie awake sometimes imagining myself twenty-five, thirty still at this hotel at a desk that I have grown to loathe and then I see myself at forty, still in the same town, in the same industry with some other people demanding things from me that I will help with because “that’s my job”.

Needless to say, I’ve been a state of permanent panic for the last few days and constantly aware of the time passing too slowly….but also far too quickly.

This is the other thing that contributes to that panic. I have mentioned my current relationship several times before and the various things related to it. The biggest one over the last week or so has been the fear it creates in me. That’s not something I really want to talk too much about right now. But this relationship is making me wish the time was passing more slowly, giving me more time to appreciate this as it is rather than what it will be if the current path we’re on continues.

Besides this, I have also been trapped in this everlasting feeling of absolute uselessness. I have had this before, the need for some kind of meaning, some kind of proof that I can make a difference in the world. This is something I have drafted the beginnings of a blog post on and hopefully will elaborate on soon. But, essentially, I have a need to matter in the world and to make a difference of some kind. This was the reason I considered becoming a doctor, a psychiatrist, a vet. I wanted to spend the rest of my life making big differences in people’s lives. When I sit and realise that for the past two years all I’ve done is help rich people demand things and in the future, all I’ll ever do is regurgitate words from writers and journalists and poets from times past, like all wordsmiths do in this age, and I have begun to feel redundant.

This has meant that my darker urges have resurfaced. Unfortunately, it isn’t just wanting to scar or empty myself anymore, the plan to end my life has entered my mind several times recently and, while I know I can find a million reasons to not do anything, I worry that I may soon lack the effort to look for them. The biggest reason has actually been the admin of it all. All I imagine is my poor mother having to get hold of someone to remove me from our house or clean up blood, or the search she will have to go one to find someone to replace me at work. On a selfish side, I imagine the collection of enough pills or pressure behind the blade in order to make a difference and, to be frank, I can’t be quite bothered at the moment, which is possibly a good thing.

My depression is actually keeping me from killing myself which is a paradox I had never expected.

This has been a fair bit more morbid than I had hoped for. Unfortunately, I have spent the last two weeks in varying degrees of a drop and, again, can’t be bothered to find the positivity or energy to lift it.

My day today was lifted a fair bit, I can mention that. I had a wonderful visit (not really, he has to come to my office so I suppose it doesn’t count) and was gifted with strawberry milk and wine gums (the only real way to my heart) and it was possibly one of the brightest moments of my day.

Okay, I should go to bed now, sorry it’s a fair bit shorter than usual. Watch this space though, I may start popping a project of mine up here.

Lovely days to all of you lovely people

x

[Songs: Slow Hands, Niall Horan // Unsteady, X Ambassadors (Erich Lee Gravity Remix) //  Nothing Else Matters, Marlisa]

stagnation and isolation

“stagnation” – noun, the state of not flowing or moving

“isolate” – verb, cause (a person or place) to be or remain alone or apart from others

So, I’m writing this one from the bottom of my well, that is to say: I have dropped phenomenally far, so this one could be interesting. Apologies in advance.

The two definitions sitting at the top of this are neither positive nor encouraging words I am afraid and I have no clear plan as to how to link them properly yet, but I do have a metaphor and, as the, like, two regular readers I have may have noticed, I like metaphors.

For the past year or so I have felt like a lone sock, a single from a pair, left in a laundromat tumble dryer a couple too many times. I’ve been through the spin a couple too many times and am starting to feel dizzy and wear thin. Each time someone throws their laundry in, everything gets dumped on top of me, I get dragged through a soggy, overheated rollercoaster and when the rest of the clothes get pulled out I get picked up, frowned at and surreptitiously placed back in the dryer as someone else’s problem. Lather, rinse, repeat basically.

