Eight years ago I made this blog because I needed a place to escape. A place where I could hurl my thoughts, uninterrupted, and no one would ask me to explain what they meant. A place where I didn’t have to keep a smile on my face 100% of the time to appease other people. A place where simply existing was enough. Where I was enough.
I didn’t think I’d need to come back to this place.
My life feels disjointed as of late. *I* feel disjointed. Principally I am happy. I have a fantastic job, with great friends, amazing family, a good support network, access to books that I love, and hobbies that I enjoy.
There is a roof over my head, food in my belly, fur babies running around the house.
But why is it that I can’t truly say that I am happy?
For one, I am 30 pounds overweight, again. Again.
Some days I look in the mirror, and I see a woman staring back at me who is trying her best. But other days I can’t get myself to make eye contact with that woman in the mirror, because I’m not sure what I will see when I look at her.
I am in debt, and when I sit and I calculate and I crunch the numbers, everything feels so overwhelming I can hardly breathe. Debt with a capital ‘D’ sits crushingly on my shoulders, and the only person I have to blame is myself and my bad decisions.
I live at home. Again. I moved home during the pandemic when an opportunity presented itself and I could finally escape from the misery that was my life, the misery of being alone constantly, of going to bed alone and waking up alone, even though my partner was only a few feet away at his chair. Escape the misery of having no friends who saw anything worthwhile in me, of having no family close enough to hold me, and no future where happiness seemed like an option.
So I ran, the first chance I took, and I never looked back. But here I am, 2.5 years later shy of two days, and I have once again gone back to a place I had created to escape.
Part of me wonders if the problem is how much of this I keep in my head.
I don’t talk to people about the things that are wrong in my life because so much of my life is good. It feels like I should not complain about all that I’ve been afforded, because how can there be things wrong in my life when so much of it is filled with good?
But that doesn’t change the fact that I am scared. Scared of never being good enough. Scared of never getting out from my debt. Scared of never being able to live alone. Scared of never being loved.
Today, on December 27, 2022 I am 28 years old. I live with my parents and my younger brother. I am $65K in debt. I am alone.
I have friends who love me. A family who loves me. A job that I love, and people who love working with me. I have season tickets to the Calgary Flames. I am studying French in University. I have travelled the world, seen my favourite bands in concert. I am loved.
But none of the good changes the fact I have no idea how to love myself.
And truly, I don’t know if I ever will.