I’ve been searching for a subject to write about… something other than the mundane thoughts that cross my mind every damn day. I find myself picking apart every detail of my life as of lately. I feel grounded and yet absolutely chaotic at the same time, and I don’t want to lose my way.
In March of this year, I moved out of the home I had shared with someone I had loved for eight years; I think this may have thrown me off from writing. It was a really hard time, though the relationship had ended (more like burned to the ground) six months prior, he was still my best friend and that was my home I was giving up. But it had to happen. I moved, I left that place and went out on my own. I left the state, going as far from anywhere I’ve ever lived, to be alone, as an adult, for the first time. Well, not completely alone, as I had my cat Albus with me.
It was the strangest situation, as I had only known adulthood while in that relationship. Sure, I had developed responsibility, bills, long term jobs, ect… but actually living on my own two feet, not having a parent hovering over me, a partner, a roommate? That was a complete change of atmosphere. It began an internal downward spiral. When I should have been happy, I should have been proud to be on my own, to be a damn adult and self-reliant, I wasn’t. I was far from it. I was homesick, I was angry and depressed and did not want to be in my head. I didn’t want any of it.
I’ve never been good with change, and I think that comes from being a child of divorce, as many of my generational spawn are. My mother reminded me of a time that I had a meltdown at the age of seven or so, when she wanted to replace the vinyl blinds in my bedroom with new ones, I flat out refused to let her throw them away.  I couldn’t stand items being removed from their original place, things altering around me.  So, with that in mind, it’s pretty easy to see how my adjustment and transition did not settle so well, even nearly two decades later.
It was a strenuous process, getting on my own two feet and facing the facts. I was alone. I am to be alone in this world, even if one day I am to be with someone again. At the end, I will only have me, and as bleak as it sounds, it’s grounding. It is a concept I’ve never been able to fully comprehend, though I am slowly coming to embrace it. I’ve been painting, playing guitar, doing crafts, exercising, and all of the things I had been stifling myself from, under my veil of despondency. With every negative emotion I went through in that time, I triggered a metamorphosis of sorts; an inner strength.
I’ve developed this crazy intricate life. I have thousands of things going on at different times, and I never know what to do with it. I find myself wearing thin, and that’s when I get back to this dark place.
I think I’m in my melancholy state once more, and that’s why I’m writing- to push these thoughts out and move the hell on. For instance, I had a killer weekend, but then I go analyze the things I had said to people, or the way I had acted towards another, and begin to doubt myself.  I start to become really concerned with everything around me and what I may have done wrong. That’s where I’m at.
It’s as if, I dug myself out of this hole I was in earlier this year, and I keep charging up this mountain, feeling fulfilled and creative and inspired… and then I trip, slam my face into a rock and can’t get up. I know eventually I will. I always do. And it seems as though it’s getting easier to do it.
I’m beginning to understand myself more each day, and it’s kind of magical. I know life is full of variables and can punch you in the ribs from time to time, but I’m learning, and growing. I just can’t help but get overwhelmed by my emotions, the thing that steers me most.