Facebook is filled with links to articles that talk about love and relationships. Oftentimes, these articles are in the form of checklists. “If it’s real love then your relationship has these 10 things”. “If he really loves you then he will do these 15 things”. “Your relationship will fail if you say these 9 things”. Continue reading “My Message of Love”
I have this really strong urge to go somewhere secluded. In the mountains, maybe. Where the tree canopies and the sunsets make my shallow, habitual need for constant entertainment obsolete. I would live in a shack where the natural cross breeze would act as my air conditioning and the rays of the sun would act as my heat. If I was bored I would visit my bookshelf, full of american classics and poetry, and choose something to read for the day. Or, I would grab my camera and go for a hike. I want to be able to put my phone down and listen to whatever thoughts I’m trying to ignore every time I scroll through a news feed, or hit the play button on Netflix.
There are plenty of people who don’t quite understand this, or they see me as depressed.”Make sure you’re not isolating.” they say. “What are you trying to run away from?” they ask. Each answer is simple. Realizing that this is something that I desire is invigorating and broadens the gap between me and any depression. I am not trying to hide. I am not moving geographically in the hopes that I will be able to escape my problems. For in the silence I wish to surround myself with, I welcome all of my thoughts and worries. I’ll even save them a seat in the car or the bus that I ride in, buckle them in, make sure they’re comfortable. I might even let them choose a song or two on the radio. In the mountains I would have room for all I’m supposed to be, including any and all baggage that I carry.
I wish to go somewhere remote because, sometimes, in this world, I feel as though I am being screamed at. I am constantly trying to listen to others, trying not to offend others, and caring way to much about what others think. It seems as though I am ignoring myself. Everything is just to loud sometimes.
So maybe I am trying to run away, but it is from the things not allowing me to listen. Listen. Listening, understanding,comprehending and honoring…Honoring. But, finally, of the self and not of others. In the company of the trees and the magic dust from the moon that fills the air every night. In the company of the natural rhythm of the seasons. High on a mountain closer to heaven, the sky and of all its energy. There I wish to listen. There I wish to confront what I, and most of us, hide from on a daily basis.
One day, I promise, I will do this. And imagine the amazing blog posts that will come of it!
I was looking through my old journals the other day, and it was something that proved to be really difficult. Writing is my main (healthy) form of coping and I kept pretty extensive journals throughout the most traumatic times in my life. I was thoroughly emotionally abused throughout middle school and was also bullied restlessly by the typical “mean girls”. I was un-medicated for my anxiety and depression and was starting to experiment with my eating disorder. To be completely honest, I was a very emotionally unhealthy girl in a very emotionally unhealthy situation. As one can imagine, any journal entry that was written during a time like that would show just how broken I really was. These journals document exactly where, when and how my up-hill climb to total recovery began.
After reading these journals (with the intention of looking for writing inspiration) i was thoroughly… disturbed with myself. I must have forgotten that i once had any of those thoughts, or had been in any of those situations. I then proceeded to cry a little bit about it and debate whether or not I should throw all of the journals away. I wanted to get rid of any evidence that there was of me being like that.
Amy Winehouse is one of my favorite singers, and one of the people that interests me the most (along with Maya Angelou). I feel as though me and her were “cut from the same cloth”, or that we were extremely similar people who took extremely different paths. I decided to watch her documentary when it was finally available on demand. There were things she experienced and things that she said that changed my total outlook on recovery. But, the one thing that pertains to this blog post about journaling is when she said (paraphrase) “a lot of people experience depression. But I’m lucky because I can pick up a guitar and right a song. I sing about what I know Because that is the only way to be authentic. I have an outlet.”
Writing is my outlet. During those horrible times 6 yeas ago, I wrote what I knew, I wrote of who I was. Whether I like it or not, my bullies, my abusive father, and my battle with an eating disorder are part of my beautiful authenticity. I must never wish that a part of who I am (or was) didn’t exist.
I kept the journals