Well, this is my 1,000th post on this here blog of mine.
Hold on. I'm dizzy.
Okay. I'm back.
I've been writing this blog for just over a year, since my birthday in 2012. In that time, I've gone from writing mostly nonsense, to exploring a lot of the deepest, darkest corners of my self. I've tackled some of my long buried, back issues, with their tear-stained pages and ripped corners.
And I still write a lot of nonsense.
Honestly, I feel like a completely different person than I did a year ago. I feel older. I know that's such a cliche and you're probably rolling your eyes at me. I'm rolling my eyes at me. But it's true, and I feel like I've learned a lot about myself in that time, about who I am, and what I want, and what I'm capable of and what this life is about.
I've grown. I'm wiser.
Like an owl.
Too, this blog has finally brought me back to the thing I used to love so much when I was younger, the thing that always brought me so much joy: writing. When I was just a youngin', I used to spend countless hours pounding away at the keyboard of my parents old monster of a desktop, writing short stories about girls named Polly and their best friends who came to visit. There was a time when I was in college that I wrote fanfic, stole other people's characters and their voices. But mostly, when I got older, and I got sadder, I lost the spark of creativity that let the words flow out of me, and I started turning my stories inward, started to fantasize about all the ways my life could be, different or skinny or special. But with this blog, I finally rediscovered the joy of putting pen to paper, or in my case chipped yellow painted nails to worn black keys, and spouting rambling, grammatically improper sentences.
And I've learned to love myself. Or at least to try. With all the talking about myself I do on this domain, I kind of have to love myself a little, right? Otherwise this would be a pretty depressing blog to read. I've learned to try to take care of myself, to treat myself better, not to be so darn mean. I've learned to accept myself and all my imperfections, 'cause I am who I am.
I've learned it's probably a good idea to go to therapy if you are a chronically unhappy person who puts on a really really convincing mask, because no one is gonna know except you, and it's all your responsibility.
I've learned, too, it's easier to be happy if you act happy. Happiness is a state of being, it isn't some magic thing you get from a person or a body shape or a job or a place. It's from you. Positivity breeds positivity.
I've learned to express myself more clearly, to be more honest. I'm trying to be my most authentic self. I know I'm not all the way there yet, this is an ongoing process that's certainly going to take longer than a few short months and some magic pills, but it's starting. I'm hopeful. I'm trying.
And that's what matters, right?
I saw Therapist #2 today, She Who Gives Me Drugs, and she said she can tell I'm different. Calmer. I feel centered in a way I haven't in awhile, and I am planning on this feeling sticking around for awhile. I think I've learned how.
And you know, if I haven't, I have the people I need to keep me centered and grounded. I have my family, my Biff, my team, my kitty, my yoga.
I've learned, and I'm still learning, and I think I'm good.
Tomorrow's gonna be a beautiful day.