What to do when moving on is actually moving backwards.

(Image by Abi Bansal – abibansal.com, model Karen Cowell for Faqtor magazine)

I always wanted to blog to document what was happening to me. But what if what was happening to me was so dreadful that even I didn’t want to admit it was happening?

It has been a year off of sorts. A year off from blogging, Tweeting and all of the other things that go hand in hand with “being connected”. It wasn’t a descision that I took lightly, more like it was something that I felt I really had to do. It was essential for my own wellbeing to take a step back, to look at what was truly important in my life and build something I could be proud of. Something for myself.

I read a tweet recently that said something along the lines of “If you give your heart to someone, you do so with the risk that they might drop it and break it”. Someone was less than careful with my heart and for a long time I focussed my energies on trying to mend it. I hid away, I shot pictures, I travelled a bit, I made new friends.

I started again.

Starting again is ultimately a terrifying thing to do insofar as you have to deal with the unknown. Only you have to do it carrying around the baggage and the damage of what has gone before. And of course NOBODY knows what you have been through, even fewer people actually care that you are essentially bleeding internally. That sounds dramatic but to me, that is what it felt like.

At times like these, it really can be sink or swim. I am not claiming that I rode the tidal waves of pain and humiliation with ease and abandonment. I almost definately sunk right to the bottom of the pool, and even now I don’t know exactly what it was that made me surface again. All I do know is that one day, it just stopped hurting so much.

I won’t go on about all the things that have happened to me in the 12 months or so since I was last here but I can safely say that, on the whole the year has been a good one. Some shit went down, sure- but nothing that I couldn’t deal with. The big D comes and goes and sometimes you just have to do what Stephen Fry would do; form that mental umbrella to the elemental buffering you are suffering at the time and hope that it will pass.

Because it really does. Pass I mean. I am now at the stage where I choose not to let things upset me, perhaps this realisation came when I stopped tweeting for a year- suddenly I was finally in control of how much certain things could throw me off kilter. I admit that I am a sensitive person, I am prone to dwelling on half truths, selective information and not seeing the full picture. I read things that don’t reassure me, don’t give me the answers I convince myself I need… and then, feeling sad and overlooked, I turn it inward, reflecting it back on myself and reinforcing the core belief that I am not_good_enough. I do all this because I can never really say how I feel to the person. I am scared they will laugh at me, or worse still, reject me. To be rejected for experiencing thoughts and feelings that are, and have always been beyond your control is like taking the needy train to vulnerable town. Population You. No, it is far, far easier to stay in limbo, not knowing what is really going on (because if you did it might be what you know in your heart to be true) but at the same time having hope. However nuts that sounds, hope fuels all of us. We all hope that we will be proved wrong and that the outcome will for once, just this once work in our favour. Maybe this time we won’t be left feeling sad and broken and alone. The choices of this… person, this other independant person with their own thought processes and input is suddenly everything. I did this last night. I am not proud of myself.

Of course, that is bollocks. No one thing that a human being can do in the context of living their life should ever, ever wield that power over our wellbeing. To do so gives them almost God- like power. No one person, however awesome you think they are, can be the God of your world, that’s your job.

Of course, you can always console yourself with the likelihood that they are probably talking a lot of tripe and it has nothing to do with you whatsoever, that works too.

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What to do when moving on is actually moving backwards.

One thought on “What to do when moving on is actually moving backwards.

  1. I’ve been there. I *am* there. As much as I hate to think of anyone else being here, I am glad to know that I (we) are not alone. That someone out there knows the ins and outs of this sort of mental hopscotch.

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