My purpose is still out there.
It’s waiting for me.
Yup. It’s been tough. I’ve had a really tough time the past few months. My brain aches when I start to even try and think of the reasons behind why it’s been tough…yah, you know what? I am not going to even go there. There’s no point in listing the reasons I’ve classified the past few months as “tough” because everyone has shit. Let’s just leave it at “it’s been tough”.
I am exhausted from sitting in depression. For the longest time I had thought that perhaps this was a “wait and see” kind of thing. Like a “batten down the hatches, a storm’s a brewing!” kind of thing. So I was hunkered down below deck in the metaphorical ship that is my mind (one of those big ones like from Pirates of the Carribean…but I am not a pirate… just picture a big ship, k?), trying to just do what I had to so I could continue to exist. Wait for the storm to lift.
I’ve done my fair share of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and I know what I need to do to keep myself afloat, so I can avoid capsizing and sinking into a dark place; exercise, take a shower, three decent meals a day, eight hours of sleep, a completed project, a short list of small goals.
I’ve been doing the minimum to keep myself “floating” for about two and a half months now. I am floating, but I am not on a ship out in a stormy sea, I am on a shitty pool floaty (like a gross, mildew stained, boring looking one that’s just a plain ring and not even a cool shape or colour or anything Instagrammable) in stagnant ass water that has no current, and no source of fresh water…I am visualizing my neighbour’s gross pool actually. I’ll have to take a photo to put here to complete the image. I digress…
Point is, despite feeling depressed but doing my best to float and stay alive, I’ve been going nowhere. I miss having a direction. I miss having a purpose. Now I say that as someone who has never really had a firm grasp on what my “purpose” is. I graduated from university with a directionless (and career-less) arts degree (an arts degree based on very interesting material I’ll have you know), then I worked for three years in an industry that was always supposed to be a “temporary thing”, and now here I am a stay-at-home-mom.
The only consistent things I’ve had in my life as far as purpose goes, is the desire to have a family and to care for them, and the desire to write. Now I am checking off the box of “having a family and caring for them” every damn day, but writing?
I had been sitting down to purposefully write since I was able to write letters on paper. I still have my first journal from when I was in grade one, and during our packing up to move into our new house I’ve stumbled across many other journals that I had filled since then.
I’ve gotten away from the practice of writing daily. I don’t know if writing will ever turn into anything for me – truthfully I feel that I write my best pieces when I am in the depths of a crippling depressive episode. Perhaps that’s the reason I’ve gotten away from writing recently; with so much of my focus being on trying to not be depressed, I’ve been reluctant to even try to write. I feel like my writing often comes across as forced when I “practice writing” as a discipline, rather than waiting for seemingly divine inspiration to strike me.
While these random rambling posts make me cringe on the inside, I know that writing in any form is what heals my soul and what centers my brain. I need this in my life. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be well received. It doesn’t have to go anywhere or be read by anyone other than me. This is my inner dialogue on “paper” and I need this practice. It’s the closest thing I feel I have to “purpose”. To a direction. To “going somewhere” instead of sitting in that nasty-ass pool of stagnant, smelly water.
I need to be trying to do something more than just floating. I need discipline. Discipline is something I am not very good at.
I want to become consistent. I need to become consistent. I need to try and paddle if I want to do anything more than just float.
So here’s to paddling. Here’s to an inevitable pile of garbage writing, but also hopefully a more frequent discovery of hidden gems… part of me really wants to go back and tie in a pirate ship/treasure chest thing here, but I think this post has been filled with more than enough metaphors already. *cringe*
Mama’s back, baby!