I was reading some of my old blog posts — specifically when I took the Science of Well-being course from Yale, and I thought to myself, “Wow. I like her.” There’s something different about this space then there is my personal journal. My personal journal is messy, filled with the worst parts of me. But here, I can write and it feels like I am looking down on myself. The words that spill onto this screen are still genuine and at times a bit off-kilter, but it’s just — cleaner. Easier to see the big picture.
I wish I could explain everything that has happened the last few months, but doing so would involve more than myself. In fact, it would involve the most private person I know.
“I came up here to escape the South before heading back to Alabama for Grad school in August. But now I’m not going back.”
I’ve said that sentence a million times. That’s the thing about being somewhere new, meeting new people, starting a new job, dating — everyone asks the same questions. It is exhausting.
Honestly, my last relationship really fucked me up. Not necessarily in a bad way, I just mean that it changed my plans. It changed something within me. It solidified some part of me that could never be satisfied with whatever life plan seems acceptable to most. It made all of my dreams seem in reach, no matter how ridiculous they seem. It actually made it seem easy to accomplish them in a way.
Or maybe this is just me growing up and into myself. Regardless.
The only reason I say this is because he is the whole reason I left the South in the first place. He kept leaving, and it kept hurting. I know it wasn’t even about me, but it hurt so much. It still does, but now it’s like this dull pain that doesn’t leave. It was especially difficult after some unmentionable events. All this to say that towards the end, Alabama held a lot of pain. Pain that I was at times feeling intensely, at times I was ignoring, and at all times in a pretty pathetic way — I was grateful for.
I guess the expedient part of me was grateful.
I felt very distanced from my friends. I felt like they were mad at me for shutting down. I felt trapped and alone in that house that I should have felt only gratitude for. I just felt like no one really understood, and that there was no one I could talk to. My bratty side came out. That little kid inside of me that needs control, and becomes insecure when she can’t have it. My worst attitude, seemingly my own fault, but at the same time caused by a lot of pain. It just bled out on to everything.
Honestly, that’s probably the worst part. The fact that I have to forgive myself for it. Even if no one on the planet cares. Even if I am the only one that feels I need to apologize. At the end of the day, I feel like a lot of things are all my fault. And I can’t take any of it back.
It’s hard to forgive myself. Not to be so dramatic, but I lost someone who fundamentally changed me. And I blame myself. It’s so dumb because I know it doesn’t do me any good to punish myself. It doesn’t do anything to change the past. All it does is mess with the future and make me feel like I deserve less.
Anyway.
So I came up to Denver. I drove the 20 something hours, camping in my car along the way, and I just felt so good being alone. Needing nothing and no one. But if I’m being honest, all of those things reminded me of him. They were things he introduced me to. And it bothers me because in a way I feel confused about which dreams are mine.
When I got certified to teach English over seas, I did so much research on the best towns to learn surfing. Or even just the best places to watch surfing. Because one day I sat down and thought to myself — What is going to make me happy? Even if it sounds ridiculous, what is it? The only thing that popped in my head was if I could be on top of a wave. How blissful that would be. So I started researching, and I even did some yoga videos on Youtube that were geared towards surfers. I tried to put myself in that headspace.
I wanted to be a surfer before I actually was. And then I met him and I think part of the reason I fell in love with him was because he mirrored everything I wanted to be. Or he mirrored something I already am, or both. Because now I have all of these other dreams. Yet at the same time, I want to jump out of a plane just so I can try to understand. So I can feel something he feels. Because I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can love someone, and then not. But maybe if I learn to surf and live out of my car, and jump out of a stupid plane, and smoke the bufo — maybe then I will understand how you can love someone one second and not love them the next.
This isn’t to say I don’t have a million dreams that are in no way connected to him. I do.
Then again, he also decided to do those things because he saw someone else do them. And if you think about it, if you generalize it — there are two types of people. Two types of dreamers. There are those who follow the rules of society — they get married, have kids, find security in their job. Don’t get me wrong — they want those things. But then there are those who do the opposite. They reject college and relationships — anything that might hold them back, all because they want something different. And honestly, maybe both types really just stem from a different kind of fear, among many other things.
When we first broke up, my other ex reached out saying he loved me and blah blah blah. The weird thing is, it felt good. It felt good getting attention, and being distracted, and it gave me this warm feeling. So much so that I decided love is expansive. That you can love more than one person at once.
But sitting here now I don’t think that’s true. No. Because neither of them ever loved me the way I want to be loved — the way that I love. Because real love wants to stay when it’s hard. Real love makes a decision about someone. Real love says yes.
But that’s not what this is even about.
This is about how lonely I was in Alabama. This is about how I came to Denver, moved into a mansion near City Park with seven other people and fell in love with each of them. This is about how all of my problems diminished for a couple of months, and how they’re all back now. This is about how you can’t really escape through change.
