That's right...Blogging + reality = blogality.
This is my space to be truthful, and I have never been one to hide my inner-workings or idiosyncracies. I have never been one to tuck the problems underneath the rug and keep them hidden behind closed doors.
I have always been the one that trips constantly on the concrete sidewalk paths, and then takes pictures of the gashes and bruises to remind myself that I am vincible, and am living and in the flesh. I am the one who when she was sad, would write about it in my journal, in my poem...in my blog. No bars, no questions, no...restraints.
So I wonder when this sense of urgency hits - the urgency to censor one's self from being honest - brutally, completely honest and raw. What happened to my ability to lower my guard down and share my pain, my struggle, my gains, and my trophies with everyone? Is it age? Is it experience? Is it both?
I read some of these blogs that are linked on my friend's pages, and I am in awe of how beautifully raw each writer/blogger portrays him/herself. I almost forgot how amazing it feels when words can set you free.
I've forgotten how therapeutic this was. To sit and write, and just - crunch it out. Let that tip of my pen write all the composting waste it could possibly squeeze from my brain so that somewhere in there, the compost would turn to soil, and in turn, the soil would nurture something beautiful: a poem, a story, a prose piece...a sonnet, a sestina, a triolet.
I will start from now on then: to write how I feel and ...no restraints:
Sub-Blog Post (a.k.a. Blogette) best tasted if with a nice cup o' joe and some rich cream cheese.
It took me a matter of five minutes to go onto my health insurance's website to find the listing of local psychologists. It has taken two days, and counting to figure out which one to try next.
The first one I went to, she was a mess. I think she needed as much help as I did at the time, trying to figure herself out and all that. The first one I went to, my mom had found for me - through her therapist. Let me tell you that it can never and will never end good if your mother insists on picking out your therapist. One of life's little lessons learned.
I can't shake how many names were on there. I guess I should be grateful for good insurance that has a wide coverage - but at the same time, it's hard to pick from a list of names who you're going to feel safe enough to tell all your problems to, and who of those Ph D.s are going to understand you at least a little bit.
After a while I found myself just wanting to close my eyes, wiggle my finger around in the air and let it land on a name, any one of them, and say "Okay, you look like a nice doctor to expose my whole life story to, Mr. Apple....bottom?"
[shaking myself out of bad visual experience]
Okay. Should I take the time to say that I am not crazy? I had spent 2 hours in an impromptu session with my mother's psychologist for her to tell me what I already knew: you're not crazy, EJ, your parents are.
So why having to check myself into a psychologist now? Because I feel completely overwhelmed suddenly. With work, with school, with the direction that I want to go in...I have found myself in the last few months coming across those online surveys (you know those annoying things that your coworkers send you for lack of anything better to do, save for the piles of work on your desk that you'd much rather stare at) and coming to that question that goes something like "Where do you see yourself in the next ten years?".
Mind you, it's just an online survey...it's not God knocking on my door, nor is it my parents (although they ask the same question from time to time)...but I still freak out. It still grips me and I find myself sitting there wondering - "well, hell...where do I see myself in the next ten years?" Quite honestly, I have goals...I know where I want to be...but I am not sure if I have all that it takes to get there. I know that sounds terrible, admitting something like that. I never used to be that person. I used to be the sure-of-herself, go-out-and-get-'em kinda gal...and I think that the past three years' events (lots of drama and lots of truths coming from my family, yada, yada, yada) have all finally just hit me. As if the actual events happened in the past three years but my emotions are just now catching up.
Which is why, sans PMS, I can often find myself watching a comedy on TV and suddenly burst out into tears and go "why?!" to some event that specifically happened somewhere in someplace within the past three years. Is this making any sense? At any rate, I just feel better writing it out and I don't care at this point if it makes any sense here.
Perhaps what I am getting at is that the last three years have not all been bad, they have been filled with awesome, incredible and sweet memories for me. I have met some amazing people and have been blessed to have them in my life and I will always love those close to me...but I think when you're tested so much in such a short time you suddenly are faced with questions that you never had to answer before about your character, and about who you are. I guess I lost myself in the translation.
So what to do now? Continue flipping through this 15-paged booklet of names ...or try to work this out on my own? I know I am not the first person to feel this way...to "lose all sense of self", to "find my identity". Jeeesus, I'm a KAD for crying out loud.