I am turning twenty later this week and had very specific plans for when I was twenty. When I was fifteen, I was going to be in the middle of my medical degree by the time I was twenty, living in an apartment in Cape Town with a tank full of fish to keep me company. When I was sixteen, I was going to be working part-time in a theatre while I studied Drama in Durban and lived right next to the beach. When I was seventeen I was going to be dead. When I was eighteen, I was going to be in England, working towards my English Literature degree with a roommate and a job and a stable future. Just a month ago, my plan was more flexible, less clear and vague enough that there are some very large blurs, but it was something more.

Instead, I still live in a house with my mother, the same one I’ve lived in since I was fifteen, still work at the same place with my mother that I’ve worked since I was sixteen and have somehow accidentally taken on more responsibility with a position at a place which was supposed to be “temporary”. I saw an old friend of mine and commented on how being “comfortable” with something (we were talking about her boyfriend at the time) wasn’t a bad thing. However, I’m beginning to notice how very “comfortable” I am getting in my office with my coworkers and my phone calls and reservations systems.

I keep getting thrown back into that dryer and the door keeps closing on me. The problem I have realised is that this particular sock has a voice which I am choosing to keep quiet. I have the means to turn around and say “Let me out the damn dryer. I don’t belong with these clothes in this place. There’s somewhere else I’m supposed to be, some other socks I am supposed to be with.”

This leads to my “isolation” definition. (Damn, look at that flawless segue :P)

This post was initially going to be about flaws and the only reason I changed it was because half of the flaws I wanted to discuss correlated directly with this particular word. All through school, I was one of those people who was “friends” with everyone. I never really had a problem with anyone and could easily have a chat or pop down to the shops with pretty much anyone I went to school with, regardless of their friend group or whether or not we knew much more about each other than our names. This meant that I typically didn’t put a lot of effort into keeping friends. I always had that small group of friends who meant a lot to me, but I found it easy to keep them as we were of similar mindsets and naturally stayed together.

Since finishing school and no longer having to see everyone every day, I have slowly lost the motivation to put effort into those friendships and, while if I bumped into one I know we would have a chat, I don’t bother trying to make those chats happen anymore and, similarly, it seems those people gave up on me. This was something I was fine with a year ago when I was leaving the country and had to leave these people behind, never to see them again, and thought it would be easier to lessen the pain of the goodbyes then rather than when I would be leaving but my own limitations that I’ve managed to find for myself ( a lack of driver’s license, a loss of interest in most social events of any kind and general wallowing) means that I’ve slowly been pushing myself into a lonely corner.

I also recently entered into a relationship (I think I’ve mentioned this before) and am finding myself dedicating more time to this than is probably healthy. While we are both are aware there may be aspects of this relationship that may not be normal or “healthy”, I am realising more and more that there are more things that may not be considered healthy for me in particular, I’m finding it harder and harder to care.

The main one I’m noticing recently is that I am allowing it to contribute to this isolation. Being in love with someone means that you dedicate a lot more of your thinking time to them. I am also the kind of person that finds it hard to give too much of myself to too many people at once, hence the very small friend groups. This has meant that, as I give more and more of myself to him, I’ve been taking bits of myself from other people to hand over to him instead. This isn’t his fault nor is it anyone’s but my own and for some time I thought it wasn’t a bad idea because, again, fewer goodbyes. I would rather have three immensely painful goodbyes than fifteen just very painful ones.

 

While I didn’t mean to lose touch with some friends, I grew impatient and tired and gave up on a lot of conversations. Many of my old friends had moved to other sides of the country or even the world and I see no point in making new friends in a gossipy town which I can’t wait to leave. This has meant, however, that the only people I ever spend time with are the people I work with, my mother and my boyfriend and this worries me in that my life is beginning to lose meaning.

After a particularly long day; I go home and realise that I am expending all this energy and time on a job that I don’t exactly like and don’t plan on staying in any longer than I have to. This, added to my general drops and usual triggers leaves me a bit of a mess of a single sock rolling around in a dryer beginning to find itself simultaneously comfortable and despondent.

Those other pieces of clothing I am in with now are wonderful, mostly, and I love them all to pieces, mostly, and they are all very functional pieces of clothing and very nice as well, some are particularly soft and fluffy and nice to be stuck in there with, but all I can think about is getting out of that dryer.

