I’ve had too much time to think within the past few hours; which is good or bad depending on how much of a glass-half-full type you are.
My mind has been wandering a lot, mostly about the past year or so.
At the start of my move, I was college-bound, driven for a change and hungry for a world different than the one I was born into. I wanted city living, as close as I could get to bright lights and busy streets. I yearned for creative friends, big ideas, a degree I promised so many I would earn. I had a million and one ideas for my future, and not a single one has been obtained a year and a half later.
I don’t intend to sound ungrateful. Let’s be clear– I am so lucky. I am a lot of things, but I am not short on love and support. I come with a lot of emotional baggage and the love I met here has far surpassed my wildest dreams. If there is one thing I know, it is how loved I am.
Which is wonderful, but it is not complete.
I have lost a lot.
When I lost my housing and my loan and the ability to receive an education, I also lost my need for creation and self-love that I had worked so tirelessly on. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. And in a blink it was gone as fast as it came. It seems as though the rest of my complaints have formed from the snowball effect that is a downward spiral– being broke, lost, and worried about what comes next.
I’m lucky enough to have a support system and a job that makes it easy for me to pay my bills and afford Starbucks if I want, but between the nine to fives and the commute and the traffic, I lost any sense of who I was meant to be in this world.
This isn’t an article about a girl who needs saving. I don’t need to be saved. I am not a victim to anyone or anything but myself.
People go through shit, you know? Lots of terrible, ungodly shit that no one can explain. But they manage. Somehow I think I can manage, too.
I have a tendency to complain about not being who I want to be in this world, but lack motivation and drive to do the things I wish to do. I love makeup, but I don’t practice. I love fashion, yet choose to wear sweatpants daily. I love to read and write, yet haven’t touched this fucking app in months. It isn’t anyone’s fault but my own. I could chalk it up to depression or busyness but that’s a horrid excuse for my laziness and unwillingness to be a better me.
People make time for the things they love. People make time for their passions. I choose not to, for reasons beyond my own comprehension. It is my fault that I am not better.
Being alone has allowed me to fester in every thought I have buried deep within me by distraction for the last several months. An unhealthy coping mechanism for sure, but not uncommon. I can take comfort knowing I am not the first nor last human being on planet Earth to do this. But the commonplace of it all doesn’t excuse or make it ok.
I want to be better. I want to find my passions and run with them. I want to become Leah again, and not some shell of a girl I once was. I want to travel and be spontaneous and make friends without acknowledging every insecurity I have. I am worthy of a good life just like everyone else. I can have all of these things if I want to. But I need to want to.
I hope one year from now I can look back on this and smirk about the growth I have made and be proud of the woman I have learned to be. Life itself is a work-in-progress and I am allowed to make mistakes.
What I am not allowed to do is stay stagnant. I can go up and that’s fine, I can go down and that’s fine, but I need to go.
I just need to go.