About happiness, or whatever.
I am really, really tired. I never post anything really that related to my life on here anymore and there’s no particular reason for it – a kind of subconscious self-consciousness in part, or an attempt to maintain a carefree image. I do write every single day. Usually complaining. Often drafting poems. Mostly documenting the changes in the weather as things go from shit to slightly-less-shit. But the fact is that I find it hard to be straightforward or honest – with friends, colleagues, on here. Everything is a joke or shrouded in so much metaphor that it becomes invisible.
I like my life more than I ever have. I love my home. Moving out of Leicester to Brighton was the best decision I ever made, and as it turns to summer it will only get better. My life here in summer is barbecues, shopping, drinking, rollerskating – relatively carefree days with my friends. I also like my job and it gives me the freedom to do what I really love – the aforementioned sunny days, reading, hanging out with my dog. At the end of the summer I’ll travel back to California, something that I need to look forward to to give my days meaning. I’m currently writing more than ever – I completed my poetry book, I write freelance for a bunch of sites including Hello Giggles, and I’m writing a novel. I have so many ideas and so much to look forward to. I have never felt better.
Despite this, there are still so many things that darken even the sunniest of Brighton days. I am a huge worrier. I panic constantly that I will be fired, everyone hates me, my writing sucks, I’m too old (at 23) and haven’t achieved enough. I miss the past and yet am desperate for a better future simultaneously. I have suffered with my mental health, and while my depression, obsessive compulsions and eating disorder sit at the back of my mind, they are always there. I force myself to work harder than I should, constantly, in spite of my poor health, because I am never enough. I am never happy with any single achievement. I need feedback on every single thing I do. I rarely write or create something that won’t be seen and give me instant recognition and gratification. I am all at once equal parts narcissistic and insecure.
I am also very sick. I cannot eat anything without getting huge stomach problems, and tomorrow I go into surgery to get some stuff checked out. I also suffer daily with headaches and less frequent migraines and am dependent on painkillers to get through any single day. It’s hard to enjoy the things I love about my life when I am exhausted, malnourished, and worried about my health.
But I’m coping. I have a few days this weekend to gather my thoughts, get my head together, and try to write some words that aren’t for money. I want to work on my book and look after myself and try to be a less shit, mean, busy person. I want to be happy. I spent my formative years desperately unhappy, searching for moments of joy in single days – concerts, camp outs, parks. I still do that, booking trips and days out to pick up my life momentarily; but I am working cobstsntly on building a sustainable happiness. I’m partway there but I wish I could just relax ever and enjoy what I’ve done. I will never match up to ths unrealistic idea of who I should be by now.
Sorry to be boring – but it is my little blog, after all.