The only worry on my mind when I reach this point though is: What happens when I finally get out of that dryer?

Robyn

x

[Sing Me to Sleep, Alan Walker // 4 Life, Robin Schulz ft. Graham Candy // We Don’t Have to Take our Clothes Off, Ella Eyre]

space

“space” – noun, a continuous area or expanse which is free, available, or unoccupied.

Space…the final frontier – I’m kidding, sorry.

I work in hospitality – a profession in which I am always surrounded by people. The people I work with and the people for whom I work. Every day is a draining experience for me, not a natural “people person”, and I often feel myself tipping during some of the longer days and wanting to simply sit down and cry. It doesn’t help that this isn’t the job I want, it isn’t the profession I enjoy and it isn’t a position I’m going to be able to maintain for much longer.

Among the many problems of dealing with people all day is that people take up a lot of space, something which I like and need. In recent years, as I’ve drawn in on myself more, I have wanted to take up as little space as possible. I’ve tried to become smaller, quieter, less obtrusive until I can fade into a wisp of smoke to slip between the cracks in the floorboards.

I have placed myself in a profession though, in which taking up space and being visible is almost a requirement. And dealing with other people taking up space is a constant responsibility. This means, that by the time I get home, I’m often freaking out with the lack of space I seem to feel.

This afternoon was one such situation, after a week of long shifts and difficult guests, I needed lots of space and I wasn’t finding it in my disorganised, crap-filled bedroom and so began the Great Empty of 2017. I have had several Great Empties in the past and the Empty of 2014 will always be the day on which I lost half of my possessions – I still don’t know where several pairs of shoes, sets of earphones and books are…

Essentially, over the past few days, I have slowly been organising my various storage units in my bedroom. My bookshelf and half of my drawers were done yesterday and today was supposed to mark the completion of my drawers and the beginning of my wardrobe, instead, I emptied my room. Most of the pictures, cards, letters and memories on my walls have been moved into a shoe box, any items left on surfaces or piled in corners have been boxed and moved into the guest room for later sorting and my room looks barren to me.

I have never been more comfortable in it.

Looking around the room I finally feel calmer. For the past two weeks, I’ve felt like there’s something wrong with me. Like I was removed from my body and then put back in not quite right, like my skin doesn’t fit and my limbs are in the wrong place. While this is a feeling I often experience, it has never lasted quite this long and persistently.

Though I am not back to feeling entirely comfortable in my skin, it’s starting to feel like a size too large rather than a pair of trousers on my arms and some socks for pants. This has come as a revelation to me, already I’ve spent an extra half an hour today glancing around my room, picking out furniture I can get rid of, making lists of drawers and boxes to empty and donate. I finally feel like there is an immediate plan in my head and it’s made me feel like I’m moving forward.

These small things aren’t going to change my life or fix my head, but they’re going to make it easier to start doing so. I will find my space to work in and exist in where I can breathe and see and feel like someone who is almost me and once I have managed that, progress can be made.

Lovely days to you lovely people

x

futile

“futile” – adjective, incapable of producing any useful result; pointless.

If you were to look at a fan’s blades long enough and focus on the individual blades rather than the blur that they become, you start to see a chase. Each blade seems to relentlessly chase the one before it, around and around and around, with no hope of ever catching it. This futile chase is how I often feel with my own head.

I have recently experienced “blackouts” of some kind and lost minutes of my life, of important events and decisions because of these and often notice that my head seems to wander away without me as though it is independent of me and often won’t come back, despite my calls, until it is ready to do so. This is how the idea of a “chase” applies to me literally, however the element I want to discuss in this post is the more metaphorical chase I endure.

I grew up in a family that didn’t talk about their feelings and very easily fell into that same routine and felt that that was the routine I was meant for. Emotions confused me and I am often easily overwhelmed by them so to me, for a very long time, my natural response to feeling something was to ignore it or run away. This is a method that worked (not really, I have serious psychological issues that are probably half caused by these habits) for my almost very situation in my life until recently when something changed in my life that requires me to be able to access and process those feelings. This doesn’t go well.

