Good… *checks clock*… evening, Readers.
Image by Tama66 from Pixabay.
So… It’s been a little bit, hasn’t it?
I apologise. Though, I’m not sure that anyone was really reading what I wrote here nearly every weekday for a few years. For those of you who would have followed along, and maybe looked forward to reading my nonsense daily (I flatter myself), I’m sorry.
I tried. I honestly tried.
But I simply could not seem to keep up my old schedule. Life had thrown me too far and too fast, and I could not find my feet again.
I’m still trying to regain my footing, but I’m slowly coming around. Slowly. Very slowly.
Part of the problem, I suspect, was that I didn’t have time - I didn’t give myself time - to process everything; to grieve, to heal.
I lost my job and my flat mate of eleven years - the one flatmate I’ve had that I’ve been able to live with in relative ease - and had to seek a new employment and living situation in a world where everything is hideously expensive and options were horrifically limited… in the middle of a global pandemic.
I didn’t have time, didn’t give myself time, to properly grieve all the things I had lost, or to even take stock. The shock and worry, the fear, uncertainty, it all hit hard all at once, and I didn’t give myself what I needed.
The result was several attempts at a comeback that failed almost immediately and spectatularly.
It was too soon. I needed time to process. I didn’t have time. I needed a job so I could pay my rent and eat food. I needed a place to stay pretty quickly. These were things I needed to survive. There was no time or space for thriving.
The result was an incredibly deep, incredibly long depressive spiral from which I could not get the time and space to grapple with properly.
When I need healing, I tend to withdraw. I’ve done it since I can remember. It’s what I need to do. I need to go somewhere dark and quiet and just sit for a while. I need books, blankets, tea, and solitude. The fact that I did not have the option to get this time I needed protracted and compounded all the terrible things my brain was going through.
In the effort it took to simply wake up and go to work every day, despite my mental health being abysmal, everything else fell apart.
I didn’t write much, even though I tried very hard to. I started, and even kept up a pretty good schedule for a while before it collapsed like a house of cards.
I didn’t exercise nearly as much as I wanted or needed. I started, and even kept up a pretty good schedule for a while before I found I could barely even wake up and get myself to work on time.
I didn’t draw or paint or work on my leather projects at all. I tried, and couldn’t manage to keep it up to finish any project at all.
And, of course, though I tried, I could not reclaim my usual blogging schedule, and despite trying hard to get back into it, I just could not keep it up. I think I blogged a couple of times, but I just… couldn’t continue.
Count your blessings for that, as I likely wouldn’t have had much to say that wouldn’t be complaining or lamenting or outright sobbing in prose. Asking people also struggling because of this ridiculous situation we find ourselves in to read my own pain felt like I was asking far too much. This is not to say that I think we should be positive all the time, no matter what, but being a downer every day for more than a year would suck to be subjected to. So, though I feel guilty for letting my usual schedule to slip, I’m thinking that it’s a good thing you were all spared from my whinging.
Truth be told, I’m still trying to find my feet, but with the help of a return of a long-time love (teaching women’s only kickboxing) and a brand new opportunity (which I will l elaborate on in another blog post… hopefully), I’ve been feeling more myself of late. Despite still feeling like I’m being tossed about in a storm, I’m starting to feel strong enough to pick up an oar and start paddling.
There are things I want for myself, things that will take some planning and work, and I’m going to try for. I’m a little steadier now than I was more than a year ago when my world tumbled down, and it’s time to start cleaning up and sorting through the rubble, salvaging what can be salvaged, and trying to rebuild.
With luck, my efforts will bear fruit and I’ll be able to build the kind of life I’ve been dreaming of for so long.
To that end, I’m not going to try and keep up the blogging schedule I had before everything went to hell for me. It’s still a bit too much. I’m still not ready to re-enter the world properly, and I’m not going to try and force it. I’ve learnt my lesson.
I will try to blog at least once a week - even if it’s only a quickie update, rather than the novel this turned out to be. This will hopefully start in the new year. I many not manage it, but I’ll consider it a win if I manage to blog at all.
I’m still settling. I’m still healing. The depression still has me.
But I’m feeling a little stronger than I have in a long time and I’m feeling ready to start returning to the world.
In baby steps.
