Getting back on track
2021, despite its difficulties, began brilliantly for me. My first child was here, he was happy and healthy, and I began writing properly again, since I had the time, albeit limited time, but more than I had when I was working two jobs, one full time and one part-time.
The conclusion of the year, on the other hand, was not as kind to me.
Last month, I hit a massive mental health rut. A few people from my past that I had locked away returned with a bang, I wasn’t expecting it, and when the past comes kicking down your door, you’re not prepared for the emotional baggage they have in their sack of goodies, that you didn’t ask for, so Merry Christmas indeed for me.
Instead of tackling it straight on, I did the foolish thing of allowing it to take over me, and I stopped writing, which ironically, I always did to help me cope with the emotions, but I wasn’t thinking clearly when I was bombarded with wave after wave of awful occurrences.
I put my trust in the wrong places, which made it more difficult for me to address things straight on, especially when things might be spoken behind your back.
So, I took a “break” from the internet, and I say “break” because I was ready to delete my online presence everywhere and go underground and hide beneath the covers. My partner convinced me to stay, he’s good like that. He’d rather jump on the sword for me. He didn’t know what else to do but be there and hold my hand through the emotions and unpleasant waves.
I’m glad I didn’t because I would have regretted it in the end, and for what?
For what people might say behind a screen? For people I’d sealed away in my thoughts, perhaps they finally broken free? In the end, it would be me that gave up everything in an attempt to protect myself from any grief that may follow.
For a few weeks, I let myself wallow in what-ifs and could-be, scarcely letting my online presence be known and barely penning a syllable, especially ones revealing my actual emotions about current life events. I let my mind drift to the dark corner and suffer silently while the rest of the world went on as if nothing had occurred. What did I expect? Life doesn’t work like that, so I had to go on and do what I do best: throw the feelings back in the bottle. The problem was that when you do such things, it ultimately shows.
It took a few weeks, but I eventually kicked my own ass and started doing a good ol’ spring cleaning, albeit a bit early. I scrubbed my home from top to bottom, cranked the organisation mode to 11, and went at it, music blasting, game face on.
I got my inspiration during it; it might have been the cleaning, the music, or both.
I took out my beloved notebook, brushed the dust off it, and wrote, expressed my feelings, all my dark thoughts, everything that had transpired.
I let it all out. And it felt good to stop allowing cowardice incidents to control me. Whatever people say, may say, or have said, I’ll never truly know. They probably think the very worst of me, but in the end, what do they really know about me, or what do I know about them? I personally don’t hold grudges, they stain the soul, plus it’s so energy-consuming. Who has the time for that in the short life we lead?
And now, the cage is closed for the time being; one can’t take on too much at once, but I’m ready to open each cell and analyse each thought and feeling, write it all down, and just let it go.