The problem is not that I don’t want to talk about these feelings, it literally boils down, most of the time, to the fact that I actually can’t. I recently got into a reasonably heated argument with someone because of frustration with myself that somehow manifested itself into pure anger. When I tried to access why I was angry, what I was angry about, what exactly had triggered my anger, I could not find an answer. These sort of situations lead to anger on both sides unfortunately and this meant that I was experiencing a lot of different emotions all at the same time, all of them very strong, but didn’t know how to handle them or how to begin to understand what they even were. This didn’t go well either and I ended up a crying mess under my duvet.

Essentially what happens is that I will be absolutely fine, in neutral, slightly numb or “switched off” even and then suddenly, often for no reason I can sense, it changes and I’m furious or heartbroken or a combination of several things at once and I will lash out to try to show that I’m feeling this way. When I then get asked what has happened to make me this way I have to chase after that feeling, running and spinning to catch it, to feel it, to try to name it as something that I can identify but, like those fan blades, it evades me relentlessly.

This is a cause of serious frustration for both me and people on the receiving end of this outburst. More often than not, the outburst is directly caused by my own frustration at not being able to handle the emotions and all it ever seems to end in now is tears or exhaustion or one of my bad habits and, hopefully, eventually sleep. I recently completely lost my head over a small comment made by someone close to me and it escalated to a point where I was upset and angry and annoyed at things that really didn;t even matter. It kept escalating though because no matter how much I struggled and waded through the murkiest, swampiest parts of my head, I could not figure out what was happening. I had walked into the middle of a war with no weapons and no armour and there were bullets skimming the water around me, shouts and cries of pain echoing through the mist and figures were looming and disappearing as I stumbled. All I felt was absolute chaos and all I could feel was the pressure to search, to chase, to find and to fix.

I ended up wounded and was only dragged out in the end by my tears and someone else’s “bitchy” patience for the mess that I am. The endeavour was futile. Looking back now, a full day later, I still don’t know what pushed me or what exactly it was I was feeling. One day I hope to be able to identify my feelings, to be able to pull out a label and stick it on, preferably with superglue so that the next time I stumble into it there’s a glaring yellow post-it note saying “You’re angry right now.” so that I can begin to put together some idea of how to fix it.

Right now I’m going to start with trying to not run away, I’m going to keep dragging myself through that swamp and hope that I get better at dodging bullets.

x

[Enjoy: Is There Somewhere, Halsey // Sign of the Times, Harry Styles // Happier, Ed Sheeran.]

the little girl and the mouse

There was once a little girl. This little girl was nothing remarkable. She was not a princess or a hero, not “the fairest in the land” or a sword-wielding defender. This little girl, however, was very sad. She didn’t have horrible parents or mean children bullying her, nor did she have to worry about having a roof over her head or food at dinner time. She did fine in school and had lovely teachers and even lovelier friends but still: she was very sad. She drew ugly pictures on herself and refused the delicacies she was offered, believing herself undeserving of such happy things when she was so melancholy at heart. She began to sink deeper and deeper, into a darkness she feared she would not escape.

Not far away lived a mouse. This mouse was an unusual creature. He was smart and gentle and, despite having been hurt and suffered through his overwhelming share of pain, he was loving and considerate to all. While he had his own type of very sad and very dark, he remained hopeful for life and looked to his future with bright eyes.

The first day that the little girl looked into those bright eyes she was warmed. Though they were not yet friends, barely even acquaintances, she looked at him and felt his brightness shine onto her sadness.

Over time, the two of them became friends. Easily finding common interests and endless topics to discuss, they were a pair some envied and others admired. The little girl’s friends liked the mouse and enjoyed his company at their tea parties. Soon, the mouse began to smile at the little girl in a different way.

