I haven't written in so long. Sometimes I feel like a balloon being slowly inflated. Eventually, the pressure gets to be too much and I have to vent. Usually talking does it for me, but writing is such beautiful therapy. And I know most times I sound like a song on repeat. Verse. Chorus. Verse. Chorus. Bridge. Chorus. Refrain. But slowly the melody changes over time, even if the chords are the same.
I'm still working on weight loss. I lost 112lbs and then gained, oh, 50lbs back. I can't tell you how that feels. I'm going to try though. First, it feels wonderful every time I remember "before" and how different "now" is. I'm still proud of myself. I'm still active and comfortable in my body and strong. I learned so much about myself in that process. I learned to be daring and self confident and vivacious and bold. But it also feels like failure. I work in stops and starts. A week of trying and a week of not. Where went my momentum? Where did the speed go? Its like making minimum payments on a credit card. I'm never going to get there at this rate. And I was SURE I could do it, you know? I was sure I could do anything? And though I want to say I don't care what people think about me, I don't care if they see me as a failure, I DO care. Because I want the outside to match the inside. And it doesn't.
I'm at a crossroads. The lease is up in August and I'm trying to decide between getting my own apartment or BUYING A FREAKING HOUSE. This has got to be the most stressful thing I've ever had to decide. Because everything else has pros and cons that seem more definite. But this feels like a gamble. I'm supposed to make a 30 year commitment and hope that I picked the right house and that I won't lose my job or fall in love with someone far away or that something horrible won't break and then I can't fix it.
But I want stability and safety and permanence. I'm still struggling to recoup from that whole turbulent childhood thing. And somehow I keep expecting the other shoe to drop. Because it's been nearly two years since I've lived without electricity or running water. It's been two years since I took control of my life and got away from my drug-dependent parents. But two doesn't seem like so many out of 25. And part of me is still that little girl that remembers not having a home. That remembers not feeling safe or stable or okay. That can't understand yet that, though life gets hard and scary sometimes, it will never be that bad again.
I know my worries are very much the same as a lot of people. You worry about your weight or your body. You worry about money and relationships and the future. You love spending time with your friends and family and you alternately rejoice and feel terrified about life's next steps. Sometimes you feel lonely and apart and different. And sometimes you feel a sense of togetherness and belonging and contentment. You wonder if you'll ever find the right person or if the person you've found is the right one and if they'll leave you or hurt you or turn into some kind of stranger one morning and then you don't know if you ever knew them. Sometimes you think everyone else is crazy or stupid or strange. And then later you realize you are the one that is crazy and stupid and strange. You wonder if you're good enough. You KNOW you are good enough, dammit. You are TOO good. You can't understand what the hell other people are thinking but then some moments you know that, behind all the little details, they are just like you. I am just like you. We are the same. But then you get distracted and forget that part.
So again I'll say that I'll try not to get too distracted by the things that worry me. I know I could list them all here and tell you how they burden me. But these things are small, really, compared to the beautiful day outside. Compared to my home and my steady job and my loving friends and family. Compared to the joy I find in other people and in myself. If everything were easy, I think I would take it for granted. So I'll work out and count my calories and budget my money. I'll occasionally splurge and then feel guilty. I'll laugh and cry and sing and be silent. I'll hope for romantic love and count on the love of my friends. I'll live life fully, charging through it with gusto on most days and only occasionally treating it like a cold, cold swimming pool. I'll be happy.