I wrote this back at the beginning of March
How strange that it is March once again. And so different and significant this time around. I never thought of March as any sort of year milestone before last year happened. Now it is the month mine, along with millions of others', lives changed.
I am so different from the Tiffany of March 2020. Although this unprecedented event was happening to the world and affecting my immediate life, I was still hopeful. I was innately hopeful. I am not an innately paranoid or pessimistic person. Although I can be a bit dark, I never put a negative spin on things. I'm realistic. But not hopeless.
The morning of March 1 I could not stop crying. I know it was a mixture of my on going battle with my pandemic depression, my exhaustion from jumping back into hosting at a restaurant for 8 hours straight, 3 days in a row, creating my dance Tiktoks by dedicating hours to learning, training, filming and editing, and being homesick.
I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of being sad. I don't know how to make myself feel better. I know all the logical reasons why I feel the way I do. I know all the logical reasons why I shouldn't lose hope completely. But that doesn't give you hope. It really doesn't. It seems like a proper equation for it, but it doesn't pan out that way. Where does hope come from?
My whole life and career and ran on hard work paired with faith. I always innately knew that something would happen. And whatever happened, it was all part of the plan and I deserved whatever it was. But I was also a hard worker and a good person, so I knew no matter what happened, I had that. My dad drove that thought process into my and my sister's heads. But now that's not enough for me. I'm working hard literally for nothing. And I don't even feel like a good person because I barely feel like a person in some moments.
I was someone who used to get so happy and giddy over the smallest things. I want her back, damnit!
I get up every day, and even when it's hard and hours go by with me not even moving an inch and getting literally stuck in a position, I am still trying. I dance. I know that helps me and it has always been part of my self identity and therapy. It's cathartic and yet at the same time still sad for me. But I guess that is just what it is right now.
I know I should do all the other things that really ground me, things I normally enjoy like journaling, yoga, reading, taking baths, all that good good self care trendy stuff that I've been doing before Instagram was even invented. But I can't seem to bring myself there, even though I crave it.
I also started a muggle job this past weekend and I haven't had to be a muggle in many years and that is probably most likely feeding the dark beast.