Now, you must understand, this unremarkable, average little girl was not used to this attention, nor was she ready to believe it. As days, weeks went by she frowned at the knowing glances from her friends and retreated further and further into her sad little mind. Despite this fear of the mouse, this almost avoidance for so long, she could not deny that this mouse had become her confidant, her source of light in her darkness and her dearest friend. Though she was still sinking, still struggling, still terrified of life, she smiled through their time together.

She could feel herself giving the mouse little gifts; parts of herself she didn’t know she had and he accepted each one with a smile. Never criticising or mocking these gifts, never lifting his bright, unwavering gaze from her. She felt that giving of parts become easier as time went on.

However, she soon began to struggle. She had been pulling away parts of herself to hand over but was running out of gifts to give. While she had fought everything she had grown up thinking to trust this mouse to not mock those parts of her, she couldn’t find another thing to give to him. She tried with all her might and searched for hours on end. Little bits of fluff and dust mites swirled in the air of an empty space.

The space was like a loft, all large windows and light wood but there were dark corners. Parts of the room that the sunshine didn’t quite reach. One day, she ventured into one, determined to find a gift for her mouse. As she left the sunshine she turned cold, the shadows seeming to wrap around her, tightening until she was frozen in place. The dark corner fought her search, battled with her poking and prodding. That dark corner refused to relent and attacked the little girl with all it had. It won.

She tried each corner, only edging in before the cold start to seep into her bones again and she retreated to the sunlight. She sat in the middle of the large space, all the parts that used to clutter and fill the room were gone and she sat alone. The sun warmed her and when she shut her eyes she could almost imagine that it was her mouse’s eyes on her, sending soft heat through her and protecting her from those dark corners.

The next time she saw the mouse, he held his hand out, used to these gifts she brought, not demanding one but suggesting to her that another one was okay. She looked at his outstretched hand and looked back up at him, her eyes hopeless and apologetic. He frowned and looked at her questioningly, his mouth opening to begin a question.

“There’s nothing left to give you. Nothing I know how to give.”

Her head dropped as she said it and she saw her mouse’s hand drop at the same time. She kept her eyes to the ground, afraid to look up to see the disappointment in his eyes. When his hand lifted her chin and she was forced to look back at him, she saw no disappointment, only warm understanding.

The next time she saw the mouse, he held his hand out again, she looked at him, panicked and opened her mouth to explain, to apologise. Suddenly his outstretched hand reached for hers. Their fingers clasped and she looked at their hands woven together.

She looked back up at her mouse and he was warmth and light, her dark corners hissing at the intrusion and her own self trembling slightly from the heat.

The mouse did something quite stupid. He fell in love with that little girl with her very sad, dark corners and her strange stories. He was foolish to do it if anyone asked that sad little girl.

But that unremarkable, average little girl will hold onto his hand and probe at those dark corners with his supportive light until they release the parts they have stolen from her. That sad little girl will keep trying and pushing until she can hand over the rest of herself, with a smile and, one day, with love as well.

((This was definitely something different to write. I didn’t plan or edit or try to find my metaphors and poetic devices. I let words run away and let my fingers try to follow, it turns out my runaway words are a bit cheesy.I hope it’s something worth reading. Please feel free to leave comments below. ))

Lovely, warm days to you lovely people.

x

Trust Me

“trust” – verb, believe in the reliability, truth, or ability of someone or something.

The word “trust” is both a noun and a verb, depending on the position in which it’s used. In this particular post, I’m using it as a verb because “to trust someone” feels like something larger than “to place your trust in someone” to me.

 

Five years ago, I went on a three-week 200km hiking trip with my school. It’s a pretty big deal and was possibly one of the greatest experiences of my life and I may well have a blog post dedicated to that at a later date, but there is a particular point I would like to focus on in relation to it.

We were split into three groups of just under twenty girls each and for those three weeks, those other girls and our two leaders would often be the only people you would see for a whole day. This meant that there was a lot of trust required. To travel with close to 20kg backpacks and sleep only in tents or even just under the stars for that long is the sort of thing that you can’t experience together without having a certain level of trust. This meant that in the weeks leading up to our hike, in amongst our various seminars and speeches and “How To Pack a Backpack” workshops, we also had teambuilding.