I hope you are all safe and well, and that you keep safe and well. See you all in the new year.
I apologise. Though, I’m not sure that anyone was really reading what I wrote here nearly every weekday for a few years. For those of you who would have followed along, and maybe looked forward to reading my nonsense daily (I flatter myself), I’m sorry.
I tried. I honestly tried.
But I simply could not seem to keep up my old schedule. Life had thrown me too far and too fast, and I could not find my feet again.
I’m still trying to regain my footing, but I’m slowly coming around. Slowly. Very slowly.
Part of the problem, I suspect, was that I didn’t have time - I didn’t give myself time - to process everything; to grieve, to heal.
I lost my job and my flat mate of eleven years - the one flatmate I’ve had that I’ve been able to live with in relative ease - and had to seek a new employment and living situation in a world where everything is hideously expensive and options were horrifically limited… in the middle of a global pandemic.
I didn’t have time, didn’t give myself time, to properly grieve all the things I had lost, or to even take stock. The shock and worry, the fear, uncertainty, it all hit hard all at once, and I didn’t give myself what I needed.
The result was several attempts at a comeback that failed almost immediately and spectatularly.
It was too soon. I needed time to process. I didn’t have time. I needed a job so I could pay my rent and eat food. I needed a place to stay pretty quickly. These were things I needed to survive. There was no time or space for thriving.
The result was an incredibly deep, incredibly long depressive spiral from which I could not get the time and space to grapple with properly.
When I need healing, I tend to withdraw. I’ve done it since I can remember. It’s what I need to do. I need to go somewhere dark and quiet and just sit for a while. I need books, blankets, tea, and solitude. The fact that I did not have the option to get this time I needed protracted and compounded all the terrible things my brain was going through.
In the effort it took to simply wake up and go to work every day, despite my mental health being abysmal, everything else fell apart.
I didn’t write much, even though I tried very hard to. I started, and even kept up a pretty good schedule for a while before it collapsed like a house of cards.
I didn’t exercise nearly as much as I wanted or needed. I started, and even kept up a pretty good schedule for a while before I found I could barely even wake up and get myself to work on time.
I didn’t draw or paint or work on my leather projects at all. I tried, and couldn’t manage to keep it up to finish any project at all.
And, of course, though I tried, I could not reclaim my usual blogging schedule, and despite trying hard to get back into it, I just could not keep it up. I think I blogged a couple of times, but I just… couldn’t continue.
Count your blessings for that, as I likely wouldn’t have had much to say that wouldn’t be complaining or lamenting or outright sobbing in prose. Asking people also struggling because of this ridiculous situation we find ourselves in to read my own pain felt like I was asking far too much. This is not to say that I think we should be positive all the time, no matter what, but being a downer every day for more than a year would suck to be subjected to. So, though I feel guilty for letting my usual schedule to slip, I’m thinking that it’s a good thing you were all spared from my whinging.
Truth be told, I’m still trying to find my feet, but with the help of a return of a long-time love (teaching women’s only kickboxing) and a brand new opportunity (which I will l elaborate on in another blog post… hopefully), I’ve been feeling more myself of late. Despite still feeling like I’m being tossed about in a storm, I’m starting to feel strong enough to pick up an oar and start paddling.
There are things I want for myself, things that will take some planning and work, and I’m going to try for. I’m a little steadier now than I was more than a year ago when my world tumbled down, and it’s time to start cleaning up and sorting through the rubble, salvaging what can be salvaged, and trying to rebuild.
With luck, my efforts will bear fruit and I’ll be able to build the kind of life I’ve been dreaming of for so long.
To that end, I’m not going to try and keep up the blogging schedule I had before everything went to hell for me. It’s still a bit too much. I’m still not ready to re-enter the world properly, and I’m not going to try and force it. I’ve learnt my lesson.
I will try to blog at least once a week - even if it’s only a quickie update, rather than the novel this turned out to be. This will hopefully start in the new year. I many not manage it, but I’ll consider it a win if I manage to blog at all.
I’m still settling. I’m still healing. The depression still has me.
But I’m feeling a little stronger than I have in a long time and I’m feeling ready to start returning to the world.
In baby steps.
I hope you are all safe and well, and that you keep safe and well. See you all in the new year.
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