I’m currently navigating a pretty new breakup. Which sucks. (And explains my return to blogging). I’d been with The Guy for about a year and half, so all my single ways have been deleted from my brain (but really, after a few hours anything gets deleted from my brain). The adjustment to life without Bae is…hard.
If you too are going through a breakup, never fear. I’m here to gently guide you and your unstable emotions through this process like these guys herding cats:
My blog may be pretty personal – but there’s a lot of things I’ve never blogged about here. Some, I never intend to, others – like anxiety – I’m going to try write about but I’m not sure when – or if I will publish these posts.
[Note: It’s a whole three years later and why the fuck not post this]
I’m writing this post on a sunny but windy Tuesday. It’s 30 December 2014. I’m healthy, I have a paying job that I’m pretty good at, a comfortable studio apartment [2017: two jobs and one apartment later…]. I have no debts, no immediate threats to my health or safety. I’m smart, I’m young, I have an excellent support system of friends and family.
And yet I am overwhelmed by crippling anxiety at least once a day. I’m writing this post in one of those moments when my anxiety is reaching it’s suffocating level where I’m almost unable to think logically and make rational decisions – even something as simple as whether or not to Whatsapp one of The Besties. I feel like I may cry at any moment – and really, I have no reason to want to cry today [edit later: I totally cried and then wrote a long, long post on depression]. Today is not a bad day, today is generally a day where nothing much at all has happened.
Note: This piece was written on 30 December, 2014. But I feel like maybe it’s time to let it out into the wild. I don’t handle stuff quite the same anymore (less sitting under my desk, more sitting on the kitchen floor, but samesame).
I think the first piece I ever read that really explained how depression affects me was this one by Hyperbole and a Half. I’m writing this post because I just started another one about anxiety and ended up sitting under my desk and crying for an hour. I can’t explain why, but small, enclosed spaces make me feel safe when I’m overwhelmed by sadness. Well, that and sitting on the floor. Maybe it’s because it makes me feel more melodramatic and helpless. Maybe because it’s easier to hide. Maybe because it’s easier to curl into myself. Maybe it’s because I can be really grounded.
Anyway. This is (some of) the story of my depression and maybe someone out there will read it and relate and feel less alone and instead of crying on the floor will leave a comment or message me (Twitter handle and gmail addie are in my about page – message me. I’ll listen.).
Deadpool / Marvel Comics via giphy
It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
Last I wrote, although you didn’t know, I was in the middle of losing my job for the third time in four years. I’ll write you something witty about being retrenched soon enough, but for now, dear reader, know this: it fucking sucks.
I stopped reading books. Started stalking recruitment agents. Stopped going out. Started isolating. Stopped laughing. Started crying with the roaches. Stopped writing. Started…I don’t know what.
I’m slowly coming back to normal. I read a whole book recently and actually finished it (in one day). I’ve started trying to make friends again. I’ve started going out. I don’t live with roaches anymore (but do have a lot of ants and four dead plants).
And I’m coming back back to this blog to write bullshit that I find funny, so that I can laugh alone in my apartment while I listen to my upstairs neighbours have sex/bounce on their pogo pole (I really don’t know which).
I’ve recently come into possession of a guy (The Guy). Dear dedicated readers (who-may-all-be-in-my-head-because-I-really-don’t-blog-good), you’ll know that it was a good number of years since I last had to keep one of these. And, they are very much not like keeping cactuses (who now live with my parents thanks to my
worst nightmare flatmates) alive. They’re a lot more like puppies: needy, furry and I’ll admit it, kind of cute.
…with roaches. Dear god I hate roaches. Big ones. Small ones. Some as big as a reasonable sized rat that has probably doing steroids and too many bench presses at gym, bro.
If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll have seen my
requests pleas about how to get rid of the pesky fuckers without burning down my apartment because deposits and references are needed when you can eventually afford to live somewhere where you can’t see your fridge from your bed.
[Edit: I started this blog in mid-March, I’m gainfully employed again, but why the hell not post this]
Why hello, unemployment. We meet again! I know some people like to jazz you up and call you ‘Funemployment’ but honestly there’s nothing fun about a future of looming debit orders, lack of medical aid and zero inflow of cash. But times are tough and shit happens and I know it’s been less than 18 months since we last met, but, you gotta get down on Frid – oh, no wait. That’s not it. You gotta DOWN the Mainstay*