It was the worst decision deciding not to go back to Alabama. I cried for months because at the end of the day, I knew that I couldn’t really make a wrong decision. I could go back to Bama, have my easy little life and streamline my counseling career, or I could stay here where everything felt more difficult. Where I have less luxury, and see what happens. It was a hard decision to make logically, but I knew from my second week here that I just couldn’t leave.
Being in Denver made all my issues go away at first because it was novel, and required less thinking about myself. I felt automatically healthier and happier. It became natural for me to be more social, my dietary intake became less compulsive and worrisome — I just wasn’t stuck in this little Chelsea box. I didn’t have as much time on my hands to ruminate, thereby ending up in isolation.
On July 4th, my roommates and I ended up eating some mushrooms and going to City Park. We had the best time, but towards the end of the night we ended up in a a reflective state. One of my roommates mentioned Rat Park. Rat Park was a series of addiction experiments from the 1970s.
“Researchers had already proved that when rats were placed in a cage, all alone, with no other community of rats, and offered two water bottles-one filled with water and the other with heroin or cocaine-the rats would repetitively drink from the drug-laced bottles until they all overdosed and died. Like pigeons pressing a pleasure lever, they were relentless, until their bodies and brains were overcome, and they died.
But Alexander wondered: is this about the drug or might it be related to the setting they were in? To test his hypothesis, he put rats in “rat parks,” where they were among others and free to roam and play, to socialize and to have sex. And they were given the same access to the same two types of drug laced bottles. When inhabiting a “rat park,” they remarkably preferred the plain water. Even when they did imbibe from the drug-filled bottle, they did so intermittently, not obsessively, and never overdosed. A social community beat the power of drugs.”
Lloyd I. Sederer, M. D. (2020, November 16). What does “Rat PARK” teach us about addiction? Psychiatric Times. https://www.psychiatrictimes.com/view/what-does-rat-park-teach-us-about-addiction.
Addiction can be anything. Food, drugs, a person, love, pain, alcohol, coffee, the gym. What David was saying is that our house at times can be like Rat Park. Yes, living with seven people can be tiring — or energizing — depending on how you look at it. But it creates a social community. We all have multiple people to bounce our ideas and even emotions off of. We get multiple perspectives when we want it, or even if we don’t. Bored? Lonely? Walk through the house. Have a chat. Get outside of yourself. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten a text that just says, “Wanna go on a walk? I need to get out of my head.”
I love it. It makes me less neurotic. Right now, at this point in my life — living with seven people is exactly what I need.
Back to making the decision to stay here. Even with my newfound happiness, there was a part of me that was scared. I knew that the moment I made the final decision — the moment I sent that email to my grad school in Alabama telling them I wouldn’t be coming — well that’s when I feared that maybe I’d revert right back to the worst parts of me.
And in a way I was right. As I got more comfortable, all of my private, unattractive and needy parts bubbled back up. Because moving cities doesn’t just magically change you or make you better. It just distracts you for a bit. I’m still the same little soul, struggling with all kinds of issues from the past and trying to take responsibility for them.
The other day I found myself thinking about my life and all these little parts of me I dislike, and I found myself thinking — I need more. I need to go see a naturopath and get acupuncture and get on Accutane and go to therapy and get a massage and buy new shoes and move to the beach and get a new phone with a better camera and blah blah blah.
But what I really need is less. I need less stress in all of its forms. When people think of stress, they often think of money and their jobs and the amount of time they have. But stress is so much more than that. It’s checking your instagram for 50 times a day, checking that account that makes you feel like shit, eating shitty food, eating more food than you need, working out too much because it’s coming from a place of hate and not love for yourself. Buying the shoes you don’t need, making commitments to others and breaking commitments to yourself.
What I need is less. Less checking up on people who don’t care about me. Less pressure on myself to be perfect and hit the gym everyday, less compulsive snacking when I feel anxious or bored. Less alcohol. Less stress in all of its forms. Less coffee. Less all or nothing mentality.
More compassion for the parts of me that are human. More time to sit and be okay with the way things are instead of wondering what’s next. Less judging of myself. More love for myself. More trusting myself. Of developing a relationship with myself. Of setting clear boundaries not because I’m scared or feel like I have to, but because I truly want to.
Less distraction. More savoring. Less obligations. More thoughtful commitments. Less avoidance.
So what am I doing with my life?
It’s a secret :).
Generally though, I’m trying to figure out my place in the world — and be my best. Because it’s true — the world needs me and whatever gifts I have brewing inside of me. I still want to go to school for Clinical Mental Health and Counseling. I still want to learn how to surf. I still want to find food freedom. I still want to fall in love eventually.
I just want to do all of those things from a place of love and respect for myself, not fear or condemning. I know I’ll be confused sometimes, and wonder what it is I really want. I mean we are literally floating on a rock through space.
Still, I’m learning to”trust the trajectory.”
And I guess if I really think about it — I still wouldn’t change the events that have happened this year.
I’m grateful.
Missy September 1, 2021
Grateful is key plus the world does need you!