As the holidays edge closer, I find myself in a state of almost constant reflection. I look back at the past year, and look forward to the following one. If it hasn't become apparent enough already, I live for nostalgia. I even did the unthinkable - gasp - I created a new Facebook account. I know, I hardly recognize myself as well. I hate everything about the gossipy little site. I just found myself craving interactions with the people from my past. I have been relatively isolated for the past, oh, almost two years. Isolation has always been somewhat comforting to me, but ultimately it's, well, isolating. No one can thrive without the energy of others, particularly the energy of those you care - or at least once cared - about.
The approaching holidays are a reminder of the impending Spring Semester. I am terrified of going back to school. I haven't been in a classroom since 2012. I know I am not a complete fool, but I know I will feel very behind when I begin classes. On top of everything, I don't even get to register for classes until January 8, and classes begin on the 11th. I have quickly found that my school does not give a single turtle shit about transfer students - good to know! My anxiety feeds off of feeling unprepared, and that registration schedule makes it next to impossible for me to prepare myself for anything. It's very " 'Here are your classes!' *Kicks ass into classroom." I'm trying to remain as calm as possible about it all, though.
I think that's another reason I created another Facebook account. Seeing my old friends kind of transports me back a few years, when I was in school, and the world hadn't fully tarnished me. The only thing is that pretty much everyone I used to know is now married and or having a baby. Imma pass on that, thanks.
I know that ultimately, going back to school will work out for the best. I crave knowledge like oxygen. I love learning. I have decided to be a double English major. It is a heavy workload, but it allegedly has a lot of potential career prospects. I just want to write - in some capacity. Writing is the the only thing in my life that has consistently brought me peace and happiness. It is also the only subject that I ever showed any genuine potential in. I want to see the world, and I have faith that my intended degree will help me do so. I have always had this deep seeded desire to change the world, and in my opinion the best way to do that is through communication. Communication is the root of everything. We can never grow as individuals if we don't make an effort to connect to those around around us. Language and communication is the best way to connect. I have never been very good at learning other languages, but I know I am capable of connecting people through the written word. All of our experiences are unique, and yet, we all share common threads. By finding the commonalities you share with someone else, you not only grow to know them, but you find a greater understanding for yourself along the way.
So, yeah, I'm terrified of the unknown, but also excited. School is just a stepping stone towards my next big goal. This holiday season, I intend to look around me, and count every blessing. I am so grateful for this life. I challenge you to take a leap of faith, truly look to discover your passions, and find the quickest route to achieving them. We are capable of anything, as long as we listen to ourselves and love others.
It's been ages since I posted last because, well, if I'm being honest with myself and you, I've been afraid to post. So much has been changing, yet, staying the same. I am haunted by my past, fearful of my future, trapped in the present. I feel like I rarely know what to do, what to say, or where to turn. Every time I feel like I'm somewhat on the right track, something throws me off course. I'm lost. So lost. Maybe finding my way is an illusion. Maybe none of us actually know what we're doing. We're all just taking shots in the dark. Sometimes we hit our targets, a target, any target. We cling to whatever we land on because the odds of hitting something else seems so bleak. I believe that's what I've been doing. I took a shot in the dark, landed where I am now, and I'm scared to shoot again. Maybe this is where I'm meant to be, maybe fate exists. Maybe it's all just dumb luck.
I've found myself in a strange city, hours away from my home. I'm enrolled in a college I have only recently heard of. I'm going to attempt the same major I failed at back in 2012. I don't even know if school is where I'm supposed to be. I was working a 9-5 job this time last year. I was miserable. Maybe I just chose school because it seemed like the quickest way out of the job I hated. School has always came easily to me. Maybe I can delay my entrance into the "real world" of working and being miserable. Maybe deciding to run away from reality will bite me in ass down the line. I could just be delaying the inevitable. The harsh sting of reality will be all the more visceral when it arrives for me. Or, school is something I have been avoiding, not because I'm not meant to be there, but because I'm afraid of my own potential success. I've found comfort in the middleground, somewhere between dream and reality, success and failure, happiness and depression. My homeostasis has been consistent inconsistency. I've been predictably unpredictable. I've often wondered if I've been sabotaging myself all along. I tend to ruin things the moment I get to comfortable or happy. Feeling too much of any one way overwhelms and shakes me to my core.
This self sabotage is probably the main reason I dwell so frequently on my past. nostalgia haunts me. But the nostalgia is not as generalized as one would think. I am so stuck on one moment in my life. One era. One person. The irony, is that this person didn't leave me. I left them. I chose this for myself. I found myself so blissfully happy that I choked. There was no possible way any of the joy I was feeling could be real or lasting. I had to self preserve (or sabotage - in retrospect). I came up with the quickest, faultiest excuse I could find to end this. This, this dream. Nothing in life, nothing that is actually real, could be so effortless and peaceful. No one person could be so perfect and understanding of me. I am complicated. I am unlovable. I am not worthy.
I am nothing.
Or so I thought. I couldn't allow myself happiness. So I had to steal it from myself and from the other person. I could blame it on being young. I could blame it on being naive. I could blame a lot of things, but ultimately the blame is reserved for myself.
We've connected multiple times since everything fell apart. Each time felt so strange. Surreal, even. Two people who had once been each-others world, trying to navigate the in and outs of a friendship. A friendship that didn't begin organically. A friendship that was forced out of necessity. A inexplicable need to be around that other person. To communicate with someone who knows you. Knew you. Do we still know anything? Are we the same people? Have our hearts changed? Do our souls still fit? Will we ever know?
I feel so trapped. I miss a ghost. I miss what can never be the same again; no matter how hard I, or anyone else tries. Both parties have been changed by this one event. We have the scars to prove it. They've healed, we've healed. But those scars are a constant reminder. At least for me. I can only speak for me. I find myself with someone new, invested so deeply, but not wholly. I can't commit to another. I try. I'm trying. All I can see when I look at my scars is you. You are still so very much a part of me. I don't expect you to feel the same. I can't possibly. I can accept that my feelings will be unrequited, only because I know the source of this pain is me.
I don't know if I'm in the right place. I don't know if the person I'm with will ever be able to touch me without feeling the scars you've left behind. I don't know where I'll be in a years time. I don't know where you'll be, or if we will ever "be" again. The only thing I know is that I am changed. I have grown from my pain, and experiences. I am still in the process of figuring out my path. I'm going to continue firing into the void. Maybe one day, my target will feel right. I hope you're happy. I hope you never settle. I hope you know I'm sorry.
I know that this is an odd way to begin writing once more. But this is what emerged when I opened myself up to the blank word document before me. That is going to be the goal of all future writing. To sit down, and bleed. No self-editing. No restriction. No contrived posts. Just me. As I am.
Lindsey. Twenty-Five. Currently pursuing a degree in Professional Writing & Film Studies.