On the Turning Away
In hindsight, it amazes me--not only that I could carry around so much grumpiness and negativity, but that other people were willing to be around me.
(A belated preamble: during the process of planning my wedding, I stumbled upon the dorkiest, most bourgeois hobby a girl can have: scrapbooking. I laugh as much as you do, but it provided me a badly-needed creative outlet. I am now working on a scrapbook of the wedding/honeymoon, and also a scrapbook of my Indiana years. To jog my memory, I went back through some all of my old LJ entries. And not to get all wangsty or anything, but oh my god. What the HELL was my problem?)
Last night, I finished up reading the old LJ posts. And for the rest of the evening, I was plagued by this exhaustion, this ennui. I don't know how else to articulate it, other than to say that I revisited a very nasty time in my life (nasty because of my own behavior and issues, I will be the first to admit) and it was a difficult thing to do, just to recall it. Which brings to the introductory question, once more--how could I function with that negativity oozing out of me? How could other people find that pleasant thing to be around?
(It's rhetorical, people. No need to answer. Really).
I'm not saying that today I am perfect and the epitome of loving kindness and gentle-spiritedness, and that everything's been roses and sunshine since heading to the Wild West--well, okay, maybe it HAS been all sunshine, haha, but holy cats, I don't recognize that person. Maybe other people don't think I've changed all that much, and yes, other's perceptions DO matter, but I can tell you right now, after re-living the Me of Yesteryear last night, I felt exhausted and twisted-up in a way I haven't felt SINCE that yesteryear.
I miss a lot of things about that time in my life, but I tell you what--I don't miss that Melissa, not one lick. I'll take California, and the Melissa I have become since coming here. It's nothing to do with geography, of course; I cannot credit California with "redeeming" me any more than I can blame Indiana for my mean-spiritedness and moodiness and depression. Neither caused me and my character; only I did.
Free at least? Not hardly. But also not chained down to the worst that's in me.
(Maybe that scrapbooking isn't so silly, after all.)
(A belated preamble: during the process of planning my wedding, I stumbled upon the dorkiest, most bourgeois hobby a girl can have: scrapbooking. I laugh as much as you do, but it provided me a badly-needed creative outlet. I am now working on a scrapbook of the wedding/honeymoon, and also a scrapbook of my Indiana years. To jog my memory, I went back through some all of my old LJ entries. And not to get all wangsty or anything, but oh my god. What the HELL was my problem?)
Last night, I finished up reading the old LJ posts. And for the rest of the evening, I was plagued by this exhaustion, this ennui. I don't know how else to articulate it, other than to say that I revisited a very nasty time in my life (nasty because of my own behavior and issues, I will be the first to admit) and it was a difficult thing to do, just to recall it. Which brings to the introductory question, once more--how could I function with that negativity oozing out of me? How could other people find that pleasant thing to be around?
(It's rhetorical, people. No need to answer. Really).
I'm not saying that today I am perfect and the epitome of loving kindness and gentle-spiritedness, and that everything's been roses and sunshine since heading to the Wild West--well, okay, maybe it HAS been all sunshine, haha, but holy cats, I don't recognize that person. Maybe other people don't think I've changed all that much, and yes, other's perceptions DO matter, but I can tell you right now, after re-living the Me of Yesteryear last night, I felt exhausted and twisted-up in a way I haven't felt SINCE that yesteryear.
I miss a lot of things about that time in my life, but I tell you what--I don't miss that Melissa, not one lick. I'll take California, and the Melissa I have become since coming here. It's nothing to do with geography, of course; I cannot credit California with "redeeming" me any more than I can blame Indiana for my mean-spiritedness and moodiness and depression. Neither caused me and my character; only I did.
Free at least? Not hardly. But also not chained down to the worst that's in me.
(Maybe that scrapbooking isn't so silly, after all.)