I’ve facepalmed so many times drafting this post. Honestly, I’m trying to get away from complaining and I’m afraid that most of what I stick on this page smacks of that very thing. At the same time, I use this space to process and communicate what’s going on with my life and frankly, what’s going on right now fucking blows.
For the past few months, leaving my apartment has become more and more difficult for me. I am ruled by this constant sense of impending doom. The only real doom was one of my own creation by not venturing past my bedroom. I don’t want to be around people who know me, even the ones who care about me. I don’t want to answer their questions, because my replies will be honest and honestly upsetting. Graduation didn’t happen for me this year, and I honestly don’t know when/if it will at all. I self-destructed academically and avoided contact even with people whom I know care about me. So now I’m talking to professionals and on a couple kinds of medication and that’s pretty much that. It’s too soon to tell if it’s working.
The breakup I mentioned in my previous post wasn’t as clean as I thought/hoped/intended. I’m bad at staying away. And the thing I was avoiding by cutting ties happened more abruptly than I was prepared for. My ex still has a question mark over our relationship. There are circumstances (not ideal for him) that could mean we might have a chance again. I can’t function while wondering when or if. I need a full stop. Especially if I’m going to keep breathing in and out without being plagued by the anxiety that often comes with the unknown. I have to write my own reality, even if it means operating under a falsehood in order to keep hold of stability. Burying thoughts is an exhausting task, but I would rather be tired than in pain. This was the longest relationship I’ve ever been in and I hate how much its ending is affecting me. It’s been a hot minute since I was so invested in another person. I don’t want to be the girl who’s world is over because of a breakup. That’s not Lauren, never has been. But I still feel like I’m grieving for some sort of massive loss. A future that I wanted is no longer possible and that is out of my control. So I have to find a way to mourn it without devolving into a tear-dampened, blubbering mess of a woman. Or do I give myself over to my sadness? Let myself feel every ounce of pain that has manifested from my loss? Who the fuck has time for that?
It is difficult not to feel like collateral damage in a war for someone else’s wants.
We could have kicked the world’s ass together.
We could have been brilliant. To me, there is no question mark over that.