The only difference between you and the successful version of yourself you dream about is the effort involved. Successful-dream-you has been rejected tons, but they just carried on anyway. And carrying on doesn’t have to mean being doing yoga and working full-time whilst working on side-projects and having a great social life.
A couple of weeks of treats, progress, & novelty outfits.
But when I’m on the wall, when I’m working out the next move, trying not to fall, thinking about placing my feet, my mind is free of everything else. I’m not freaking out about rejection, stressing out about my workload – none of it. It’s bliss. It really is.
Why share? Why? Why type your life out and click a button, waiting for people to read? I don’t know. But I know that when I do write, the fog lifts a little.
This last week has been a quiet blur of autumn leaves, frustration, and pancakes.
I just wanted to check in with you all, and let you know I’m still here, and yes, I’m a little depressed but I’m fully functioning and not in any danger of disappearing anytime soon.
A weekend of cuteness, happiness, and shoving misogynistic boys at gigs.
And by no means has ‘recovery’ been perfect. I managed to get myself into a nightmarish relationship straight afterwards, was further emotionally traumatised by Will.. uhh I mean Bill, and ended up quitting my whole life in Oxford. But, at no point since Recovery Day no.1 did I reach the lowest ever again. Why?
Because I knew I could fucking handle it.
And I think it’s because, in the real world, I:
Give up pretty easily when I fail at something, thinking “well, I guess this isn’t for me after all”.
Don’t even try in the first place because I am so absolutely terrified of failing that I would rather hold onto the dream of reaching something than actually try to reach it and fail.