So it's about 4 in the morning and I'm doing that paranoid-mom thing where I don't sleep because I have to get up every five minutes to make sure my baby is still breathing, and so I'm also doing a lot of being on the internet to occupy the time when I've not got my ear pressed to my son's chest. Just a few hours ago I posted something on the blog and the feedback it's gotten has been pretty overwhelming, so I had to write this to express my feelings about all of the positivity I've received in return for just saying what's on my mind.
I'm not very good at making things up which, as a writer, is kind of a shitty trait to have. I can't count the number of projects I've started only to have them fizzle out early on, and this blog is no different. It started out as a place for me to air out my soul and get things off of my chest...I had piles and piles of what I suppose you can call essays or poetry or whatever it is that I write and they were just collecting dust on my hard drive. As it went on I tried to do the things my blogging friends were doing; motivational posts, reviews of stuff, lists, etc., but the response for those things just wasn't good. Personally, I think it's because it was obvious I was trying too hard to be a "blogger." I'm not a blogger, I'm a girl who writes from my heart and puts it on a blog for the world to see.
The "poem" I posted was a true story. Everything I write is true. It's kind of a mirror for me to examine myself in, to put these things out there in the open forces me to be honest with myself. As someone who has been dealing with deep depression and anxiety for years and years, it's pretty easy for me to just bury myself under the covers and hide. It's pretty easy to blame the mental disease for everything instead of facing it and facing the issues I've had and fixing them. I'm fucking broken; it isn't easy to admit to myself or anyone else. I could chalk all of my misadventures up to youth and just having fun, but that would be a flat-out lie and that's against everything I stand for. All of the mistakes I've made and all of the bad judgement calls were because of my brokenness, because I was looking for ways to fill the voids inside or to distract me from the tangled mess of a person I am.
Or was, I should say.
I'm sure as hell not "cured," but I'm better. I'm finding my way through my own bullshit to see that I'm a person with a purpose in life, things that I'm good at, and something worthwhile to say. I'm not ashamed of who I am or who I've been. I've had dark times I thought I'd never get out of. I've had times where I've used alcohol as a band-aid. I've looked at relationships as a meter of my worth as a woman, and I've chosen men who were physically and/or emotionally unavailable because I myself didn't know how to have a normal, healthy relationship...or I just didn't want to be bothered with one. The fact of the matter is that the sole reason I am a mother is a combination of all of those things. I had a baby completely by accident, and it came about for all the wrong reasons. I am at this precise point in my life because up until this point I have lived my life entirely "wrong." But the question becomes this: Is it really "wrong" if it has led you down exactly the right road?
I know deep in my heart that I am on the right road. It is a bumpy road, with many twists and turns and no signs posted along the way to steer me in the right direction. I'm driving this one by feel alone, but I think God is guiding my hand on the wheel. I think if I keep following my heart I'll end up where I need to go. I think if I keep listening to my gut, I'll be okay. Each day I travel one more mile and take in the scenery, and I mend just a little bit. I will probably always be broken, I think some people are just that way, but it isn't a curse anymore. It's the map I'm using to find myself. When you're wounded and the wound turns into a scar, the scar tissue is tougher than the skin around it. I am tougher for my scars, and I'll wear them proudly as a testament.
Maybe some of the stuff I've written or will write will hit close to home for somebody. Maybe some with find it pathetic or dramatic, maybe it might be too much for some to bear. But that I've written something that so many told me they were touched by only proves to me that I've been doing at least one thing right...choosing to live my life with complete transparency and baring my soul at the cost of my pride, being vulnerable when my very nature is to shut myself off and protect all my tenderest parts.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am HAPPY. It isn't easy, but it's worth every blessed second. I will struggle, I will fall, I will get back up and I will keep going.
And I will write about it, because even when I feel like I have nothing, I still have the words.
Thank you to every single person who reads this, or has ever read it. It means more to me than you will ever know. I truly love you all.