Call it what you want. Hormones. Life. Depression. Just overwhelmed. That was me. That is me. I feel it every now and then. I think everyone does. But there are times where I let myself slip a bit too far.
I notice it most when I stop reading. Even more when I stop writing. I just don’t feel like me.
Maybe it’s my way of releasing all that is pent up in me. Maybe it’s may way of dealing with life. Regardless, when I get out of the routine of reading and writing, things start to feel a little out of wack.
I’m not sure why I ever let myself stop. I know how it makes me feel. It’s just, life. Life happens, and the next thing I know, I’ve gone a month without writing or reading a single word for myself.
I start to feel anxious, like something is missing. My brain feels clouded, and I just can’t figure out how to verbalize what I’m feeling. The flood gates are closed, and life just becomes congested.
The moment I start pounding it out on the keyboard or drinking in a new world on pages, it’s like the sky is new and the fog has lifted.
This is a part of me. Writing and reading makes me feel whole. I hate it when I stop, but man, does it feel good when I start again!
Throughout my life, I have always tried hoped that people would like me. I would even say there were times I went out of my way to try and get people to like me. With age, though, I am finding that this way of thinking is tiresome. To try so hard to be the person people want you to be just so you can be on their radar for whatever amount of time your actions towards them permits is truly juvenile and almost sadistic.
Never will I be the exact person anyone wants me to be, nor will I ever again try to be that person. Being happy with myself is where it begins, and whether someone else likes it, I am who I am. I realized this, instilled it within myself, and began introducing the world to who I am. Those who have stuck by my side know the real me.
Most recently, I tried very hard with a co-worker who, in the end, very clearly wanted nothing to do with me. I offered her my support, tried to provide assistance and insight both professionally and in our personal lives, but the more I tried, the more she resisted. It ended in a way that we no longer communicate unless necessary which seems to work well for us, but this experience really taught me a lesson.
All I can do is try, but sometimes, people won’t like me, and that’s OK because I now know I showed them the kind of person I am.