Yesterday I popped a little story on Instagram, about throwing in the towel when it comes to social media. I took a few days off last week, and I didn’t miss looking at other peoples posed, filtered squares, and I really didn’t miss trying to think of my own posed, filtered squares to post.
I was reminiscing about the good old days when we used Instagram to stamp our memories on our own corner of the internet. We filtered our snaps with Amaro or Valencia, or went crazy artsy with a bit of Inkwell. We posted pictures of our actual lives, what made us happy and what made us sad.
I got a message via Hazel’s Facebook – I’ve long since given up on having my own, from a friend of a friend who said that this post was a game changer for her. I read the post back to myself and I remembered how broken I was.
I had spent six months watching my life disintegrate in front of my face. Notice my use of the word disintegrate. My life didn’t dissolve like an effervescent vitamin, leaving behind a fizzing albeit very artificial coloured beverage.
My life disintegrated like a cardboard box left on the lawn. For six months.
I had finally got to a point where my six figure fuck up of a business decision was manageable. The debt was mostly under control (thanks Mum and Dad), and I no longer experienced paralysing anxiety at the thought of mopping up the mess I’d made.
I was engaged, we were going to build a house together, we were talking about exciting stuff like getting a dog and having a coupla kids, and for once in my life I felt like I almost fit in with other people. I was conforming, I was doing the same things as my peers, I had my shit together.
For one reason or another, it turned out that my shit was most definitely not together. And what I was left with, was a soggy cardboard box and a blog. And so I wrote. In my insular little cocoon I didn’t think about what I was writing, or who I was writing for, or who might be reading, I just wrote.
One of the things I wrote was read by a man I’d never met. He thought I was pretty funny (#true) and suggested that we might like to meet up for a drink. That was a big #fuckno from me. He was really nice though, he had good banter, and he really liked my jokes (I have good jokes).
I finally agreed to go on a date with him (was having a “just say yes” day), and I regretted that within a nanosecond. In case you missed it, things took an unexpected turn after the fateful night at Chim Choo Ree and for the first time ever, loving someone else hasn’t meant forgetting to love myself.
Not for a moment, has his family of farming types, made this small town girl feel like this little part of paradise isn’t exactly where I was always meant to be.
Thank you to the gorgeous humans who sent beautiful messages yesterday. You reminded me why I started – to share my self-deprecating humour in an effort to find the souls out there who have taken the long road and can relate.
To the person who said I am the light at the end of the tunnel, I’m not sure it’s a role I am qualified for, but you gave me a different perspective, and I am grateful for that.
I am not there yet, I am here. I am still learning to love myself, still trying to manage my anxiety, but somewhere along the way life got really good, and I must remember to be thankful.