I have gone back and forth for so long. This first paragraph has been written and deleted and re-written and re-deleted no less than 10 times. Even as I announced I was going to return, I told myself that I must get everything in proper order first. I couldn’t just jump in and start again. I had to make everything perfect. The site had to be pretty, the coding had to be cleaned up, the drivel had to be edited out, the pictures had to be fixed. Sure, some of this was legit because importing everything from the old Vox platform to the new Posterous platform wasn’t without it’s bugs. But eventually I realized that I was stalling. I was becoming that person who won’t commit until everything is exactly perfect and instead misses out on everything. I can’t be that person. What’s more, my husband won’t let me stall anymore, which makes me love and loathe him in very unequal parts.
Ultimately, I need to write. I write in my head constantly. It is how I think and process and survive. It is how I look in the mirror at myself and take stock of what is there. It is my illness and my doctor and my medicine all in one. I’ve been avoiding that mirror because I don’t want to see what I know is there. The depression and anxiety I once successfully managed, are now overwhelming me. I’ve gone from being slightly morose, but ultimately optimistic, to being that girl in the commercials who can’t get out of her sweatpants and off of the couch. I used to fix my hair, put on make up, dress in cute outfits. Now I’m lucky if I wash my hair once a week. I used to be slightly intimidated by crowds and new situations. Now I have the wonderful new experience of teetering on the precipice of agoraphobia. All I want is a dark, small, quiet place with walls to protect me and to keep everything out. I think I might need a womb. Yes, a womb would be nice.
I know this is not the real me. Well, not all of me anyway. My children deserve better, my husband deserves better, my friends deserve better. And yeah, ok… I probably deserve better too. I need to make time to remember me and what makes me who I am. I need to speak, to scream, to dance, to write. I need to live and I know that this is the only way to wake myself out of this walking death. I promise I won’t be all maudlin, all the time. That would defeat the purpose. But I do need to wallow in work through some things and you’re more than welcome to cheer me on, share your own journey, or slap me and tell me to get over myself.
Thanks for having me back, oh nebulous and nameless blogosphere. Let’s get over ourselves together, shalle we?