first home owner

I haven't written in awhile...

and by awhile I mean probably close to a year. I’m sure the same people I started out here on tumblr with have higher priorities other than blogging. But me? I think blogging is the only thing that actually makes me feel less crazy.

This website isn’t about words anymore. I’ve fallen victim to the quick reblogs of pictures and videos and blogs with actual content kinda died off. I’m not expecting anyone to read what I write anymore, if anything it helps me write more fearlessly because I know you won’t read it.

I have been an absolute mess for the last… well, probably two years. I’ve gone through family deaths, family emergencies, relationship turmoils, pet deaths, and adult responsibilities. I’ve celebrated being a first time home owner in the same week of mourning my grandmothers death. This has been the theme of my life lately. With one great success comes three tragic events. I feel like I just can’t catch a break and if I’m having such successes I really shouldn’t be complaining right? That’s how I’ve been rationalizing it in my head after all.

I’m still here. It doesn’t feel like I’m here but I know that I am. I stopped crying and I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I look back at who I was five years ago and see all the happiness I used to be. I want to be that happy again but despite being so fucking sad every day, I’ve accomplished shit. I’ve accomplished so much shit that my parents didn’t even think were in my cards. That was the trade off. Happiness for getting shit done. Now that I have it, I’m working on my happiness, and working on happiness will be the hardest thing I ever do in my life.

So here we go. Another vow to get back to writing weekly. A vow to stop building up all my sadness for me to logically store it away accordingly. I’m a mess, I don’t have it all together, I’ve let people in that have ruined me on all paths, and I am in the worst shape of my life. Today though? I spoke up about it. That’s the bravest fucking thing I’ve done all year.