under pressure
I've been looking at my old journals. Boy, what a mess I was. Especially after the breakup with you-know-who. That would have been my entire journal in 2004. Looking back, I can see pretty much every entry was about him, even though I didn't realize it at the time. I was so depressed after our breakup.
I look at some of those entries now and think, "Who was that person? She must've been in a lot of pain. She was so angry."
I think for that reason, if none other, New Orleans was good for me. It was good getting away and learning to appreciate things for what they are. There were so many distractions and so many voices here at the time, I couldn't think for shit.
Things are different now. I've grown older, and I'm grateful. Grateful to have made it through the battlefield that was my twenties. I feel out of the target demographic. I thought that'd make me feel bad, useless, obsolete, but it doesn't. On the contrary, I feel relieved. Fewer ghosts to chase, fewer demons hounding me. Less pressure to fix everything; to live up to some intangible, impossible ideal that's always skitting away from me, just beyond my reach. I can leave that to the young ones now, and hope they too can muddle through it and come out safe and intact on the other side.
It does get better. It gets easier. It gets less manic. But it takes work. Conscious effort. Clarity, getting clear. For me it took my daughter, big plans, and living a life full of intention. It took setting some limits. I wish somebody would have told me these things back then, when there was no light and only tunnel. I wish I could've told these things to Alli. I wish she would have lived to see her 30th birthday. But I didn't, so I'm telling you now.
It gets better, easier, less manic. Just hold on. It does.
I look at some of those entries now and think, "Who was that person? She must've been in a lot of pain. She was so angry."
I think for that reason, if none other, New Orleans was good for me. It was good getting away and learning to appreciate things for what they are. There were so many distractions and so many voices here at the time, I couldn't think for shit.
Things are different now. I've grown older, and I'm grateful. Grateful to have made it through the battlefield that was my twenties. I feel out of the target demographic. I thought that'd make me feel bad, useless, obsolete, but it doesn't. On the contrary, I feel relieved. Fewer ghosts to chase, fewer demons hounding me. Less pressure to fix everything; to live up to some intangible, impossible ideal that's always skitting away from me, just beyond my reach. I can leave that to the young ones now, and hope they too can muddle through it and come out safe and intact on the other side.
It does get better. It gets easier. It gets less manic. But it takes work. Conscious effort. Clarity, getting clear. For me it took my daughter, big plans, and living a life full of intention. It took setting some limits. I wish somebody would have told me these things back then, when there was no light and only tunnel. I wish I could've told these things to Alli. I wish she would have lived to see her 30th birthday. But I didn't, so I'm telling you now.
It gets better, easier, less manic. Just hold on. It does.