These team building exercises were mostly harmless obstacle courses and treasure hunts traversing the whole school but on the last day, three days before we went off to pack and prepare ourselves, we had a final day of it and were told to prepare to “Become a Family”. Yet again, mostly harmless and even fun activities, until they pulled out a massive table from one of the classrooms near the field we were all on and were told to jump off the table…

These beautiful creations known as “trust falls” have been a torturous experience for me most of my life and this was no different. I was the absolute last person to go and, though I repeated my fear several times, was eventually pushed up onto the table. My group members had already gathered below, arms crossed and hands clasped right by the table with other girls ready with supporting holds and I stood there for a solid minute before my best friend threatened to come up and push me off. We all laughed and I dropped. It was one of the most terrifying moments of my high school life, right after abseiling down a dam wall or my final drama practical.

But they caught me. And through those three weeks, as cheesy* as it sounds, we repeated to catch each other day after day and that was how we survived those 200km.

As I mentioned, trust falls are not easy to me, and this, obviously, is partly due to the fact that trusting is not easy to me either. There are very few people in the world I trust and, as a cynical being, I am quite happy with this state of being.

Trust has technically been classified by sociologists as a social construct. It’s an entity which doesn’t exist outside of our social reality. There are several similar constructs which trust directly relate to, these include control, confidence, risk, and power. It’s these words that push me to struggle with trusting. I personally agree with those that suggest, as a social construct, we should question if “trust” can be trusted. There is a reason those constructs all link.

To trust someone is to place yourself at risk of betrayal, it’s giving that person an amount of power that I feel nervous to relinquish. That person has the power to control you entirely once you’ve placed enough trust in them, after some time, that trust can develop into dependence. While I know that I didn’t need those girls to literally catch me from falling off a table every day, I did need them to be there for support in case I fell off a cliff (literally), fell ill, fell victim to blisters (one of three people in my group who didn’t actually) or fell to my emotions at any point. At the end of those 200km, our relationships and dynamics within our group had developed and mostly for the better.

Within a week of our return, we had slipped back into the non-dependent kind of trust, which was good. This experience of trust was fairly enjoyable for me if a bit scary at times. This trust was one that was required, if only for a short time. The other kind of trust, the more long-term kind is the type that involves that handover of power and control, it’s the type that leaves you vulnerable.

I am not a person that likes being vulnerable and if I am even willing to be with anyone, that person had better be feeling pretty damn special. I don’t fall off the table easily but I am slowly finding myself trusting people more deeply as I grow up.

Unfortunately, as is to be expected, some of this was misplaced trust which resulted in some terrible consequences. A close friend of mine, who wanted something more from our friendship, was someone I trusted with a lot. After finding out that I was, firstly uninterested, but also now entirely unavailable, he has been responding in poor fashion and is slowly killing me with subtly snarky comments and questions.

I do know what my largest misplaced trust experience was and, “according to scientific studies”, the betrayal of trust early in life by people, particularly family members, in whom you should be able to place your trust, is one of the main contributing factors in a struggle to trust, which correlates. (There were far too many commas in that sentence – I do apologise)

On the opposite end of the spectrum, being a trusting person is one of the “strongest predictors of subjective well-being”…….well shit.

So, essentially, it’s healthy to be able to jump off a table. This is a fact that I’m having difficulty coming to terms with. I am aware of not being a “healthy” person but I had always assumed that everyone had the same level of mistrust I have with most people. The reason I write this post (besides feeling like I need to and not thinking of anything else even slightly relevant or prevalent enough in my life at the moment) is because I am now in positions in which trust is almost essential.

One, in particular, the one which triggered this post, is a relationship with someone in whom I’ve placed more trust than is probably safe or sane and every day I am reminded of how much power I have willingly handed over to this person and feel more and more intimidated and, simultaneously, comforted by this control I’m giving to him in truckloads at a time.

