There are a lot of posts in the history of this blog about depression. Basically about not loving myself – and I gave a lot of power to other people to affect how I saw myself. There’s been a shift and I think that has a lot to do with several factors – not the least of which is age and therapy. I am still visited by the black dog, but I’ve managed to turn things around – especially my anxiety. I had a therapist call it a super power (I kind of hate it, I kind of love it), which really turned the whole concept on its head for me. I still have anxiety, but I’ve started to make it work for me – unless we’re talking about actual sleep, because that’s still a challenge. But then, no one is perfect, are we? And that in itself is kind of beautiful. I’m kinder to myself and therefore I feel like I can be kinder to everyone else. I have started to value the energy I do have and not parcel it out to stupid shit or stupid people. This is why I joke that I’ve run out of fucks. I only have so many to give out and those are reserved for things – and people – that matter.
I wrote somewhere in an angry post that M, upon his return, could not handle me now. I am definitely not the same little neurotic thing I was back then. I just wanted so badly to be liked that I chameleoned myself into what I thought people wanted. Jokes on me, I suppose. Well, it was. People grow, that’s what we’re supposed to do. So, that holds true. Stomp, stomp, bitches.
I’m a lot less malleable now. I was going to say flexible, but that’s not it. I’m more forgiving of other people’s behaviour because I know literally nothing about what they’re going through. I mean there’s a line, and be fucked if you cross it, but I can be chill about a lot. Cut me off in traffic, you will be glad you don’t hear my sailor mouth, but I’m not going to tailgate your ass or be a general fucktard about it. Maybe you are having a bad day, sorry you had to share it with me. Moving on. Cuss and let go. (Cussing is cathartic. Therapeutic. Trust me, that’s why we invented it). Steal time from my laundry machine? Well, maybe you’re broke. Whatever – it’s not like this building made laundry affordable. I make enough now for that to be trivial. Move on. Get in my face about something, you’ll get the eyebrow of doom and something to shut you up, but no confrontation like you’re hurting for. Go elsewhere.
I do not let people talk over me anymore. Or if they cut me off, I wait for them to finish and say “back to what I was talking about” or something similar. I will not be derailed. I’m not pushy, I’m just very bullish about sticking to the topic at hand until I’ve had my say. I know some people find that annoying – but the people who matter don’t notice. Mostly because they don’t talk over me in the first place, lol.
I am unapologetic about the things I love. The first to admit when I do not know something and will ask for more information. Ignorance is the bane of all things and I will not be willfully so. If you ask the question you only feel stupid for a few minutes. If you don’t, you feel stupid for a lot longer. In fact, flailing around in the deep and without asking for help is a really good way to get yourself dead. Figuratively, or literally.
Reading back through some of my old stuff here, I realise just how much I have learned over the years. I do not regret anything I have posted here – it’s a sign of my growth, a path of learning. We’re all figuring things out as we go along. There is no user manual for this life, after all.
So I suppose my point is that I’ve learned how to love myself, and by extension, others. I thought that was really gimmicky for a long time: “love yourself”. You know you see those placards and kitschy signs in craft stores and on notebook covers that say placating things like that, but it’s true. The hardest part of life for many of us is learning to love who we are, who we were, and who we will become. Part of that may even be forgiving who you used to be and that can be a doozy. It’s difficult because we’re messy, we’re confusing and confused, we’re always changing. It’s crazy and beautiful and fucked up all at once.
I can’t even credit my therapist for the push I needed. It was this. (Or this if the link doesn’t work for you.) Things don’t get better, you get better.
Listening to: BTS – Love Myself
Reading: what’s the plural of thesaurus?
Drinking: Strongbow
Word Count: How do you count poetry words? Not doing it! lots!
Headspace: the horsehead nebula
Susan Scribbles 