I’ve been meaning to write for nearly 4 months, but life got the best of me. So much has happened since I last wrote, that I don’t even know where to start.
Should I fill you in on the grueling 3 months I spent on Zoloft- only to find the depression replaced with a never ending brain fog that made writing nearly impossible and caused me to shit myself silly every morning for three months? Or how depression and stress forced me to end my journey a month sooner than I planned, leaving me with no cash on hand and less than a month to find housing before my Belize trip? No, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.
Maybe I could write about the transition from carliving to mainstream society and how I quickly went into debt to pay for 1st month, last month’s rent and all the things it takes to live in a house- towels, linens, pots, pans, spices, light bulbs, hangers, utensils, a mop, a bucket, a broom, a comforter, Tupperware…you get the idea.
Perhaps I could share with you the magic of Guatemala- the beauty of the Tikal and Yaxha ruins- the excitement of kayaking Lake Peten, with howler monkeys swinging above me in the jungle trees? I suppose that would be a great place to start, only then we’d have to talk about how that was crushed under the disappointment of Belize, where I was stupid exhausted and anxious from starting Zoloft and lost my footage of snorkeling with sea turtles and all my pictures of Guatemala. How I spent the entire last day of my vacation crying and obsessing in my hotel room. No, perhaps I will save that for another post, when the memories aren’t so fresh.
I suppose I could just fast forward to the bitter sweetness of the present- I could write about how I spend $1,300 a month for a quaint, fully furnished English basement that I rarely enjoy because I work two jobs. How rent has made paying for doctors appointments out of pocket and paying off my remaining student loan debt nearly impossible. How I just returned from yet another trip to Belize for my 30th birthday, that ended in moments of bliss mixed with quiet disappointment and the heaviness of a failed attempt at redemption. Or how the random bouts of anaphylaxis and night sweats I had before heading to Belize may be indicative of a chronic, life long autoimmune disorder that is also the cause of my OCD and depression? But I’m also not quite ready to write about that either.
Or what about your boy Trump and the assault on the Earth, communities of color and the possibility of loosing protection for pre-existing medical conditions? Certainly not, as I’m sure you need a break from that train wreck anyways.
Don’t get me wrong- it’s not all doom and gloom. There are pockets of wonder and adventure and joy from delving into my spirituality more deeply and peace from a renewed sense of self, which I promise I’ll get to. It’s just my heart is heavy about this past year and I don’t feel compelled to narrate my story in sequence. Plus I’ve been questioning my motive for blogging. Is this another delusion of ego, or is this meaningful and cathartic? And if it is the latter, why not just journal and get it all out? Why do I feel the need to be heard, witnessed, understood? Why do I feel like this is part of something bigger? A book maybe? And if that’s the case, do my words speak to you? Do they move you and stir something profound in you or just capture your attention for a fleeting minute?
I guess what I am trying to say is, I am still here. Still struggling, still questioning, still trying to reach out to humanity across the great digital divide and hopefully find some clarity in the process. Still craving financial freedom to explore and experience my own spirituality. Still yearning for the part of my story when the Earth and Stars and Universe align and I find my way out of mainstream society to some small plot of land where I can commune wholly with the universe and ask big questions with no plan or agenda or distractions.
For now, I am grounded-learning to be grateful, trying to be strong and ready to share again. Tell me, are you still there?