Journal Archive
Maybe it was a dramatic exit, all I know is I had to get the fuck up out of there this morning.
Even surrounded by friends, I feel pity. I feel they pity me. I HATE it.
I feel so compelled to be away with myself, meeting new people who don't know my story so I don't have to tell it to them. Starting with the new, clean slate.
I keep bursting into tears like someone who has the stomach flu and continues to puke.
I feel physically ill if I do anything but continue forward, full speed, down my path.
Getting here in my journal feels right, feels good.
But even taking a day to relax and party feels like an anxiety-ridden waste of time. I used to to to party as therapy. Now I get so anxious. I loved charging my soul on the dance floor, but right now it sounds scary.
I want everyone to see me but I don't want anyone to look at me.
Have I hurt people? Am I wasting my precious life trying to be "something?" Why does everyone else seem happy being told what to do? Where do they find joy in working these "jobs"?
I love routine and I love spontaneity.
I love downtime and I love uptime.
Night and day. Loud and quiet. I'm insatiable.
I protect me. I believe in me. That's the hard part in expressing to others. I'm not pulling the alarm or yelling SOS. I'm clear on what I need and even though it feels counterintuitive, going against what seems like would be "nice and enjoyable", actually seems right. What 20-something year old wants to get out of the city, alone? See less people? Do less things? Be in nature and solitude? Hear my own thoughts? Me.
My deepest dreams.
I wanted to be a copywriter and write commercials. I did that. I wanted to be a DJ. I did that.
I standing firmly in my authenticity, no matter the cost.
I reach for my tools when I don't feel right. I turn my discomfort into powerful writing. The energy of my discomfort transmutes to propel me back down my path. All attraction, no chasing. Moving onward, no pacing.
If there's one who's going out into the dark with a torch, it's me.
I am not the one to stay and enjoy. I'm the one to go out ahead, make sure the coast is clear. Scout. Go first, leave first.
Today my friends celebrate Halloween, dressing up in costume. They're missing a Hocus Pocus witch because I had to come home and cry and die inside, like I sometimes do. Having fun sounds so fun but I break down crying every 5 minutes lately. That doesn't sound like a fun time for those around me now does it?
I was supposed to be a Sanderson sister, which makes plenty of sense for me as a Saunders and that natural hair at the time. Didn't even need a wig! One of our guy friends ended up getting a blonde wig and being SJP since I went home lmao. Pic of me from this day^^^ still smiling.
Additionally, my last few interactions, I realize just how depressing I can be right now. At the current moment, with what I'm going through, I don't trust myself not to talk about my problems. In fact, everything feels so filled to the brim in my mind, so overwhelming, that it's all that comes spilling out.
I really have to help myself. The way I started feeling last night was almost if the alarm rang in my mind and body. "TIME TO GO!" Why does it feel so catastrophic to miss the party? Because I love to party. I love the connection and attention. But it's almost this sense that my higher self said, "I know you really, really want to go to the party, but tonight you need to go home." The reaction and episode flared up to make me go. Right now, the mingling is not the medicine. Right now, heart says we must Go.
Reflection on this entry, written Sunday October 30, 2022. Almost exactly two years later.
I am amazed reading this journal back at my lil self trying so hard to listen to, honor, and accept the guidance from my heart and miss the party. I think this was one of the first times that a party felt scary instead of fun, and we can see in my self-doubt that I was really wondering if the Real Me even existed anymore. I can almost laugh at this now, me talking about the "party" like it was so incredibly important or epic. But when I read this back and remember that night and the alarm that went off to tell me to go home, I do not laugh. The warning was grave and real, and as catastrophic (to use my own words) as it felt to not go to the Halloween party, I am so incredibly proud of myself for going home. I couldn't tell while I was in it, but fall 2020 was an incredibly low and challenging season that demanded I wisen up really fucking fast. My burdens were fresh, heavy, and great. Meanwhile I was drumming up an incredible amount of energy to get out on the Road in the Van. Collecting that catalytic energy to go live my dream while carrying the fresh burdens at that time was incredibly taxing. And it doesn't surprise me that if I did "anything but continue forward, full speed, down my path," I felt ill. My guidance was sending every sign to keep me moving in the direction I had chosen to go. Stopping to party in my past was most definitely not on the agenda. I am amazed at my dedication, focus, resilience, and capacity to do it all at once. More to come on the "burdens," one day I may share more detail. But do they matter? Everyone has these seasons.
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