This week I feel as if I have nothing to write about. There are no deep pains I have to get off my chest, no truths to uncover. I always ask myself what is the point of writing if it’s not going to be great. In fact what is the point of you doing anything if it is not the best. I’ve struggled with this notion throughout my life and I feel have quit many things I loved because I didn’t understand I could do them simply just to do enjoy them. I didn’t have to care about rank or what the finished product was or even, what people thought of it. I made a commitment to myself to do something, in this case write and even if I write about nothing for sixty straight weeks it’s the commitment to that nothing that counts.
It’s the start of a new decade. A new year. And yet just another day. I don’t believe we wait for the new year to be new people. We can be new whenever we want. Some people started to be new a few years ago, some people maybe won’t start for a few more years. This year I have goals for the first time in a long time. Mile markers I want to hit and dreams I want to actualize.
The new year never usually feels different to me, it’s always just another day but today feels like a page has turned. Something slightly bigger, more momentous has happened. For some reason a fear that I usually brush aside will not leave-the fear of wasting every day. This fear is good. It propels me. It makes me think about dedication, determination and git. Tomorrow will be January 2, 2020 and no one will care about those dreams, that dedication will flicker just bit but that fear, that fear will still be there and I welcome it.
I was asked by my therapist recently who my support system is. I stared blankly at her for a good 12 seconds, not because I don’t know what a support system is but because I don’t have one. I have no family and one parent whose depth of conversation usually involves my dogs and work. I know plenty of people but have no good friends ( I had several childhood and close friends but we are no longer in contact). I’ve heard the saying we can get used to anything but hadn’t truly grasped how real that was for me. I am alone. Not out of choice but out of circumstance. Truly alone. And I’m so used to this I barely noticed it. I could say support isn’t really necessary, look how far I’ve made it. Look how strong I am but that would be false. I am in fact so without support that I am paying someone to be there for me (insert laughter, because I find humor in everything). I pride myself on being able to outlast anyone and live through anything but I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. We need support, friendships, relationships to go. To learn. When all you have is yourself you become a different kind of tough and it’s not always for the best but it’s because you have no other choice.
I’ve always felt like there was a hole inside my heart that nothing would ever fill. I knew in my bones that I was not enough for me. Nothing was enough for me. No other person could fill this never ending ocean of emptiness, no addiction, no substance. And believe me I tried. I pulled at everything thinking if I could just someone get enough of something it would drown this blackness and I’d feel whole, the way I imagined everyone else felt. I know now there is nothing that will fill this void. There is only acceptance of it. And perhaps as the old adage says, if you stare long enough into the void the void will stare back. I no longer spend time trying to pretend the hole isn’t there, I don’t go against myself trying to fill it. I accept it. I don’t try to change it. I acknowledge that maybe eventually it will go away with time but I also acknowledge that maybe it won’t.
I saw a quote on Tumblr, back when I had a blog there that read something to the effect of “do you think God ever gets sad like, ‘what do you mean you don’t love yourself, I worked so hard on you’ “. I’ve recently been changing my mindset, working on a different inner belief, less critical and self-tormenting and this quote made me almost break into tears. I’ve spent so many years hating myself, literally fluctuating between praying to God and screaming at God for how I am or how I want to be. I can only imagine the universe seeing us, tormented and self righteous with hatred thinking ‘but can’t you see how beautiful you are?’ I couldn’t see. I have days where I don’t see. After all these years though and all this pain how could you not love yourself. The cliche truth is that no one else will love you the way you love yourself. They just can’t. What we give ourselves and acknowledge in ourselves is something only our souls can do. I’ve taken the time lately during every day to stop and think on this question: what do you mean you don’t love yourself and I can always find so many reasons to love myself, so many patterns of thought to continue changing and turning around. I don’t want to be hateful and sad about who I am anymore and I certainly don’t want God to be sad about seeing me down here wasting the experience of being me.