It has come to my attention that many people who read my latest post, Learning When to Let Go, are under the impression that I’m not doing so well emotionally. I did mention it there–right near the end–but upon re-reading I see that I wasn’t terribly clear.
I understand that after about six months of not hearing from me, seeing a long diatribe on the relationship I had with my mother is startling. I’ve been met with largely two responses–disbelief, and empathy bordering on worry. I don’t mind the disbelief–I knew it would happen, and anyone who’s ever opened up about victimhood has experienced it as well–and I can honestly shrug it off.
But I did want to let the rest of you–the majority of you–know that I’m actually doing quite well.
So, let’s set a few things straight, okay?
In case you didn’t catch it, within the last six months I got engaged to my fantastic partner. More on that later. I was the one who “officially” popped the question. It was very low-key.
I also quit smoking cigarettes. That was tough but, ultimately, rewarding. I’ve been really happy not having the expense and the constant stress of an addicted body telling me to take in more drugs.
I got a new job, full time and with full benefits. For the first time in ten years, I feel free to go see a doctor and I’m finally getting some medical issues taken care of.
With the new job has come some extra money, which means I’ve been able to get all the animals up on their vet needs. I’m also able to shove more toward my credit cards and student loans so that I can get out of debt faster.
I’ve been learning how to use watercolor paints and am starting to do artwork on a daily basis.
My partner and I have come up with several plans–Plan A and Plan B, specifically–that we’re going to try to implement in “The Great Game of Life.” More on that later.
Additionally, I have started taking an anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medication.
I don’t know when it happened, but over the years I had developed a sort of anti-drug sentiment toward psychiatric medications. But in the last few months, I’ve done a great deal of research and talked to a number of people including my doctor and psychiatrist, and come to the conclusion that it’ll be for the best to get on some medication.
I don’t know how long I’ll be taking these meds, and that doesn’t scare me one bit. I’m only about five weeks in and I’ve been noticing some marked improvements. The paralyzing voice in the back of my mind that whispered, “You may as well put down the pencil, you’ll never be as good as those other artists and other writers, so why even try?” has been muted. I’m able to really commit to my artwork and writing without second-guessing myself at every turn.
Additionally, I’ve finally begun to open up around coworkers and strangers. I’ve recognized that I am who I am. I will not be ashamed to be this person. Not now and not ever. For the first time in my life, I’m beginning to feel strong. Powerful. Capable. It’s not something I’m used to, but it’s not something I’m willing to give up to soothe the ego and unruffle the feathers of people who never truly saw me.
And so, in conclusion, I am not holding some big grudge or still bearing an intense amount of pain. Again, I understand that seeing a life story posted up on the internet for all to see can be shocking, but that post was the end of months of fretting, worry, and pain. It was the afterbirth. The final hurl.
Now? Now I’m moving on.