I’m heartbroken, I’m tired… I am mourning the past

I promised I would journal more this year. Because I need to. And because I no longer want to find solace in another person’s arms or over a phone conversation. I also don’t want scrolling social media to be my coping mechanism.

You know it’s funny how the older I get, the more I retreat back to an earlier version of myself. I used to want to be so far removed from the girl who used to read books in the library at lunch… the girl who wrote voraciously in her journal… But now I miss her. I’m trying to be her again. I’m trying to go back to my old hobbies and routines.

I’m processing heartbreak, and it really is a rollercoaster ride. Some days I feel so completely normal. I wake up and feel like I’m “healed.” The next second, I feel the rage of something that was said and the next second, I am numb. After feeling all those emotions, I end up with the shame of feeling anything at all. It’s a wretched cycle.

I’m also grieving the past. I miss so much about the past. I turned 30 at the end of February. I, of course, reflected on my twenties and what they meant to me.. everything that happened. All that has changed. It’s so hard to grapple with.

Lately, every year is a different lifetime. It’s mind boggling.

The pandemic did not help with that sensation. It’s so overwhelming to know you’re never going to have the life you once had before. The routines you became so accustomed to are now nonexistent. I feel like everything is changing so rapidly, it really puts me on edge.

It’s so strange how I can be around someone I’ve known for a decade and feel like I need to cut them off or something because I’m not even close to the same person anymore! I had that experience the other day. It’s not that I actually would cut them out of my life, but it just FEELS like I’m in a different vortex staring at a familiar face from a former life. It is so out-of-body. It’s a full blown identity crisis.

But the good news is I made a huge move to DC this year, and I am happy to say it was not a mistake. I thought it might be. I thought I’d land and suffer from regret and despair.

How dare I move from Florida… a “paradise” as many would describe it as. But I’m pleasantly surprised. I love it here. It really suits me. The beauty of this city is something I did not plan for. It has exceeded my expectations so far. That’s another blog post though.

It’s still so overwhelming to be in a new place figuring out a new routine. There are periods of my life I truly mourn, even grieve. I hate the word grieve as it often feels melodramatic. No one has died right? But in a way we are all dying and being reborn constantly, except we stay in our bodies and we witness our revival. That really is a feat in itself.

But when I use the word grieve, I end up reminding myself to be grateful I have not had anyone pass away recently or had something horrible happen. However, the thought of that sends me into a spiral of anxiety about the potential events to come.

Anyway, I am trying. I am trying and I am accepting that I am not perfect. Even as I write this entry, parts of me are telling myself to go back and make the writing perfect… edit the words… make it floral. But I don’t want to write that way anymore. These are my thoughts and words as they come.

I’m not perfect. I feel the weight of the world so often. My depression is a yoyo… constantly bouncing up and down. When I feel okay, the dread appears. When the dread appears, it soon fades and I am content again.

I’m breathing and I am trying soo hard. I feel like a failure more of the time. I have so much shame. This is just the surface of it. This is just me getting words on the page. This is just the beginning.

I have so much more to say..so much to unravel

& that’s the truth
Sher

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