It has been an interesting summer.
Lots of sameness, and yet lots of changes. Or, maybe I should say that the other way around. There is a difference, you know.
I think the biggest change has been inside me. Perhaps "inside my brain" is a better way to put it, or perhaps "inside my soul" since on third thought "changes inside my brain" lends itself to ideas of cancerous growth, which isn't pleasant at all.
"Inside my soul" it shall be then.
I don't feel the urge to live my life openly here in my little blog world, or on Facebook. Not like I used to. Not in extreme details at least. (some people may argue, but (((I))) know the difference). My continued lack of need to purge in written form is proof of that. Here, at home in private journals…the ink is dry, the keyboard tappity-tap curiously silent. For someone who updated status every hour or so, put every photo online and didn't mind who knew what emotional drama was being succumbed to, I have certainly scaled back – or shied back – quite a bit. I find people who are extremely private an anomaly, their reticence and desire to stay out of the spotlight and not have anyone understand what is going on in their lives, brains and souls being on the verge of Martian to me. Yet I have shifted my thinking and living to be less open-mouthed about my life and thoughts and feelings. I guess at some point I realized who really cares? Maybe I just got good and tired of saying the same thing over and over with different words. Emotions and the stories that go with them have been like accessories to me in the past few years. I remember the day I was on my last shoe-buying expedition and realized "I don't really need these, nor do I feel the need to buy them anyway." I did buy them anyway, yet the burning need to buy more shoes died off. It was a final, deep enough-is-enough. The splurging on such unnecessary frivolities (are frivolities EVER necessary, you may ask. Yes, I may answer) came to a halt. And, somewhere along the way, just like I have come to realize the junior looks in the department stores are just a (((bit))) too short and youthful for my age and body-type (oh. my. god.), I have come to understand mysteriouslessness (my word, I can use it if I like) in the voicing-ones-every-thought department is also oddly not age-appropriate. Yikes.
I do speak out, even lash out, when I need to open my mouth to get help or support for or vent about whatever it is I'm going through, but more often than not I keep my mouth shut and listen to others. Where I used to feel like it was my duty to speak up (or write out) and be the brave voice for those less able to express themselves ("if I can walk through it and survive so can you") I now wonder if what I have to say has any merit at all. No. That's not the right term. I think maybe it's more like, is what I have to say truly as Earth-shaking as I once believed it to be. The answer is resoundingly – and humbly (oh my) – nope.
It's a confusing time for me, this shift from sassy know-it-all wannastillbe girl to somewhat-quiet questioning woman. I don't think that I miss that brazen naiveté and I am trying to embrace this transition that seems to be happening without my prior consent as a part of finally growing up.
I'm still going through relationship issues, there's always that. I'm still going through financial issues. There's always that too, it seems. And my physical issues have not improved, but gotten worse actually. It's an odd juxtaposition of growth and depression that I'm not sure how to feel about. That's the other thing, I used to be pretty damned certain of what my feelings were when I felt them and now, well, I'm not certain of what I feel anymore, as if an Emotions Thesaurus has been dropped in my lap and there are a thousand words now to describe how I feel, instead of just a handful. I don't know what THAT's a sign of…is it that I am moving toward a less wildly-swinging state of emotional maturity (though this last week is very much a roller coaster but I won't bother you with details) or is it just 44-year-old hormones trying to trick me? I feel like a boat on a quiet ocean with a storm off in the distance. Fairly peaceful – in a general are-you-seriously-trying-to-convince-yourself-of-that kind of way – but always aware of the reality of big waves hitting at any moment. But PEACEFUL. Sort of. In a slightly tremulous calm. My whole emotional being seems to be in a constant state of calm but at-the-ready. Like a still essence of stability.
Inside me is is a big huge blob of paradox.
There are things I still see about myself, like the fact that it seems I will always write with hyphens and run-ons in groups of threes and…oh, and ellipses. But that's superficial. What's underneath is less pithy. A quiet and steady turmoil that isn't like an explosion in any way, yet seems as though it could be. That whole boat/ocean/storm thing I mentioned above. It's a need for thinking positively while swatting away negative thoughts like little annoying wasps which I'm actually really afraid of but keep swish-swish-swishing regardless. And it's about seeing action clearly needed, being paralyzed by fear in taking the action, yet taking some sort of action anyway, even if it's in super small chunks, rather than a whole ocean-full of…action. Even if it's with my eyes squeezed shut and I'm scared and want to hide. It's about doing things that seem so easy for other people but aren't easy for me and trying not to peg myself as an oddball for having these feelings and thoughts. It's lying on the couch one day and getting busy the next because I HAVE to because if I don't Depression wins. It's about feeling awkward when I'm 44 years old and thinking "this shouldn't be happening at my age, but it is."
Terry Pratchett talks about second, third and fourth thoughts. I guess maybe I'm growing into the ability to think about the things I'm thinking about and then think about them again with a new perspective. I don't know. And if you don't know who Terry Pratchett is or what he writes about, well, then, you're more confused about what I said than I am.