It's been more than a year (honestly, why do I even start these blogs!). I've barely written at all for ages, and I think it might be catching up with me. I leave a lot unsaid in terms of talking, although it's less than it used to be what with texts and WhatsApp. Honestly, though, nothing used to soothe me better than pouring things out willy-nilly onto a blog or diary.
It's been a very difficult time for the past six months. In fact, this is kind of the six-month anniversary of Shit Hit Chia's Life. The grandfather has been unwell on and off, which meant constant trips to the hospital and terrifying hours of uncertainty. A new house was bought without my whole-hearted consent, with money that isn't mine.
What has been really, really exhausting and unnecessarily dramatic is my personal life. Details are sordid and have been rehashed too many times to the point of terrible pain. Major, major screw-ups, emotional and physical violence, friendships stretched...
These were the times I would always run to my diary, or the computer, to write. It's strange that I haven't and perhaps that's why healing has been slower. Immediately after the storm broke, I was stoic. Eerily calm, some said. I cried, but mostly, I was sharp, cold steel. I shut myself off to reason it out, unable to trust nearly everyone I considered close. I rarely see crises as the end of the world, rather choosing to see them as enormous changes. But, this may have been the end of life as I knew it. When what is most precious is shattered, maybe it can be repaired, but never in the same way.
I now find myself wondering if I didn't give myself enough space to grieve, if I wasn't gentle enough on my own broken self.
Because....I did break. And six months later, I still sometimes find myself crying for no apparent reason. More frequently, I find myself filled with doubt, brimming with sadness and uncertainty. Wondering if I should have done more. Done less. Shouted more. Made it more difficult.
Over the last few days, I've been feeling especially constricted. As though the house, the city, the people around me are growing smaller and heavier all at once. As though I need a change, and to break away from everything familiar, at least for a while.
Maybe it's that I just turned 30 and one of the coolest things about that is making decisions entirely for yourself. Maybe I just need to quit my job, do something different, travel and write more. Maybe I need new people with better energy.
Maybe then I'll be whole again, or at least a little less fractured.
It's been a very difficult time for the past six months. In fact, this is kind of the six-month anniversary of Shit Hit Chia's Life. The grandfather has been unwell on and off, which meant constant trips to the hospital and terrifying hours of uncertainty. A new house was bought without my whole-hearted consent, with money that isn't mine.
What has been really, really exhausting and unnecessarily dramatic is my personal life. Details are sordid and have been rehashed too many times to the point of terrible pain. Major, major screw-ups, emotional and physical violence, friendships stretched...
These were the times I would always run to my diary, or the computer, to write. It's strange that I haven't and perhaps that's why healing has been slower. Immediately after the storm broke, I was stoic. Eerily calm, some said. I cried, but mostly, I was sharp, cold steel. I shut myself off to reason it out, unable to trust nearly everyone I considered close. I rarely see crises as the end of the world, rather choosing to see them as enormous changes. But, this may have been the end of life as I knew it. When what is most precious is shattered, maybe it can be repaired, but never in the same way.
I now find myself wondering if I didn't give myself enough space to grieve, if I wasn't gentle enough on my own broken self.
Because....I did break. And six months later, I still sometimes find myself crying for no apparent reason. More frequently, I find myself filled with doubt, brimming with sadness and uncertainty. Wondering if I should have done more. Done less. Shouted more. Made it more difficult.
Over the last few days, I've been feeling especially constricted. As though the house, the city, the people around me are growing smaller and heavier all at once. As though I need a change, and to break away from everything familiar, at least for a while.
Maybe it's that I just turned 30 and one of the coolest things about that is making decisions entirely for yourself. Maybe I just need to quit my job, do something different, travel and write more. Maybe I need new people with better energy.
Maybe then I'll be whole again, or at least a little less fractured.
