I wrote over 400 words in this draft. Then I erased it all. Call this “Take Two.”
I’m very proud of myself for writing more in this blog. There was a time, not too long ago (OCTOBER 2017) when I couldn’t even fathom stringing two words together. I was like, in a hole. A hole full of FEELINGS! And from down in this hole, I could look up at the sky and see all the words above me, like butterflies. Words that I used to love and catch so easily, just out of reach. Teasing me, floating just above my fingertips, now that I was so far down in my Feelings Hole. BASICALLY, I was deeply sad and having a hard time expressing myself. You get what I mean.
So while I have been writing now, I’m more worried than ever that it isn’t very… good? In fact, I’m concerned that it’s downright unreadable. I’m just doing what I always used to do: clacking out the words on the keyboard in exactly the way they pop into my head. One of my favorite teachers once gave me a compliment that has never left me. She said, “Meghan, you write exactly the way you talk.” I took that as a fantastic compliment!
But speaking of things that have left me, I am afraid that words have just gone away while I was down in my Hole of Sadness. Like a strong breeze just blew them away.
And I never got to say goodbye!
It is absolutely making me insecure. I used to be rather proud of how easy it was for me to weave my words into coherent —or at least, entertaining — sentences. But lately…
I’ve been reading over the things I post, off-the-cuff, and it’s all garbled garbage. I can’t figure out what the hell I’m reading! Yeah, from a distance, it looks like words. Words and punctuation. But, like an Impressionist painting, look a little closer and it all falls apart into disjointed pieces.
Kinda like… ….me?
Don’t get me wrong: I’m doing great. I’m paying my bills, I’m knocking it out of the park at work, I’m keeping up with my skincare routine! Occasionally, I even eat a vegetable, on purpose. I’m dressing warmly enough for the weather, meeting my deadlines, and generally holding it together.
On the surface.
Beneath the grocery lists and keeping my tabletops clean, I can not deny that my foundation has been shaken to the core, and I’m still picking up the pieces. It’s like, just when I think I’ve climbed out of the Feelings Hole and my fingers can touch grass, the ground magically rises up and several more rungs appear on that ladder ahead of me. What have I done? What am I doing? and is it normal to be worrying about these things, anyway?
And I guess it might be. Normal, that is. To have a crisis of confidence after so much of your life has changed, so quickly, so painfully, as mine did not too long ago (OCTOBER 2017). But when I pause from my desperate skyward climb to look back down at this hole of seemingly infinite depth, it occurs to me that I’ve been “in a hole” for quite a long time. Even before the stress of a failing relationship, there was the long stretch of unemployment. Before that, was the misery of failing so hard at my attempt to fulfill a lifelong dream of becoming a teacher. Before that, was the ennui of working at the candy store and being bitter about not reaching my potential. WOW. This was a truly shocking realization for me, that forced me to reckon with the larger issue. The fact that I never took responsibility for my own misery.
I mean… it’s MINE. I can’t conveniently place the blame for my depression on any one person. This hole was a hole of my own making. This Hole — I Dug It. And while I’m still sort of floundering when it comes to escaping the hole and walking among the rest of the world, just the fact that I’ve realized that the hole is mine, I control the hole — makes it feel a little bit brighter down here.
Huh.
image via pexels
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