The logical part of my brain has spent the last month screaming that I’m being stupid and need to seriously reconsider my choices and realise that I’m setting myself up for suffering.

There’s a very large part of my brain (and possibly every single other part of me) telling it to shut up and just jump off the goddamn table.

[ Just listen to Stay, Hurts. That’s it.]

((*I am slowly being taught to embrace the cheese in life and will try to integrate it here as well))

Lovely days everyone

x

ennui

“ennui” – noun, a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.

The first time I read the word “ennui”, I thought it was an animal. I was about nine at the time and continued with this belief until I was about fifteen and actually sought out a definition after stumbling upon it again. Someone recently used this word while speaking to me and it stuck its heels in and has refused to leave my head. When I was seventeen I applied this word to much of my life and preferred to think of myself as suffering from this instead of other ailments. I still prefer this word to the other ones with taboo tags.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that I usually plan or roughly outline a blog post before putting it anywhere but occasionally (though slowly more and more often, unfortunately) I throw caution to the wind and type instead. Today is one of those days, the caution has been thrown and the journaler within me is raring to go.

There are several events in my life currently which I classify as a big deal. To clarify, the title of big deal is one which very little deserves in my life and when I say these words, it usually means life-changing in a big way.

The first is that Grand Adventure (I don’t remember what capitalised title I’ve used for it before, sorry) but, essentially, I’m moving to a different continent later this year. While this is something I have been excited for for as long as I’ve been dreaming of it (that’s seven years) it has become a subject which I dread. I recently took a trip up to the half of my family I don’t see very often and one of the few topics that are apparently interesting to these members is this Grand Adventure (and the other big deal in my life at the moment, but we’ll get onto that). This means that over the last week, I have spoken of little but these two topics. The Grand Adventure discussion is one that I already don’t enjoy because of the negativity that surrounds it due to the permanent delays (every one of which is my fault which just angers me and makes me hate myself a little bit more) as well as the fact that I sometimes question this decision. I have never questioned my decision to leave this country but now I reconsider the country I’m moving to, the things I want to study, the direction I want my life to go in and, while I know that at my age I “still have time” and “don’t have to have it all planned out yet”, I would prefer to have some form of plan.

This is what links to the ennui. I’ve reached that state of aimlessness in which it doesn’t matter to me that I don’t have a plan and am enjoying this strange wandering around with no real goal. The strange thing about this is that I’m usually incapable of that. Games in which there is no real goal and they just leave that “Explore” suggestion at the top of the screen bother me to no end and I find them an absolute waste of time, which is why me being content with this wandering is odd. I can’t figure out if it’s this particular subject or if I’ve simply lost the energy for tasks like this. There are very few things I bother putting energy into at this point in my life and I am beginning to wonder if this is a choice or if I don’t actually have it in me to get these things done.

This brings me to my other big deal of the moment. I’ve recently entered into a relationship and, while it may be a stupid thing to do between this aimlessness that is pervading my life and the fact that I am leaving the country soon, I can’t find the energy to not be absolutely okay with all of these “problems” and it’s the one aspect of my life that is strangely effortless. While it’s completely terrifying and intimidating to me, he’s also one of the few things that keeps the ennui at bay while he’s around. It’s new territory and constantly nerve-wracking but I enjoy almost every moment of it.

Unfortunately, I’m beginning to find, that the ennui seems to hit me harder when he leaves and it turns this into a strange dependency that makes me uncomfortable and needs to be averted. I hope that this strange drop (unlike any I’ve really properly had before) is mostly due to exhaustion with the huge change after a huge lift from a deep drop followed by an almost immediate drop in one day when I saw him after a week away and then had to say goodbye for almost that long again and not a trend that I can begin to expect or else my Grand Adventure will become a rather difficult task (more so than it already is.)

I hope the expulsion of words will help to let me sleep and maybe let me return to a more stable state of being. I can already feel myself drifting and need to sleep in order to avert any bad decisions for the evening. I hope to be back with something more structured and sensical when I return – hopefully soon.

A lovely week to you all

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