I’ve been avoiding putting down words for a month, telling myself I’m too stressed, that I have no good ideas, that I’ve nothing to say. All of which might be somewhat true, but ultimately, they were all excuses.
I Was Scared of Being True.
I haven’t admitted what was happening in my life. I applied for a job in Düsseldorf, reasoning that it was because the application process was interesting. It wasn’t a lie — it was interesting! You had to record videos of yourself answering their questions in order to set up your application, and there was no need to send in a cover letter or your resume, it was all built into the job portal.
But did I really want a new job? I haven’t achieved my own goals for where I am yet (like 60% organic traffic — I MUST DO THIS — and other stuff). I don’t want to leave before that happens — I want to see it through.
What I really wanted to do was run away.
I was unhappy — and am unhappy — for an entirely different reason. So I wanted change that was tangible. Change I could see and feel and touch.
I Had To Be Honest With Myself — I Wanted To Get Out And Go Somewhere.
In the end I booked a short solo trip with anywhr.co for pretty much the same reason. Because I felt the need to leave. I needed Change with a capital C. I reasoned that fresh air and new sights will bring me peace.
I don’t know if going on a trip alone to I’ve-got-no-clue-where will change me because I haven’t gone on the trip yet. I’m looking forward to the break and the surprise of not knowing where I’ll be going until I get to the airport. But the trip is probably not going to change me in the ways that I want.
It’s not going to magically solve my problems and show me what to do. It won’t make my feelings go away, or my breakup any less painful. It’s scary to admit that because I haven’t said a word to my parents, and because I haven’t said anything on social media. I might not be happy but I felt like I had to be on the internet. Somehow it feels like I could run away from it if I just keep it hush hush.
But the truth is my relationship broke down and has been breaking down for a while now. No amount of trying again changed that, and the last time made me so stressed that even thinking about trying again made me anxious and upset. So I decided not to. We decided not to, and it’s been a little more than a month since then.
There’s an open door of friendship between us that frankly scares me. At this point, I’d rather not add that onto my plate. I told him we’ll speak again later, but I’m not ready for that. And I don’t know when I will be.
Being true doesn’t mean I’ll spill everything that’s happened on here. It does mean admitting that things are not okay. Things don’t have to be okay all the time.
Because Writing Has To Be True.
It doesn’t have to be factual, not if you’re writing fiction and poetry and the like. But writing has to be true. It’s kind of how we put meaning to the words we’re reading. Because we relate to them from our own past experiences.
Yes, I know, there’s the Death of the Author (explained better by this YouTube video than myself), so basically we shouldn’t be asking what the author means because everyone would be reading the same words through different lenses.
But there’s a difference between writing something true and writing something that’s a cop out. Not to mention, what you write as the “author” is already coloured by your experiences. So I’m just trying to write something true.
I know social media is basically synonymous with curation at this point. I know it’s difficult to portray a less-than-perfect life on Instagram. Facebook is a little less iffy in that sense, but let’s be honest: who wants to be that person who blabs about how sad they are in Facebook?
People pin stuff on pinterest to curate boards. Twitter is another thing altogether, but I haven’t used it in years, and in my head Twitter is always great for stalking my favourite writers online. We hide our personal Tumblrs in our darkest corners and don’t tell anyone else they exist.
On LinkedIn, you have to be both personable and professional. On Medium, your voice should contribute to a larger conversation.
If you write a blog, and if you turn the conversation inward, it’s somehow uncomfortable to read. It’s partly why I’m trying to frame this piece of writing with headings and a larger point even though I feel like I don’t have any.
I’m Admitting I’m Not Okay To Myself.
And I don’t have all the answers. I don’t have a magical verse from the bible that’s going to click in my head and make it all okay. Maybe some people do, but for me it’s going to be a long trudge from feeling immensely stressed out to actually being okay.
I still want to run somewhere, and I still feel stressed when I think about dealing with the aftermath of this relationship and what I should do next. I wake up in the middle of the night for no reason at all. I’m hoping melatonin will help.
I still have the urge to wrap this up nicely. But all I can really say is I regret not buying that giraffe in that picture from one of those market things that they had in Germany. It would have made a great companion to Momo.
Admitting It Out Loud.
I’m also admitting it to others. Of course I just summarise it to some and maybe talk a little more to friends. I’m hoping that by confronting what I feel, not only to myself but to other people, I don’t hide behind myself and pretend everything is fine. That somehow seems like a worse deal.
Things aren’t fine, and that’s perfectly okay. I’ll let you know how my trip goes.