No, I have not been doing well.
Well, actually, that's not entirely true. In some ways, I'm doing fantastically. But in others...not so much.
Usually, when I don't post, it's because I'm lost in my own head, wandering the familiar paths of self-doubt and depression that I've worn down over time. And in some ways, this is currently true. But in others, not so. I haven't been posting because I've been...having a life?
What IS that?
In the past few weeks, I've only had a couple of nights spent at home, tucked in bed with my computer and my cat, in my safe zone. I've been out like...doing things. Dates, and plans with yoga girls, and training, and work events. I've gone out more in the past month than I probably have in the past year. And I just haven't felt much of a pull to write about this life I'm creating.
And that's probably because I'm still wandering those paths when I'm alone, eating and dwelling and beating myself up for not being morebetterfaster. Even when things are good, I think they should be different. I can't seem to find balance between my personal and private life, and the life I create in the outside world. It's like the second things change for me, even for the better, I can't hold onto whatever routine I've established, and I go off the rails. I can't seem to have my shit together all at the same time.
Am I making any sense?
I broke down in therapy last night. I feel fat and worthless and like the biggest failure on the planet. I know these feelings are unfounded, I know I shouldn't be so hard on myself, but it feels impossible.
What I need to try and remember:
I am happier than I've been in a long time. These things making me unhappy are inconsequential, unimportant. Weight is meaningless. Time is intangible. Life is long.
And that's what matters, my life.
And I'm finally finding one.